Paavo Järvi and the Zurich Tonhalle in a rousing Bruckner Symphony No. 8
25 February 2024 by Patrice Imbaud
Resmusica
In contrast to the monumental devotion, albeit a little static and heavy, of Bernard Haitink with the Bavarian Radio, Paavo Järvi presents a rousing vision in Zurich, more hedonistic than fervent, full of contrasts and life, that is sure to surprise.
In this anniversary year celebrating the bicentenary of Anton Bruckner's birth, there is a plethora of recordings devoted to the symphonic corpus of the master of St Florian, especially those devoted to Symphony No 8, a grandiose, veritable cathedral of sound constantly verging on the divine. After a fine Seventh, Estonian conductor Paavo Järvi makes a remarkable contribution to this commemoration with the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich.
Paavo Järvi chose the Nowak version of 1890 (slightly shorter than the Haas version), the version in which the symphony was premiered in Vienna in 1892, dedicated to Emperor Franz Joseph I and conducted by Hans Richter.
At a fairly moderate tempo, the Allegro moderato begins with a splendidly deep opening, imbued with an intense sense of expectation and mystery; The phrasing then unfolds, supple, full of nuances, with a sense of construction that is perhaps less marked than in some (notably Haitink) in a vision where fervour and verticality remain discreet in favour of an almost chamber music reading, lightened up, more immanent than transcendent, exalted by a luminous clarity and an invigorating transparency of texture that unleashes all the timbres and gives life to numerous counter-chords usually left in the shadows (harp). Attention to the score's details is constant, and the consistently tense progression alternates between lyrical episodes (strings) and powerful crescendos (brass and thundering timpani) like so many very human moments, of hope and defeat, devotion and doubt, exaltation and meditation, juxtaposed in abrupt contrasts without smoothing.
At a brisk tempo, the Scherzo unfolds in a breathless, inexorable progression, imbued with an intense sense of urgency, punctuated by frightening timpani and brass instruments framing a highly lyrical trio of strings and small harmony.
Shrouded in a beautiful twilight clarity, more melancholy than genuinely mournful, the Adagio, which begins in a whisper as if from another world, then struggles to maintain the tension and develop the necessary verticality, Paavo Järvi favouring a gentle sadness rather than the refined, acetic and oppressive painful lament of a Haitink. Very lyrical and horizontal, the discourse moves more than it transports, despite the magnificent and moving performances of the Wagnerian tubas, the sumptuous strings and a grandiose coda.
Taut, sharply contrasted, resplendent, recapitulatory, at times animated by a lyricism to make stones weep, at other times by suffocating violence, the Finale completes this new Brucknerian reference in power and plenitude, carried by all the forces of the splendid Zurich orchestra. Indispensable!
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