The Elgar Concerto has fared well on disc. There are 
          very few poor performances and a number that have, on their own terms, 
          real merit. At the peak stands the Sammons – newly reissued on Naxos 
          – and it will be interesting to see if this latest appearance deals 
          with the persistent pitch transfer problems that have bedevilled its 
          various incarnations. Somewhat hors de combat is the Menuhin-Elgar. 
          Hugh Bean’s performance is profoundly attractive as is this Campoli 
          reissue, which dates from 1955 and is one of the most outstanding recordings 
          ever made of the concerto. 
        
 
        
Though the sound can be a little papery in places nothing 
          can dim the masterly exposition of the orchestral introduction by Boult, 
          a far more eloquent traversal than those he was able to offer the disappointing 
          Menuhin, in his second recording, or the impossibly sluggish Ida Haendel. 
          He is especially successful at bringing out the wind writing, superbly 
          weighted and proportionate to the orchestral canvas, and each sectional 
          incident is blazingly well realised. Campoli’s entrance is reflective 
          but not over lingering in the modern manner and which can be so disruptive 
          to the syntax of the musical argument. He employs some judicious expressive 
          devices to heighten his playing. At 6’00 the orchestral counter theme 
          to his solo line is movingly audible even at Campoli’s slowing tempo 
          – compare and contrast with such as Nigel Kennedy where the necessary 
          backbone is entirely missing and nonsense is made of Elgar’s orchestration. 
          Campoli makes the most elegant and apposite of slides at 11’01 – quick, 
          lyrical, with just the right weight and speed. Boult’s control of orchestral 
          dynamics from 14’30 – readying for the subsequent orchestral outburst 
          – is but one example of his elevated level of conducting. Campoli’s 
          passagework comes under a little strain here and at 16’15 I felt the 
          imposed strain by Campoli to be a little forced and impeding to the 
          flow toward the summit of the movement. He just doesn’t sweep forward 
          enough. But it is an internally consistent view of the movement and 
          one that commands respect. 
        
 
        
The slow movement is deeply expressive and fluent; 
          it tends to show up performances (such as, say, Heifetz’s), which fail 
          to maintain a proper balance between momentum and expressivity. Campoli’s 
          tone is ardent without over emoting. The finale is of a piece with the 
          other movements; Boult’s conducting is alert and sympathetic and Campoli’s 
          surmounting of the fiendish technical demands - which is not, in truth, 
          absolute - is still outstandingly good. It’s only when one compares 
          Campoli with Sammons that the breathtaking control of the latter makes 
          Campoli seem just a little staid. There is again not the onward rush 
          and sweep of the Sammons performance; there is not the sense of an unstoppable 
          momentum, the big tone leading a galvanized orchestra to the final triumphant 
          chords. Nevertheless this is a most distinguished recording; putting 
          aside Sammons and Menuhin it is my preferred choice, just ahead of Bean, 
          and I can pay Campoli no greater compliment than to say that his tonal 
          beauty, his awareness of structure and the dictates of architectural 
          compromise, are of the highest quality and this performance is testament 
          to his stature as a great violinist. 
        
 
        
The coupling is cannily chosen given Campoli’s close 
          association with Arthur Bliss. He was the dedicatee of the Violin concerto, 
          which he recorded and of which he gave some famous Russian performances 
          on tour with the composer. The Theme and cadenza for solo violin and 
          orchestra is a lyrical and beautifully played piece derived from incidental 
          music composed for a 1945 BBC production of a radio play by Bliss’ wife, 
          Trudy. Bliss also conducts an infectious performance of his 1926 Introduction 
          and Allegro (revised 1937), composed for Stokowski’s Philadelphians. 
          Bustling, inventive, rhythmically propulsive with superb wind writing 
          and juddering strings it makes a resounding finale to a significant 
          and unreservedly recommendable disc. 
        
 
        
        
Jonathan Woolf