This isn’t the first 
                time Bell has recorded the Tchaikovsky. 
                He set it down in Cleveland for Decca 
                with Ashkenazy conducting but like a 
                good number of others – Vadim Repin 
                most prominently of late – he returned 
                to it again fairly soon. This reading 
                is more personalised than the earlier 
                one and the gestures are more extreme 
                and the point of view far more pronounced. 
                The breathless notes read as if they 
                were written by a love-sick schoolgirl 
                but do report Bell as saying that he 
                finds the work one of the most "intimate" 
                in the repertory; that, I think, sets 
                the marker for his performance. 
              
 
              
Doubtless there are 
                slower performances of the first movement 
                but I’ve yet to hear one. Not even Nigel 
                Kennedy was this slow, with Bell stretching 
                the material to a full nineteen and 
                a half minutes. This in itself is not 
                the issue – tempo relation is the structural 
                point – but it becomes an issue if counter-themes 
                and subsidiary orchestral material is 
                rendered diffuse or turgid, or loses 
                its point. This, I have to say, it comes 
                close to doing in this performance. 
                The approach is one of corporate reverence 
                and remarkable attention to detail but 
                the means sound to my ears somewhat 
                manicured. In attempting to rid the 
                work of its bardic heroism, its flag-waving 
                virtuosic pose, I fear that Bell and 
                Tilson Thomas have substituted, in this 
                movement at least, self-conscious mannerism. 
                Too much here is point making – dynamics 
                are exaggerated, the melodic lines are 
                stretched to breaking point, the elements 
                of innocence they seek are subsumed 
                instead to a kind of didacticism; the 
                cadenza is rather sentimentalised and 
                Bell, though evoking intimacy in his 
                reported comments, can’t convert it 
                into simplicity. Too much here is fussed 
                over, presented as new minted and stretched. 
                Tilson Thomas can’t help camping up 
                the percussion at the end either. 
              
 
              
The slow movement is 
                taken at a central, reasonable tempo. 
                He brings a greater weight of expression 
                here than before. The principal flautist 
                shines as well, shadowing the solo lines. 
                Bell dares a couple of tiny, quick portamenti, 
                though he can’t resist going all out 
                for extremes of dynamics even here. 
                The finale is taken at a relaxed tempo; 
                it’s playful but with a lot of contrasts. 
                A genuine highlight is the way Bell 
                matches his phrasing and tonal shading 
                with the wind principals – not for nothing 
                is he an increasingly eloquent chamber 
                player. The quality he demonstrates 
                uppermost here is that of involvement 
                with those around him; to that extent 
                he’s an active collaborator and not 
                just a hired gun. And his tone takes 
                on greater qualities of depth here. 
                He was disappointingly monochromatic 
                in the first movement. And yet even 
                here things sound capricious for the 
                sake of it ... even if they’re not. 
                Things don’t sound natural; it’s all 
                too stop-start. And to be truthful, 
                not too exciting either. And in the 
                finale of this of all concertos that’s 
                a downright sin. 
              
 
              
Still, the audience 
                in Berlin whoop with delight so what 
                do I know. The ungenerous extras were 
                recorded in the Philharmonie as well 
                but aren’t live. The recording throughout 
                is supple and warm and the orchestra 
                plays with finesse and sound well rehearsed. 
                The Meditation is attractively playful 
                and expressive. But at fifty-one minutes 
                for a major work such as this I’m disappointed 
                that Bell didn’t get down to the library 
                and dust off, say, the Taneyev Suite 
                de Concert or a work of that vintage. 
                As for the Concerto you’ll find it something 
                of a novel experience but as for me 
                I’m off to listen to Heifetz, Milstein, 
                Oistrakh and Elman. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf