Bruckner: Symphony no. 3 in D Minor
Philharmonia Orchestra; Lovro von Matačić, conductor.
BBC Legends. Recorded live, July 1983, Royal Albert Hall (BBC Proms). Digital transfer from Telefunken-Mitsubishi X-80. Compact disc.
A Bruckner Specialist’s Testament: Matačić’s Live Third
The eighty-four-year-old Lovro von Matačić appeared at the Proms only once—in July 1983, partnered with the Philharmonia Orchestra he’d known since the 1950s. An occasion, then. And what did this Croatian maestro choose for what would prove his sole appearance in that august series? Bruckner’s Third Symphony, naturally. The man had recorded the Fourth for Walter Legge back in 1954, the first Bruckner symphony ever committed to disc by a British orchestra, and had accumulated a formidable discography of the composer’s works across his long career. When you’ve lived with these scores for half a century, you don’t need to prove anything anymore. You simply show what you know.
What makes this BBC Legends release extraordinary—beyond the interpretation itself—is the sound. Put aside any reservations about archival broadcasts. This was captured on one of the BBC’s early digital machines, a Telefunken-Mitsubishi X-80 (only two hundred ever manufactured), and the engineers had to track down a working model at the National Museum of Photography in Bradford just to transfer the tape. The result? Pristine. The timpani have genuine weight and presence, the brass section projects with burnished clarity, and there’s air around the instruments—that crucial sense of the Royal Albert Hall’s acoustic space that so many recordings flatten into two-dimensional mush. Turn this on and you’re there, summer evening, 1983.
Now, the thorny matter of which Bruckner Third we’re actually hearing. The liner notes claim the 1877 edition, but Matačić—like many conductors of his generation—took a pragmatic approach to textual purity. He’s clearly interpolated passages from the 1889 revision, most noticeably in the "scherzo"’s coda, where the truncated ending supplants the 1877 version. Purists seeking the original 1873 score (Nowak’s edition based on the Wagner dedication manuscript) should turn to Inbal on Teldec or Tintner on Naxos. But let’s be honest: the Third remains problematic in any version, a work from Bruckner’s journeyman years before he achieved the architectural mastery of the Fifth or Eighth.
Matačić understands this—and that understanding informs every bar of his interpretation. In the first movement he takes the long view, shaping the vast paragraphs with a flexibility that never feels arbitrary. His tempo shifts are seamless, the mark of a maestro who knows exactly where the structural fault lines lie and how to navigate them. The cellos dig into their lines with particular fervor here, encouraged to really lean into Bruckner’s yearning phrases. When the recapitulation arrives, Matačić has prepared it with such quiet inevitability that the moment carries genuine emotional weight. No fanfare. Just rightness.
The "adagio" poses different challenges. Even in the revised versions, this movement can seem meandering, its material not quite cohesive enough to sustain Bruckner’s expansive design. Matačić responds with directness and nobility—he doesn’t dawdle, doesn’t indulge in false profundity. There’s an urgent, questing quality to his performance that acknowledges the music’s flaws while making the strongest possible case for its beauties. The Philharmonia strings produce a warm, burnished sound that helps immeasurably.
The "scherzo" benefits from Matačić’s rhythmic acuity. He establishes a steady, propulsive pulse without rigidity, and the contrast with the bucolic trio—which he sets dancing with real charm—feels organic rather than imposed. The full brass reproduction captures the movement’s rustic vigor splendidly.
And then the "finale". Here’s where even Matačić’s advocacy meets its limits. Bruckner simply didn’t solve the problem of this movement—the material isn’t strong enough, the architecture not sufficiently compelling to crown the symphony with the kind of triumph he would later achieve. Matačić does his best, and it’s a very good best indeed. The “polka” sections (that peculiar Bruckner invention) contrast memorably with the chorale passages, and he keeps things moving so the music never outstays its welcome. The coda emerges with genuine grandeur, a sense of hard-won triumph that almost—almost—convinces you the journey was worth it.
The Philharmonia plays superbly throughout, responding to their aging guest with warmth and commitment. You can hear it in the unanimity of attack, the tonal beauty of the strings, the confident bloom of the brass. They’d worked with Matačić for thirty years; the mutual trust is audible.
This release stands as testament to a real Bruckner specialist, a conductor too often overlooked when the pantheon of great Brucknerians is assembled. The sound quality alone would justify its place in any collection. But it’s Matačić’s wisdom—his ability to shape these problematic pages with conviction while acknowledging their limitations—that makes this more than a curiosity. A gem from the archives, indeed, and one that rewards repeated listening.
