This original (1873) version of Bruckner's Third Symphony is his longest symphony, a work of epic intent filled with youthful fire. It has rarely been recorded and is rarely played, yet this is the work as it was meant to be. The two revisions which Bruckner published are merely scaled-down (and trussed up) versions of the music. Had Robert Haas's fully prepared and engraved edition of the 1873 version not been incinerated in a raid on Leipzig in 1944 (happily, an uncorrected proof later turned up in Winterthur) the work's recorded history might have been very different. In the event, it was not until 1977 that the Bruckner/Haas edition finally appeared in print, edited by Nowak, since when it has been recorded by Inbal (1983) and Norrington (EMI, 1/97 - nla).
The Inbal recording is admirable in almost every way, a consistently satisfying version orchestrally and technically. What it lacks is the danger and visionary daring of parts of Tintner's reading. The contrast is most marked in the first movement where Tintner, like Inbal but unlike Norrington, judges the written instruction Gemassigt, misterioso ('Moderate, mysterious') to be all-important, the alla breve instruction a secondary consideration. Yet Tintner goes further than Inbal. As early as fig A (1'23''), it is clear that persistence of pulse is not a priority. In Tintner's performance the 'statuesque juxtaposition of masses' (Robert Simpson's phrase) is the thing. In other words, he conducts the Third Symphony as he (and, indeed, all other good Brucknerians) would conduct the Fifth.
It makes for a revelatory reading of the first movement, not only in the great columnar annunciations but in the several sublimely realised points of transition. Clock-watchers will no doubt be fascinated by the relative statistics: Norrington 18'48'', Inbal 24'00'', Tintner 30'34''. In fact, the Tintner doesn't seem slow. Vivid yet profound are the words that most immediately come to mind. It is Tintner at his greatest. Coming near the end of a cycle which he knew would be the end of both his career and his life, it is a worthy memorial.
The sound he draws from the RSNO - the strings in particular - has an almost Sibelian spareness to it, as does the recording, where space has been cleared for tuttis that are clear, fierce, and unclaustrophobic. Clearing space involves keeping the orchestra slightly at a distance, at some cost to the winds - the woodwinds in particular - in the two outer movements and in the otherwise wonderfully vibrant and beautifully paced Scherzo and Trio.
As has occasionally been the case with these Tintner recordings, the finale makes less of a mark. The playing of the polka in the crucial polka-cum-chorale seems under-rehearsed, bland and uninvolved; a pity since this juxtaposition of dance hall and funeral rite is one of Bruckner's most graphic inventions. '