Friedman is in safe 
                hands in this series of Naxos restorations 
                by Ward Marston. Aficionados will be 
                very familiar with this series of English 
                Columbias and for more general comments 
                about Friedman I’d refer you to my other 
                reviews of the edition, all of which 
                teem with his incendiary echt Romanticism. 
                Here we arrive at his 1930 remake of 
                the Kreutzer Sonata with Huberman 
                – they also left behind an acoustic 
                version together (on Biddulph). Two 
                alternative takes of this 1930 set – 
                movements one and three – are also currently 
                on Arbiter and Naxos gives us the same 
                alternative take of the first movement. 
                I’ve always found Huberman’s huge downward 
                portamenti in the opening of the first 
                movement to be as intensely provocative, 
                as part of a musical argument, as the 
                rather austerely snatched phrasing. 
                His passagework positively crackles 
                and Friedman is a worthily combustible 
                partner, both men in regally driving 
                form; the reappearance of that immodest 
                portamento at the end of the movement 
                is part and parcel of Huberman’s expressive 
                symmetry. The differences however between 
                this and the published take are minimal 
                as is the case in the finale of the 
                sonata, where Friedman’s bass pointing 
                makes itself exquisitely apparent. In 
                the slow movement Friedman’s fast passagework 
                is as impressive as his colouristic 
                imperatives. 
              
 
              
His Mendelssohn Songs 
                without Words may not be as well known 
                as his Chopin Mazurkas but they share 
                something of the same galvanic, life 
                affirming aesthetic. Big, vital, rhythmically 
                vivacious and personalised he brings 
                huge tonal warmth and depth to these 
                pieces. I’d especially cite the Op.30, 
                F sharp minor which is a little miracle 
                of poetry with superb differentiation 
                of depth and colour in the right hand, 
                and with the subtlest inflections in 
                the bass pointing – truly an example 
                of unselfconscious beauty. His rubati 
                are sometimes as cavalier and provocative 
                as they could be in Chopin – but who 
                could fail to resist his teasing way 
                with Op.67 No.2 or the vertiginous, 
                unforced power of his bass colouration. 
                His Liszt is a drama-laden curtain closer, 
                masculine and powerful. 
              
 
              
All these qualities 
                are brought out in these vivid transfers 
                that, though they retain characteristic 
                Columbia surface noise, are impressive 
                and lifelike. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf