Where does Anton Bruckner take us at the start of his Eighth Symphony? An emergent pianissimo tremolando on violins signals an ominous first theme that rears up on the lower strings (violas and downwards). Clarinets wail in pathetic protest before the entire orchestra awakes from slumber, like disgruntled gods on Olympus, and thunders the same material across whatever mountain ranges or gravelly ravines fill your imagination. Paavo Järvi and his Zürich-Tonhalle Orchestra have the whole scenic spectrum securely within earshot (on Alpha 987, c£12.60), whether rugged rock faces or the wider skies beyond. There’s not a ‘Bruckner-cliché’ cathedral in sight. This is a magical mystery tour and make no mistake.  Fanciful? Not as played on this magnificent performance.

OK, to digress for a moment, let me ask you this. What do you do if you encounter a recording of a piece that knocks your socks off? As soon as it ends press the replay button, which is fine if it’s a Scarlatti sonata or a Beethoven overture. But a Bruckner Symphony lasting 82 minutes (Järvi’s overall timing for his presentation of Nowak’s edition of the Eighth)? I freely admit that as soon as Järvi and his players had galloped elatedly across the Symphony’s closing straight, wherever it was they’d transported me to I wanted to go there again. And I did precisely that.

Bruckner asks for his heart-warming second idea to be played broadly and expressively and Järvi takes him at his word: he coaxes the loveliest of sounds from his Zurich strings but before long we’re back in the thick of the action, most massively at the movement’s centre (8:18 here) where that opening theme is declaimed by the brass while the strings revisit the baleful theme that the clarinets had warned us about at the movement’s beginning. I point this out because aside from stressing the music’s sense of mystery, Järvi is also alive to its structural logic. And if you follow the music from there, you’re also aware of his sensitivity to the score’s quieter details, the countless poetic phrases that dovetail between smaller instrumental groups.

Heading towards the first movement’s coda who else makes you so acutely aware of a repeated three-note brass motive that edges in as the ascent is under way, or the timpani’s crucial role in this intimidating marche macabre. It’s interesting that Bruckner marks both the first and second movements allegro moderato, at least initially. Järvi’s scherzo is more a robust allegro con brio, on straight terra firma this time with rolling hills on either side until we reach the intermezzo-like trio section, which although swifter than the norm is played with the utmost elegance. Järvi judges the balance of quiet strings and brass at the great Adagio’s opening to perfection. Likewise, the way the winds intone aspects of the principal theme against ornamental violin figurations at 10:39. Both here and in the finale Järvi judges Bruckner’s imposing climaxes with a rare exactitude.

The finale itself storms in like a bat our of hell, then calms for a while before leaping into the fray again. This is one of Bruckner’s most problematic movements what with its constant shifts in tempo and changes in perspective, but Järvi takes each episode as it comes, catching a significant thematic reference on the wing here, or a tender interlude there. The Symphony’s coda becomes a ‘feelgood’ affirmation in the face of everything that has gone before, and Järvi treats it as such. He’s helped along the way by recording producer Philip Traugott, balance engineer Jean-Marie Geijsen and the rest of the team. Aside from being a musical triumph, this is also a considerable achievement from a purely audio-technical point of view. There’s a Järvi/Tonhalle Seventh out there too (Alpha 932) so I’ll need to catch up with that.

Please don’t get me wrong. I do know my favourite ‘great Bruckner Eights’- Furtwängler, Celibidache, Böhm, Szell, Rosbaud, Schuricht, Giulini, Karajan, van Beinum, and others. Can Järvi justifiably join their ranks? That’s the point I want to make. He can, well and truly. If you love this work as much as I do, Järvi’s Zurich Eighth simply has to be heard.