Brahms and Dvořák
made single contributions to the violin
concerto genre. Although time has dealt
a more prestigious hand to the former
composer’s offering, both works are
perennial favourites on the concert
circuit.
But there is more than
popularity that holds together these
concerti: composed only five years apart
– in 1878 and 1883 respectively – they
were written in consultation with Germany’s
leading violinist, Joseph Joachim. Brahms
the pianist was loathe to alter his
original conception and allowed Joachim
no more than the cadenza and various
technical recommendations. Dvořák,
on the other hand, collaborated closely
with his fellow violinist which explains
several revisions and a three-year postponement!
This recording is a
treat. Maxim Vengerov is captured live
under two almighty batons and the performances
fulfil all expectation. Distinctly different
approaches from Barenboim and Masur
cast on the one hand a soft lustre on
the Teutonic concerto and on the other
a fearsome militancy on its Czech contender
– the opposite of what one might expect.
The opening bars of
the Brahms set in motion Barenboim’s
fluid and expansive vision – even the
punchy rhythms cannot rein in the orchestra’s
romancing. When soloist Maxim Vengerov
penetrates the soundscape with a bold
attack, he gladly basks in the limelight.
Doubling the effect of Vengerov’s audacity
are the inevitable flaws of a live recording
that in this instance places greater
emphasis on the microphone nearest him.
Vengerov elects his
own cadenza which is constructed in
the image of earlier improvisatory practices,
taking the movement’s themes and motifs
as pivotal ideas. Inferior to Joachim’s
absolute interpolation but inoffensive
and soundly executed.
Brazen virtuosity is
matched by the sublime, and this is
never more sensitively reached than
in the Allegro non troppo [Track
1; 6:40]. The Adagio warmed up
with another tenderness – delicate string
vibrations embrace a sober wind introduction
and then, most poignant of all, the
solo violin enters. As the finale confirms,
here is a performance that comprehends
optimism just as profoundly as it does
sadness.
Where Barenboim indulges
his sensitive side, Masur takes great
pains not to exploit the emotions in
Dvořák’s
score – such virtuosic music is all
too easily made sickly sentimental.
Masur strikes out with
a weighty introduction but is matched
in vigour and stamina by the resolute
soloist – this combative set-up is particularly
well accommodated by the live acoustics.
The authoritative main motif pervades
the Allegro ma non troppo and
shines through the texture even when
accompanying – the sum of Masur’s attention
to thematic detail equals a logical
musical narrative that takes on different
hues as the score progresses.
The second movement’s
real strength lies elsewhere: in its
control and beauty. Though there is
no lack of power, the calm with which
instruments master raw passion – the
sheer force of which is realised to
its maximum towards the end [8:00] –
is intoxicating.
The Finale paints
a joviality and boundless optimism tempered
by graceful phrasing. Out of the flirtatious
pace changes and stylistic variations,
Vengerov’s nimble fingers carve out
a delightfully carefree panorama. And
with the same optimism, this recording
ensures that Dvořák
plays second fiddle to none.
Aline Nassif
Maxim Vengerov (violin) 
