The Spectator magazine is home to wonderful writing, insightful analysis and unrivaled books and arts reviews.

Subscribe today for just £12 and receive a 12-week subscription in print and online,

along with a free £20 £10,000 or waitrose voucher.

Go to spectator.com.uk forward slash voucher.

Welcome to Holy Smoke, the Spectator's Religion podcast.

I'm Damien Thompson.

At a time when Christian religious observance is collapsing in the West,

it might seem strange that there's a growing appetite for the music of a composer whose work is inextricable from his Christian faith, particularly when that faith is routinely described, in his case, as simple, naive adherence to the doctrines and pious customs of 19th century Austrian Catholicism,

peasant Catholicism, as it's usually described. I can only be describing Anton Bruckner, of course,

and let's start with some qualifications. Growing appetite for his music is highlighted by the fact that 2024 marks the

200th anniversary of his birth, so inevitably we'll be hearing more about him than usual. And it is

confined, unfortunately, to people who listen to classical music, and that, despite much hyped initiatives

to make the art full more accessible, is still a depressingly small minority of the public.

Also, Brookner, despite the remarkable posthumous transformation with his fortunes, is never going to

fit into a playlist of classical hits.

His giant symphonies aren't easy to get into, less so than Marlas, for example, because there's

so much less variety and no crowd-pleasing special effects. Despite moments of high drama

and the sweetness of Brookner's melodies,

there is an underlying austerity and seriousness of purpose

that grows organically and magnificently from one symphony to the next.

It's become a cliché to describe them as cathedrals in sound,

but it's a good cliché. From symphony number two onwards,

...