The first release in Iván Fischer’s ongoing Bruckner series, featuring the exultant Symphony No. 7, alerted us to a vibrantly different view of the great Austrian composer. Everything feels tinglingly alive—contrapuntal lines emerge with unusual clarity, generating wave upon wave of excited anticipation, driving the music on with a sense of unstoppable forward momentum (“music is like a river, not a lake,” Fischer beams enthusiastically). Rather than the usual “cathedral of sound,” cloaking the music in a mist of legato resonance, instrumental families, woodwind especially, emerge with beguiling individuality and striking impact. Now, at 70, the same age as when Bruckner composed it, Fischer has recorded the valedictory Symphony No. 9. “To understand and deeply feel Bruckner’s music, it helps to be old,” he tells Apple Music with a twinkle in his eye. “I am much too young. Maybe I should have waited 10 or 20 more years because I am sure that my Bruckner performances will be even better when I’m 80 or 90! I get such an immediate feeling whenever I conduct Bruckner: it somehow gets under my skin and hits me in the stomach. It possesses an overwhelming beauty and elevation, like being taken to a better world.” The Ninth is Bruckner’s final symphonic statement; like Beethoven, one gets the impression of a new surge of creativity, reaching out beyond his previous work. It was also, sadly, left incomplete, without its intended finale, although several attempts have been made at a restoration. Fischer feels that, ultimately, we just have to accept its unfinished status. “Our culture is full of unfinished masterpieces, like Schubert’s symphony, or statues by Michelangelo,” he reasons. “Even torsos like the Venus de Milo without arms are incomplete works, which we love as they are. Bruckner’s Ninth wasn’t planned this way, but we now adore it, with the wonderful slow movement at the end. I respect those who say we are wrong, and really admire the careful work that has gone into restoring the finale. Yet it somehow never feels quite like the real thing. The genius of Bruckner is missing, so I prefer the Ninth as a magnificent torso. I also wouldn’t be happy if somebody were to replace the missing arms of the Venus de Milo—she is so beautiful without arms!” Fischer hauntingly captures the music’s innate nostalgia for things past, yet also (especially in the central “Scherzo”) its forward-thinking harmonic and rhythmic power. “Bruckner’s harmonies are completely within the classical rules,” Fischer reasons. “Every note can be accounted for. They sound modern because he sometimes extends certain chord progressions, treating time very differently from more traditional composers. Back in the 19th century, admirers of the arch-conservative Brahms considered Bruckner’s music simply ‘wrong’ because of its many innovations. Yes, Bruckner was one of the Zukunftsmusik [‘Future Music’] pioneers, using Wagner tubas and holding unresolved dissonances for an incredibly long time. But ultimately, he always resolved them, ensuring each dissonant note had a clear, traditional function. To appreciate Bruckner, one must understand this duality: tradition and innovation are both present, one in the essential harmonic outline, the other in the way it is presented.” Some conductors cannot resist the temptation to hammer out the first movement’s apocalyptic closing dotted rhythms on timpani, whereas Fischer keeps strictly to the marked continuous roll. One wonders how he felt about conductors tinkering with Bruckner’s original intentions. “They should be free to do so,” he insists. “Many friends and disciples gave advice to Bruckner on how to make his music sound even more effective. A typical example is the cymbal clash in the Seventh Symphony. Bruckner didn’t compose it because he composed notes, not noises. But he listened to the advice of more practical friends and included this theatrical gesture. To be honest, I think it sounds great. Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don’t, depending on the acoustics and on the audience. Basically, if it works, I am happy.” In the central section of the “Scherzo,” Bruckner relaxes briefly, and here Fischer creates an almost choreographic sense of dancing momentum. “I am glad that poor, lonely Bruckner is allowed to have a dance occasionally,” he smiles knowingly, before creating a powerful sense of emotional payoff in the finale, as if this is where the music has really been heading. The ending is utterly magical, and one senses this is the end of Bruckner’s journey in every way. No finale could cap this, and everything there is to say has already been said with moving eloquence. Fischer nods enthusiastically in agreement: “I especially like the legato violin line that emerges just before the last few bars and the final chord. There is an extraordinary sense of loving affection in that particular phrase, as though Bruckner is saying a fond farewell to our world [die liebe Erde—‘the wonderful Earth’] with both affection and admiration.”