Turn straight to the Scherzo of Mario Venzago’s Fifth for a Ländler of considerable charm and subtle clumsiness, albeit on a chamber scale with the 40-something players of the Tapiola Sinfonietta, based in the Finnish city of Espoo: they pull on the country clogs of Mahler’s childhood Ländler-memories, not the more-or-less polished army boots of traditional performances.

Elsewhere, specifically wherever Adagio is marked, disorientation sets in: you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d bought an LP and set the turntable to 45, or even 78. Remember Robert Simpson’s oft-quoted remark that Bruckner’s music not only demands patience but embodies it? Venzago has no truck with that. Even so, the resemblance to Neeme Järvi’s dash though the symphony is skin-deep. In the Adagio proper, the playing is consciously rustic to often touching effect; in the double fugue of the finale, I think they’re just trying to keep up as Venzago hares from chorale post to cadence point like an over-zealous PE instructor. But if you have followed him this far, you’ll certainly want to hear his final and most iconoclastic assault on the canon. One-in-a-bar Bruckner is bracing like a cold shower after a 10k run is bracing. One-in-a-bar Schubert, such as he argues for the Unfinished in his lengthy booklet apologia: that could be seriously interesting.

In almost every way Georg Tintner’s rehearse-record performance with the London Symphony Orchestra at Maida Vale Studios in 1969 embodies the values against which Venzago has chosen to set himself. Testament’s booklet contains an essay by Tintner’s widow Tanya which is almost too candid: the conductor had never previously been afforded the chance to tackle the Fifth – indeed had only done the Fourth and Seventh in concert before – and the orchestra had never played it. This is evident throughout but so is an innate grasp of Bruckner’s symphonic architecture. The contrasting ideas of the first movement need the space that Tintner affords if they’re not to crash into each other like a Cubist nightmare. To set the contrast between him and Venzago in plain terms, would Bruckner really write his lengthiest, most complex finale only to cap it with a village-band knees-up rather than a paean to the Almighty?