This disc does not offer much in the way of diversity. Out 
                  of the four tone poems, only Suk’s Fantasy is close to 
                  a concerto in its variety of mood, big orchestral gusts and 
                  violin bravura. The other three are more like orchestral tapestries 
                  with the leading part taken by the violin. Much of the music 
                  is pastoral, reflective – and poetic, which is echoed in the 
                  titles of the works and of the entire album. As Julia Fischer 
                  tells in an interview which can be accessed from her site, the 
                  idea was to put together four works that belong to more or less 
                  same period and style. By laying out the similarities, especially 
                  of the three shorter works - the more extrovert Suk departs 
                  most significantly from the rest - the performers also manage 
                  to underline their differences. This is ingenious. Indeed, for 
                  me the three works always belonged to the same “cloud” of soft, 
                  pastoral music. But when they are put side by side, I saw how 
                  very different they were. I now know each one of them much better 
                  and more deeply. 
                  
                  Respighi’s Poema autunnale is melancholic and 
                  nostalgic, but not sad. This music is amorphous. It lives in 
                  the moment. The feelings pass by slowly, like leaves in the 
                  autumn air. This is music of meditation, of external beauty 
                  that belongs to the Nature, where we are only the beholders. 
                  There is a more active episode, with folksy character – depicting 
                  autumn festivities. Respighi referred in his program to fauns 
                  and bacchantes. 
                  
                  Suk’s Fantasy starts as a stormy ballad. It is essentially 
                  a one-movement violin concerto in free form, with lyrical and 
                  agitated episodes. It at times bears an uncanny resemblance 
                  to the contemporary Sibelius Concerto. There aren’t many works 
                  that can claim that. Even so it retains an unmistakable Czech 
                  face. The violin writing is masterful and virtuosic; the sound 
                  is not heavy even in the loudest places. We witness a sequence 
                  of beautifully painted characteristic scenes. 
                  
                  In Chausson’s Poème the gloomy, troubled introduction 
                  leads into the main Allegro. There are typical romantic 
                  climaxes along the way. The violin sings, here even more than 
                  in the other works. This is the passionate heart of this collection. 
                  The recording balance puts the violin more forward, which certainly 
                  favours this piece. It seems that the balance was set differently 
                  for each work: in the Vaughan Williams, for example, the violin 
                  blends more with the orchestra, as if growing from its center. 
                  This is also very fitting for this work. 
                    
                  The Lark Ascending shares the relaxed mood of the Respighi, 
                  but its music is more thematically unified. The middle episode 
                  is vigorous and joyous, clearly based on the English folk tradition. 
                  The lark ascends on air currents and updrafts. The violin is 
                  the lark, and the orchestra is the supporting air. The orchestration 
                  is for the most part sparse, transparent, just sufficient to 
                  support the violin-bird, which soars and circles, and in the 
                  end disappears into the vast and open firmament, leaving us 
                  with the feeling of happiness and freedom. 
                  
                  The violin is a demanding instrument. Until you reach a certain 
                  level, anything will sound amateur; after you reached it, even 
                  the simple scales sound beautiful. It’s not like this with the 
                  piano, for example. But there is the next step, which distinguishes 
                  between just good playing – and that aaaah feeling. Julia 
                  Fischer gives us this aaaah constantly. She knows how 
                  to make beautiful notes and phrases, yet plays without schmaltz 
                  and utmost sincerity. As in an impressionist painting, where 
                  one wrong brushstroke can ruin the harmony, here one poorly 
                  judged intonation can break the balance. Fischer is very careful 
                  with her sounds, and each one is measured and blended into the 
                  fabric. She does not yet “own” these pieces, is still a bit 
                  timid around them and some strain is evident in the dense passages. 
                  But all this, in my eyes, only adds poignancy. The tone of her 
                  instrument is not too pretty: sometimes a bit metallic, but 
                  never thin – it is a strong mezzo-soprano. This “naturalness” 
                  brings it closer to the human voice, and grips the soul. 
                  
                  The orchestra conducted by Yakov Kreizberg is a true partner, 
                  agile and light. In the more lyrical places, the softly murmuring 
                  orchestra weaves radiant veils and helps to create that autumnal 
                  ambience. Kreizberg chooses breathing tempi and varies them 
                  wisely. All soloing instruments, especially the woodwinds, are 
                  excellent. The entire disc radiates purity. 
                  
                  This was the last recording made by Yakov Kreizberg. May the 
                  memory of him be as beautiful and pure as this music. When the 
                  musician goes forever, the music remains. Let me quote the ending 
                  of George Meredith’s poem The Lark Ascending, which inspired 
                  the music that closes this beautiful and eloquent disc:- 
                  
                  Wherefore their soul in me, or mine, 
                  Through self-forgetfulness divine, 
                  In them, that song aloft maintains, 
                  To fill the sky and thrill the plains 
                  With showerings drawn from human stores, 
                  As he to silence nearer soars, 
                  Extends the world at wings and dome, 
                  More spacious making more our home, 
                  Till lost on his aërial rings 
                  In light, and then the fancy sings. 
                    
                  Oleg Ledeniov