Something More

Andris Nelsons © 2015 by Alexander Böhm

Berlín, jueves, 12 de diciembre de 2024. Philharmonie Berlin. Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 in C minor. Berlin Philharmonic. Andris Nelsons, conductor

The 200th anniversary of Bruckner’s birth has given listeners throughout Europe a welcome chance to hear many of the lesser-performed works from the composer’s symphonic corpus: in Berlin alone audiences had the opportunity to experience the two unnumbered symphonies – along with the oft-neglected First – under the baton of Christian Thielemann, while a recent concert with Simone Young made a strong case for the original version of the Second. After a year of worthy curious and minor revelations, however, it was a pleasure to return to some of the symphonies on which Bruckner’s reputation for monumentality rests.

It was the Eighth, Bruckner’s final completed masterpiece, that served as the sole work on the program of Andris Nelsons’ most recent guest appearance with the Berlin Philharmonic. Given Mr Nelsons’ credentials as a Bruckner interpreter – his recent cycle with the Gewandhausorchester is among the finer of the current century – the chances of hearing a memorable performance were fairly high. Yet the evening ended up being something more: without speeding through or stretching out, without glossing over the work’s oddities or placing undue emphasis on its vastness, Mr Nelsons offered a reading that captured the symphony’s singular dramatic sweep. With the various sections of the orchestra playing at the peak of their powers, it was a performance that emphasised the work’s symphonic unity while gaining in distinction and intensity with each successive movement.

The opening bars, while not unduly swift, proceeded with a notable sense of purpose, and the first entry of the low strings – elegantly shaped by a subtle dynamic swell – came with a welcome edge of foreboding. By the time the first tutti had faded, the audience had a fairly good idea of what to expect from the evening: the sound of the massed strings was pleasingly substantial, and the trombones – positioned centre stage behind the woodwinds – delivered concentrated statements of tremendous depth; if the first quartet of horns had an earthier, less lofty tone than one is used to hearing, the second quartet provided frequent demonstrations of the Wagner tuba’s capacity for majestic solemnity.

As great as the individual sections sounded, it was the finely-considered balance of the orchestra as a whole that made the greater impression: the brass, even at their most emphatic, never threatened to crush the strings – although when they did have something important to impart they did so with remarkable conviction – while the woodwinds were woven effortlessly into the symphony’s ever-shifting textures. If Mr Nelsons had a definite idea of how a Bruckner orchestra should sound, he had an equally compelling vision of how such wide-ranging score could be fashioned into a coherent whole. In the first movement the transitions between sections were seamless, and shifts in tempo were accomplished with great subtlety; without ever sounding rushed or cursory, Mr Nelsons allowed the movement’s disparate episodes to emerge as a tautly constructed narrative.

The Scherzo, while lacking neither pace nor momentum, seemed concerned less with incisive rhythms than with the overall sonic impact, although the spirited brass exclamations in the outer sections made the calm of the trio all the more pronounced. However even the finest moments of the first two movements were merely a warm-up for the titanic drama of the third. From the very outset, Mr Nelsons was intent on creating an atmosphere of deep reverence; but, as in the first movement, his moderately broad tempi came with no slackening of focus. Indeed his patient handling of the individual episodes gave the movement a heightened mood of apprehension and excitement.

The orchestra responded to Mr Nelsons’ approach with rapt concentration and an elegance of playing bordering on sublime: the strings were even more luminous than in the opening movements, and the unfailingly sturdy Wagner tubas were responsible for countless astonishing moments. If the full ensemble in the movement’s climactic passages was as impressive for its clarity as for its power of expression – there was no hint of harshness or mere loudness – the introspective passages were no less captivating. When the violins and Wagner tubas brought the movement to its hushed conclusion, one was left with the sense of having undertaken an immense transformative journey.

By the time the final movement began, both orchestra and conductor were completely locked in: the rhythmic vitality only hinted at in the Scherzo was on prominent display in the galloping opening bars, and even some of the quieter passages were animated with a subtle urgency. For the most part Mr Nelsons’ reading of the Finale presented Bruckner at his most extrovert, conjuring masses of orchestral sound designed to overwhelm the listener with their grandeur; yet so great was Mr Nelsons’ sense of balance that even in the ecstatic final bars one could still distinguish the overlapping brass parts that brought the symphony to its triumphant conclusion.

Although Bruckner’s unique approach to the symphony eventually found acceptance late in his lifetime, he might not have imagined that his corpus would still be so celebrated two-hundred years after his birth. But if the intervening years have made his works familiar, they have not quite been able to diminish the strangeness of his vision. The Eighth offers perhaps the most fully-realised expression of that vision, and when one is fortunate enough to experience a performance as great as the one given on the evening by Andris Nelsons and the Berlin Philharmonic, it is impossible to emerge from the concert hall unmoved.