As an interpreter of Bruckner, Marek Janowski steers a straight centre course, avoiding both what you might call marmoreal posturing (Karajan, Celibidache) and the vicissitudes of mood and tempo that characterise the interpretations of (for example) Furtwängler, Jochum and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Kubelík. Janowski’s approach is more along the lines of Volkmar Andreae, Hans Rosbaud, Stanislaw Skrowaczewski and Kurt Masur, and this Eighth is a good example of how well that approach can work.

Interesting that the first two movements seem slower than they actually are: both fall short of the quarter-hour mark and yet the weight of tone, consistency of tempo and the general preference for linear rather than shapely phrasing (especially in the opening phrases) lead to a certain feeling of measured austerity. The second and third movements work best. Listen to the almost tactile brush of resin across the basses at the start of the Adagio, then follow the cellos from 12'09", their dialogue with the violins and, later, the brass, the way Janowski allows the music to breathe, never pushing the tempo or excessively holding back to heighten the expressive effect (ie for the brass at 13'53").

Janowski coaxes the basses to lean heavily for the build-up towards the cathartic central climax at 15'51", and the impact of the climax itself is overwhelming. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the finale bound in at a more perfectly judged tempo, accelerating almost imperceptibly for the opening bars, then steadying so that brass make their full effect. And when the opening motif returns at 14'10", there’s the fury of the string-playing, rendered all the more effective because the episodes that surround this crucial passage have been so well prepared, tempo-wise – breadth, control and precision being obvious priorities. The sound is excellent, the woodwinds (the bassoon especially) always clear, although at times I would have welcomed more prominently focused timpani.

Just where Janowski’s Eighth stands in the overall scheme of things will be largely down to personal taste. If you prefer looser limbs and greater agility, with a few flames added, then Kubelík’s 1977 Bavarian Radio broadcast (BR-Klassik) is unbeatable. Furtwängler, whether in Vienna or Berlin, takes a similar approach a few steps further and pushes on the heat in the process, while Skrowaczewski (Arte Nova) marries breadth with visceral excitement. Karajan’s huge sonorities in Berlin (EMI, DG) and Maazel’s ecstatic projection in Munich (BR-Klassik, 2/11) both warrant close attention – and those are just some of the best representatives in a huge, heady crowd of options spread across various editions of the score. Still, Janowski (who uses the familiar 1890 version edited by Leopold Nowak) neither exaggerates nor falsifies, so I can’t imagine anyone who isn’t especially concerned with strongly personalised interpretation being disappointed.