It’s disturbing how proud some music-lovers are about detesting Bruckner

There was a pleasing simplicity about the Glasshouse’s Big Bruckner Weekend. Five concerts, five major works, just one composer. You went big or you went home, and in truth that’s usually the deal with old Anton; in the words of the The Bluffer’s Guide to Music: ‘Bruckner just didn’t write pleasant little recommendable pieces.’ But it was striking how much more manageable he felt in this context. With a single work per concert, even the most obstinate Brucknerphobe was confronted with no more than 80 minutes of music at a sitting. No distractions, then – with the added sweetener of hearing a state-of-the-nation showcase of four leading British orchestras before teatime on Sunday.

It certainly made for a fascinating thought experiment. It’s Bruckner’s bicentenary year, and this lonely, visionary master still seems as divisive as ever. Richard Morrison, in the Times, recently called him a ‘Marmite composer’, and it’s disturbingly easy to find music-lovers who’ll tell you, with a hint of pride, that they detest his work.