A nine year-old boy, spellbound by his first musical experience at the Concertgebouw, rises to become the orchestra's principal conductor at just 35 years of age. A little more than 25 years later, the dream comes to an end when Bernard Haitink decided to end his celebrated tenure with the Concertgebouw. Now, six years later, the classical label Philips documents Haitink's discographic achievements by compiling and re-releasing six of his symphonic cycles, namely Brahms, Beethoven, Bruckner, Mahler, Tchaikovsky, and Schumann.

With Philips marketing the sets in the middle price range for compact discs, the savvy buyer can pick up the Brahms cycle for less than $35 dollars in the coupon-saturated Square. However, one might be disappointed to discover Philip's unorthodox packaging scheme--the discs are stored in TyvekTM sleeves within cardboard boxes, rather than in the traditional jewel-box trappings. But external aesthetics aside, what of the music itself?

To begin, one might consider that the tyrant-weary Berlin Philharmonic eyed him as a potential successor to von Karajan's chief conducting post, not necessarily for his musical worth, but because he was the one of the least oppressive candidates. This characteristic colors his entire artistic output--Haitink has been renowned for utter reliability and dependability, never for willful or idiosyncratic interpretations. Those seeking musical histrionics should look elsewhere. His sound can be counted on not to offend conventional acoustic sensibilities, but his middle-of-the-road path ensures that his interpretations will almost never be terribly memorable.

If any conductor's work could be named a touchstone for musical integrity and honesty, it would be Haitink's. But by the very virtue of being the reference point, it precludes any claim at being truly exceptional. If Giuseppe Sinopoli is slightly curdled milk, and Carlos Kleiber five-alarm jalapeno peppers, then Haitink must be of the bread-and-butter variety--filling, but does it taste great?

One consistent gripe that I have throughout the recorded works (the four Brahms symphonies on three discs, and the two serenades on a fourth disc), it is some criticism for the sound engineering. Quite typically from Philips, the sound sparkles with digital clarity and is graced by a glossy sheen, but the engineers have failed to compensate for the Concertgebouw Hall's famed reverberation. Even though orchestral entrances are almost always well-synchronized, the subsequent lag time in the hall results in an acoustic clouding that renders the sound more two-dimensional than one might expect. Very exposed passages (e.g. the wind soli at the beginning of the second symphony's Allegretto grazioso) suffer less from the reverberation, and the sheen makes up for the slight lack of warmth. A final quibble: the effect of dynamic contrast is also dulled to a certain extent, with the ends seemingly a bit truncated at both ends of the spectrum.

The first symphony seems to me a bit lacking in the quality for which early critics dubbed it "Beethoven's Tenth Symphony." For example, at the moment of maximum dramatic impact, the brass chorale before the final coda in the last movement, Haitink plows right on through, almost as if anxious to leave it behind him. Brahms delayed writing this symphony for over 20 years, fearing that he would forever remain in the shadow of Beethoven. However, it seems here that Haitink might be the one who feels himself in the shadows of the great symphonists.

Haitink's recording of the second symphony begins a little cold-blooded for my taste, perhaps adhering to Brahms' wishes of putting "a black edge around the score to give an outward show of grief," but it quickly picks up more and more of the infectious charm that characterizes this beloved piece.

Though he never throws restraint entirely to the winds, I would guess that Haitink perspires quite a bit in the last movement, ending with a satisfying rendition of the tiered descending scales and "stuck car-horn" trombone soli.

The rendition of the third symphony seems less calculated than that of its cousins, but the tension is not uniformly kept up through the inner movements, although I appreciate the subtle interplay between the inner voices that abounds in the second and third movements (including a wayward timpani mallet about 18 seconds into the second movement). While Haitink receives my praise for sustaining the momentum in the sublime cello theme of the third movement, I still wish that he had felt just a little more free to lose himself in its glory. Typically, he avoids excessively punching the off-beat accents in the final movement, but compared to Neeme Jarvi's Chandos recording, it sounds a bit anemic.

I cannot help but hold the recording of the fourth symphony against the standard of Carlos Kleiber's intensely gripping account on Deutsche Grammophon. Haitink does not fare badly at all, and his treatment of the elaborate passacaglia structure of the fourth movement is thoroughly admirable, including the difficult horn chorale.

Perhaps not too surprisingly, it is in the ancillary "filler" pieces where Haitink really shines with surprising passion - the Tragic and Academic Festive Overtures, the two serenades, the Variations on a Theme by Haydn, and the only three Hungarian dances that Brahms rescored for orchestra. The two overtures have plenty of flair to spare, and the Hungarian dances, number one in particular, simply scintillate. Haitink gives sensitive accounts of both serenades, and the jaunty conclusion of the Serenade in D deserves special mention.

Admittedly, buying a box set is always somewhat of a dicey proposition, but this particular set's very attractive price and solid readings will make a worthy addition to a serious collection.