Weekly SpinOn: Triumph

What does triumph sound like in classical music? It isn’t always loud or heroic. Sometimes, it’s persistent. Sometimes, joyful. At times, deeply personal — or carefully staged. This week’s playlist explores four pieces that reflect different kinds of triumph, each in its own way.

We begin with Anton Bruckner, whose life was marked by rejection and doubt. Today, he’s a cornerstone of the repertoire. His Seventh Symphony reflects that quiet perseverance — the third movement drives forward with strength and structure. Next is Emmanuel Chabrier’s Joyeuse marche: festive, witty, and full of forward momentum. It’s music that moves — like a parade, a celebration, or even a nod to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Then comes Puccini’s love duet from La Bohème. Here, triumph is intimate: two voices finding each other, briefly but completely. It’s the kind of victory that doesn’t need an audience. We end with Tchaikovsky’s Polonaise from Eugene Onegin. A brilliant, stylized display — triumph not of feeling, but of social ritual and control. The ballroom shines, even if the characters within it falter. Each track is conducted by Herbert von Karajan.

Track 1: Symphony No. 7 in E Major, WAB 107: III. Scherzo – Anton Bruckner

The Seventh Symphony marks Bruckner’s first major public triumph. Until then, he had been dismissed by critics and misunderstood by the musical elite. But this symphony was a breakthrough — especially in Germany — and finally earned him serious respect. The Scherzo, placed third in the work, is one of Bruckner’s most energetic movements: brisk, driven, and confidently structured. Its inclusion in this playlist reflects a triumph of perseverance — the success of someone who held onto his vision despite years of rejection.

Anton Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, composed between 1881 and 1883, was the first of his works to gain widespread public and critical acceptance. It premiered in Leipzig in 1884 and was met with enthusiasm—a striking contrast to the skepticism and condescension that had surrounded much of Bruckner’s earlier output. The composer, deeply devout and personally modest, had long struggled to gain the recognition he deserved. In many ways, the Seventh was his breakthrough: a work that asserted his voice clearly and without apology.

The third movement, the Scherzo, is rhythmically driven and full of momentum. Its clarity and inner propulsion make it one of Bruckner’s most accessible and impressive symphonic movements. It has the energy of a celebratory march, but filtered through Bruckner’s characteristic structural depth and precision. Within the context of this playlist, the Scherzo represents the triumph of persistence—a long-delayed moment of vindication, earned not through flamboyance, but through quiet endurance and integrity.

No other conductor did more to secure Bruckner’s place in the modern concert repertoire than Herbert von Karajan. During the mid-20th century, when Bruckner was still considered a difficult and uneven composer, Karajan championed his symphonies both in the concert hall and in the recording studio. His interpretations, particularly with the Berlin Philharmonic and the Vienna Philharmonic, brought a new architectural clarity and sonic richness to Bruckner’s music. Karajan treated Bruckner not as a marginal figure, but as a spiritual and structural equal to Beethoven.

Fittingly, the last studio recordings Karajan ever made were of Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony, taped in April 1989 with the Vienna Philharmonic at the Musikverein in Vienna. He was already in declining health at that time, and the recording has the feel of a personal summing-up—patient, luminous, and unwavering. It’s as if Karajan was closing the circle on one of the most significant artistic relationships of his life.

Today, Bruckner’s Seventh remains his most frequently performed symphony. It stands not only as a turning point in the composer’s career, but also as a lasting symbol of how music rooted in faith, structure, and conviction can, in time, triumph over doubt.

 

Track 2: Joyeuse marche – Emmanuel Chabrier

Joyeuse marche was composed by Emmanuel Chabrier in 1888, first as a solo piano piece before he orchestrated it the same year. The orchestral version quickly became a favorite in French concert life — lively, humorous, and instantly engaging. But while the title might suggest a military procession, there’s nothing heavy or aggressive in the music. It’s witty, stylish, and full of charm. If anything, it feels like a parade imagined by a painter rather than a general — full of movement and color, but without strictness or force.

Within the context of this playlist, Chabrier’s march represents a triumph of vitality — outward-facing and joyful. It’s the opposite of Bruckner’s inward, grounded strength. This is music that lives in the open, that celebrates for the sake of life itself. And in its exuberance and elegance, it feels inherently tied to Paris, the city of arches, avenues, and artistic confidence. The march could easily be imagined moving past the Arc de Triomphe, not in celebration of war, but of culture, beauty, and shared joy.

The connection to Paris is more than symbolic. Emmanuel Chabrier was an active part of the city’s musical and artistic circles — admired by composers like Ravel and Poulenc, and praised for his vivid orchestration and sense of humor. His music stood in contrast to the heavy Wagnerian trends of his time, offering a uniquely French voice: light, clear, and full of character.

 

Herbert von Karajan, though best known for his German and Austro-German repertoire, had a strong connection to French music and to Paris itself. In 1969, following the death of Charles Munch, Karajan became the first official music director of the Orchestre de Paris, which had just been founded a year earlier. His tenure lasted until 1971, and during that brief but significant period, he made several important recordings with the orchestra — including Joyeuse marche. That performance captured a rare blend: Karajan’s structural precision combined with the orchestra’s distinctively French flair. Unfortunately, the recording is not available on Spotify, but it remains an important document of Karajan’s engagement with French repertoire.

What we do have is his later recording with the Berlin Philharmonic. This version is more polished, perhaps more controlled, but still full of momentum and light. Karajan brings out the rhythmic sharpness and harmonic color in Chabrier’s score without ever letting it become caricature. Under his baton, the piece doesn’t just entertain — it radiates a kind of effortless pride.

Joyeuse marche is triumph in a different key: extroverted, smiling, and consciously elegant. It shows that celebration doesn’t always need to be serious to be meaningful. Sometimes, style itself is a kind of victory.

 

Track 3: La Bohème, Act I – O soave fanciulla – Giacomo Puccini

Puccini’s La Bohème premiered in 1896 and quickly became one of the most beloved operas in the repertoire. Its closing duet from Act I, O soave fanciulla, marks a turning point: two strangers, Mimì and Rodolfo, meet in a modest Paris apartment, and within a few minutes of shared words and glances, they fall in love. The scene is intimate, but the music soars — understated at first, then blooming into one of Puccini’s most radiant climaxes.

In this playlist, O soave fanciulla represents the triumph of love. Not a public celebration or hard-won battle, but something quieter and deeply human — two people daring to open up, to believe in something as fragile as connection. It’s a personal victory over doubt, loneliness, and hesitation. And in Puccini’s hands, this moment becomes universal.

The selected recording for this playlist is from 1972 with the Berlin Philharmonic, featuring Luciano Pavarotti and Mirella Freni in what has become a benchmark interpretation. Karajan, known for his precision and control, shows great sensitivity here. He allows the singers space to breathe and lets the orchestra glow softly beneath them — warm, supportive, and full of color.

Karajan had already collaborated with director Franco Zeffirelli on a legendary stage production at La Scala in 1963, starring Mirella Freni and Gianni Raimondi, which brought an unprecedented level of realism and emotional detail to the opera. That same vision carried over into Zeffirelli’s 1965 film version, again conducted by Karajan and featuring Freni as Mimì, this time alongside Giuseppe Giacomini as Rodolfo and Ruggero Raimondi as Colline. Though the film cast differed from the later audio recording, the artistic world created by Karajan and Zeffirelli remained consistent: lush, atmospheric, and deeply romantic.

However, in 1975, Zeffirelli’s staging was revived at the Salzburg Festival, this time with Luciano Pavarotti as Rodolfo — a performance that brought together three defining elements: Karajan’s musical leadership, Zeffirelli’s cinematic eye for the stage, and Pavarotti’s unmistakable voice. Though not preserved on film in the same way, this Salzburg production became part of the La Bohème legend.

Their collaboration blended musical and visual storytelling into something enduring. Zeffirelli’s cinematic realism matched Karajan’s expressive control, creating a vision of La Bohème that continues to shape how the opera is heard and seen to this day.

 

Track 4: Eugene Onegin – Polonaise (Act III) – Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

This playlist wouldn’t be complete without a piece that reflects triumph in its most public and formal sense — a moment where music becomes spectacle, where social power and elegance are on full display. The Polonaise from Act III of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin captures exactly that: a musical portrait of grandeur and status, performed at a high-society ball where appearances carry more weight than emotions.

The opera, based on Alexander Pushkin’s verse novel, premiered in 1879 and tells the story of emotional distance, missed opportunities, and irreversible regret. By the time the Polonaise begins in the final act, Onegin has returned to St. Petersburg and finds himself in a world of glittering decorum — a setting that now feels cold and impersonal. It’s here, amid swirling gowns and diplomatic smiles, that he sees Tatyana again, now transformed from the innocent country girl he once rejected into a confident woman of social standing.

The music itself is dazzling: full of rhythmic vitality, brilliant orchestration, and aristocratic swagger. It’s a triumph — but not of love, not of soul, not of struggle. It’s a triumph of appearance, of class and decorum. The Polonaise doesn’t speak of emotional connection; it describes a world where image rules and sentiment is kept behind closed doors.

Herbert von Karajan recorded the Polonaise with the Berlin Philharmonic, and his reading is both vibrant and controlled. He brings out the ceremonial precision of the music while allowing the underlying melancholy to breathe through the grandeur. Karajan, who had a particular affinity for Tchaikovsky’s emotional clarity and structure, lets the brass and strings shimmer with confidence — but never without weight.

In this context, the Polonaise offers a more complex kind of triumph. It reminds us that victory can sometimes come at a cost — that to succeed in the eyes of society may require the sacrifice of something deeper. It’s triumph, yes, but one touched by longing.

Together, the four tracks in this playlist trace a broad emotional landscape of what triumph can sound like. Bruckner’s Seventh stands for the triumph of artistic recognition, hard-earned and lasting. Chabrier’s Joyeuse marche captures the triumph of spirit, bright and extroverted. Puccini’s O soave fanciulla reveals the triumph of love, tender and courageous. And Tchaikovsky’s Polonaise reflects the triumph of status, glittering but distant. Each piece illuminates a different facet — together, they show how music can express victory in all its forms.

—  Pia Bernauer (Karajan Institute, Salzburg)