Reviewers often find themselves in two minds about a recording (more often, perhaps, than they admit). But listening to this disc I felt more like two distinct people. Listener No. 1 found it impossible not to be impressed by Rattle’s conception of Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, or by its realization. Evidently this is a conductor who knows exactly what he wants, and who has an orchestra who can carry out his wishes to the last detail. The control of tempo, of long phrases, of those huge crescendos, the sumptuous, bass-rich sound … After the big, momentous pause at the climax of the finale (8'21'' – bar 212) I felt like applauding: I can’t remember ever having heard it prepared so effectively, or sustained so dramatically.
But by this stage Listener No. 2 was mentally pacing the room in frustration. His doubts had started almost at the beginning. Yes, those superbly controlled long phrases were commanding, imposingly beautiful, but I missed the tiny expressive inflexions that bring human intimacy to the big gestures. Bruckner is often surprisingly particular in his expression markings; Rattle certainly doesn’t ignore them, yet they are drawn into that grand smoothness, like the sweep of an immense Gothic arch. That’s the quality that stands out in the noble cello melody at the heart of the first movement development: in the hands of a great interpreter – a Furtwangler, a Horenstein or a Walter – it aspires, falls back darkly, rises again, within the space of a few notes. Here the emotion is generalized: a statement rather than a subtly evolving process. The Moderato second theme of the Adagio is very similar (and very slow) – in fact that was my feeling about the Adagio as a whole, despite the thrillingly engineered climax. The playing in the coda is beautiful, but it doesn’t touch.
And where is the humour in the Scherzo and finale? Yes, I do mean humour: at one point in the Scherzo Bruckner wrote the word Spottvogel (literally, “mocking bird”) at the top of the page. For all his monumental aspirations, Bruckner also had a valuable sense of self-mockery. It comes across (or should come across) in delicious little shafts in both these movements. It’s there – surprisingly – even in such deeply serious, architecture-conscious versions as the undervalued Klemperer or the old Karajan. Herbert Blomstedt (Denon, 8/86 – nla) also has a rare feeling for it – rare among modern recordings, that is. And it’s that consideration that finally compels me to side with Listener No. 2. As a painter of grand landscapes or mighty cathedrals, Rattle may have no peers amongst contemporary conductors, but Bruckner’s broader canvases are incomplete without human figures. There is a worrying trend in modern Bruckner performance: to concentrate on the monumental at the expense of the human. This new recording will do nothing to allay it.'