This is a disc even more impressive than Biddulph’s 
                collection of Bach recordings made 
                by these duo partners in the 1930s. If the Beethoven betrays some 
                idiosyncrasies it’s always engaging but the Dubois-Maas heartland 
                of the Franco-Belgian repertoire could not be more persuasively 
                explored than by these two embodiments of style and tonal nuance. 
                Dubois was born in 1898 and studied in Brussels. After leaving 
                the Conservatoire he moved in Ysaÿe’s orbit between the years 
                1917 and 1920, won prestigious competitions and teamed up in a 
                sonata duo with Marcel Maas. After his mentor’s death he was the 
                pre-eminent Belgian soloist, a position he was to hold for the 
                rest of his sadly curtailed life. A late 1930s tour of America 
                couldn’t be cemented because of the outbreak of war, during which 
                he formed a quartet and taught – his most famous pupil being Arthur 
                Grumiaux; both were superb Bach players – and he taught at the 
                Brussels Conservatoire for over twenty years. He died in 1949. 
                Maas’s career of course is more widely known – he lived on into 
                the age of the LP but his earlier recordings may come as a welcome 
                exploration of his youthful sonata playing. 
              
 
              
The Beethoven Sonata, as I said, has its peculiarities. 
                It may seem somewhat brusque at moments but the compensations 
                are Maas’s beautiful clarity in the slow movement, the splendid 
                balance between the two, their ability to sustain slow tempi, 
                and Dubois’s classical lyricism and subtle bowing arm, those greater 
                gradations of colouristic potential that players of the Franco-Belgian 
                schools found. Dubois’s delightful little inflexions animate the 
                finale wonderfully well. 
              
 
              
I have to admit that when it comes to listening 
                to the Franck I sometimes find myself wondering, not to put too 
                fine a point on it, where exactly I am in the work. Some performers 
                seem incapable or unwilling to distinguish paragraphs and movements; 
                the work becomes sectional, undifferentiated and uniform, a cyclical 
                exercise in static music making. Even fine musicians come badly 
                unstuck, as badly as they do for different reasons in the Mendelssohn 
                Violin Concerto. Music critics can shower superlatives like confetti 
                or denigrate with easy aplomb – but this really is a magnificent 
                performance. Dubois is neither smeary nor tensile; his portamenti 
                are acutely judged and employed without an obvious intermediate 
                note. Maas is reflective, his bass weighted sensitively. The sense 
                of musical and emotive deliberation is palpable, their shading 
                of colours and of volume in no way vitiated by a couple of little 
                violinistic intonational buckles toward the end of the first movement. 
                Dubois varies his intensity of phrasing in repeated passages, 
                adjusts his vibrato and together with Maas characterises each 
                movement with absolute authority. In a performance such as this 
                the sense of emotional engagement, expressive intimacy and of 
                musical inevitability are paramount. The tempo of the finale, 
                as elsewhere, seems just right, the elasticity and drama unfolded 
                with perfect judgement. Of all the performances I’ve heard of 
                this work – even Thibaud and Cortot’s, even Heifetz’s – none seems 
                to me to make more musical sense than this one, and few sound 
                so attractive and sympathetic. 
              
 
              
The Debussy should be meat and drink to Dubois 
                and Maas and indeed it is. There is an idiomatic freshness in 
                the playing, a perfect accommodation of the sonata’s changeability 
                and malleability. Dubois is here the living embodiment of the 
                Franco-Belgian school; not as sensuous or evocative a tonalist 
                as Thibaud, of course – who could be – but one whose tonal limits 
                work entirely directly and with sure fidelity. One can listen 
                to him for example in the Intermède as his tone becomes 
                suggestively leaner, as his portamento elegance moves incalculably 
                from refinement to rhythmic coyness. Dubois and Maas are true 
                partners and their performance is a true classic of the gramophone. 
              
 
              
Tully Potter reprises his notes to this issue 
                and he is rightly laudatory. I suggested in my notes to the Bach 
                disc that Dubois was a connoisseur’s violinist. Be a connoisseur 
                and admire his remarkable musicianship. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf