The power of music

After two weeks of being sidetracked by other topics (here and here), I can finally get to the column with which I originally intended to kick off the year—a reflection on some musical discoveries over the festive season. 2025 may already be shaping up to be as turbulent as its predecessor, but let’s set all that aside for the moment. Instead, I shall indulge in the far more pleasurable act of diving into some sonic delights and minor disappointments.

Over the holidays, I finally got around to listening to the excellent Songs of a Lost World, The Cure’s latest album, and picked up a Jacques Brel double box set for a mere five euros at a flea market. The sheer theatricality of Brel’s performances, his ability to shift from biting cynicism to overwhelming tenderness, remains unparalleled. Even after all these years, his music retains the raw intensity of someone who is living every word he sings. Listening again, I was reminded of why I first fell in love with his work—the poetry, the power, the sheer bravado of it all.

The great Bessie Smith, an artist who has held a special place in my heart since childhood, was also added to my collection via a brace of old vinyls. My father was a huge admirer, and there’s something about her voice—the rich, deep timbre, the raw emotion—that cuts straight through. Hearing her sing again, I was struck by how she could take the most heartbreaking lyrics and infuse them with both suffering and resilience. She is, without a doubt, a titan of the Blues, and revisiting her work was like a homecoming. I also came across some Genesis records (Nursery Cryme and Foxtrot), both of which reaffirmed my love of their early, eccentric brilliance.

On the classical front, I unearthed an excellent Ariane et Barbe-Bleue by Paul Dukas, conducted by Armin Jordan, and a recording of Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet, conducted by Gennady Rozhdestvensky (both on vinyl), and—perhaps best of all—the new 22-CD box set of Charles Ives recordings from Sony.

Ives is a composer whose music demands full attention, never content to slink into the background. It yanks you into its world—sometimes knocking you off balance with its eccentric Americana, sometimes tugging at the heartstrings with unexpected beauty. With this box set featuring interpretations by Leonard Bernstein, Eugene Ormandy and Morton Gould among others, the recordings offer Ives the space he needs to shine—each conductor bringing a different shade to his multifaceted, often chaotic, but always intriguing music.

But the biggest musical revelations of the season came with two grand German projects: Sir Simon Rattle’s ongoing Ring Cycle recordings and the latest cycle of Bruckner symphonies. One of these was a triumph. The other... well, we’ll get to that.

Finally having the first three operas of Wagner’s Ring Cycle on CD rather than via subpar digital files allowed me to experience them properly. I talked earlier in 2024 about my initial impressions of Rattle’s Siegfried, using what I think of as the try-before-you-buy Apple Music streaming service. For me, it is a great way to experience new and new-to-me music without having to purchase the (much higher quality) physical copy until I am sure I want it.

But back to the operas. Rattle’s interpretation brings freshness and lightness to the cycle without losing its dramatic weight. Das Rheingold breathes—it’s not rushed into bombast, but given space to unfold, allowing us to absorb the musical architecture as Wagner intended. It reminded me of the way a great Shakespearean actor delivers the opening soliloquies—setting the stage for the grandeur to come without overwhelming us from the outset.

Die Walküre and Siegfried continue this trend, offering real emotional engagement. In particular, Act Two, Scene Two of Siegfried is rendered with rare poignancy, offering a moment of reflection before the action resumes. The pause before Brünnhilde’s awakening in Act III is another standout moment, giving the scene an intensity that many conductors rush past. This is a Ring that feels alive, where characters are not just mythic archetypes but three-dimensional beings with inner lives.

This does not mean I will be abandoning my favorite Ring interpretations—Barenboim, Janowski, and Weigle all remain dear to me. But Rattle has added something very valuable to the mix, and I’m eagerly anticipating his Götterdämmerung to see if he brings the same level of insight to the cycle’s climactic conclusion.

I would also like to add a note about the packaging for these operas, which comes with a beautifully designed booklet, full libretto and insightful essays. It turns the boxes into desirable objects. Compare this to reading a PDF on Apple Music, and there’s no contest. Listening to great music should be a tangible experience, something to be explored and savored.

Then there is the recording itself. It is clear and detailed without being overwhelming, which is a rare feat hardly achieved in this day and age. There is a genuine warmth and sense of presence that is not a million miles away from the classic Philips recordings of the 1970s and 1980s, in which you feel as if you are present the room with them, rather than participating in a sonic overload experiment.

On to Bruckner. It was his 200th birthday in 2024, and the anniversary celebrations brought a flood of new recordings. Two major complete symphony cycles landed: Christian Thielemann’s greatly anticipated set with the Vienna Philharmonic and Markus Poschner’s lighter, more fleet-footed approach on Capriccio (later boxed by Naxos). My anticipation was high. My patience, unfortunately, was tested.

Both cycles suffer from the same core issue: a lack of commitment—not from the players, who are impeccable, but from the conductors. Thielemann, whose Wagner interpretations I admire, delivers readings that feel oddly detached. The depth and architectural grandeur of Bruckner’s music remain intact, but the emotional resonance is lacking.

Poschner, by contrast, offers a refreshingly transparent approach, reminiscent of historically informed Beethoven symphony cycles—lighter textures, clear instrumental lines and a sense of agility. It’s an interesting perspective, but ultimately, Bruckner’s music thrives on weight and depth, and this cycle, while impressive in its clarity, lacks emotional heft.

It’s a strange time for Bruckner interpretation. Gone are the days of conductors imposing their personalities onto the symphonies (the grand edifice approach of the Big German Conductors is firmly in the past, thankfully). But in its place, we now have a kind of clinical neutrality—performances so polished and technically perfect that they lack soul. Listening to these new cycles, I found myself, for the first time, experiencing an emotion I never expected to associate with Bruckner: boredom.

For those seeking a more compelling Bruckner experience, I’d direct you to Georg Tintner’s deeply felt interpretations on Naxos or the absorbing Stanisław Skrowaczewski cycle, originally on Arte Nova and now rescued from obscurity by Oehms. These recordings capture not just the notes, but the aching spirituality and sheer humanity of Bruckner’s symphonic world.

And so, as we step gingerly into the new year, I find myself reflecting on what truly matters in music: engagement, curiosity and, above all, emotion. Whether it’s Ives shaking you awake, Brel tearing your heart open, Wagner pulling you into a mythical universe or Bessie Smith reminding you what it is to feel, the best music demands your attention. Here’s to another year of letting music work its magic.