Rabin has been increasingly well served of late, not least by
smaller, dedicated labels such as
Medici,
Doremi and
now, as here, Audite. The Doremi issue contained sonatas with,
as in this case, Lothar Broddack, recorded by RIAS in Berlin
in October 1961 and 1962 whilst the Medici enshrined commercial
recordings made in London and Hollywood 1959 and 1960. So the
RIAS broadcasts are beginning to open up a very promising outlet
for live Rabin, caught during his European tours, especially
when something new to the commercial discography emerges.
In this case it’s the major addition of the Bruch G minor
concerto, in which he was joined by the RIAS-Symphonie-Orchester
and Thomas Schippers. By 1969 Rabin had begun to recover from
the damaging problems that had begun to assail him from around
1962. As one would expect this is an example of adroit technical
address and musicality. Rabin was never a speed merchant - though
he could have been had he wanted to be - and despite a reputation
for firework repertoire based on his Paganini recordings he was
a sensitive and dedicated violinist. No wonder Perlman admired
him so much.
Rhythmically malleable and subtly coloured this Bruch performance
is a notable addition to Rabin’s relatively small discography.
Orchestrally things are not as refined or blended as they might
be. And despite the breadth of tonal resources in the slow movement
and the personalised finger position changes - rather Heifetz
orientated - this isn’t quite the best of Rabin. The finale
is relatively restrained and the ethos a little depersonalised,
and lacking the vibrant incision of his better, earlier years.
This is shown in graphic relief if one turns briefly to the Havanaise
recorded in the troubled year of 1962. True, this is a febrile
performance that some times borders on the brash but the more
volatile and even vulnerable nature of the playing carries a
hugely personalised charge that compels interest. It’s
the only example from this period, the remaining items deriving
from 1969. There are still plenty of engaging things though in
the rather confectionery-light programme. Rabin imparts a saucy
B section to fellow violinist William Kroll’s echt Americana
in Banjo and Fiddle and he serves up a rich cantilena in the
Tchaikovsky.
Which leaves the Sarasate sequence. The Carmen Fantasia is the
kind of thing assumed, lazily, that Rabin habitually trotted
out to the exclusion of deeper repertoire whilst the three Danzas
Españolas allow him to revel in contrasts between his
rich lower register and an insouciantly whistling upper. Of the
three, Zapateado is played with something near panache but one
can imagine a wider range of tone colours from his earlier self.
The Bruch concerto though makes this an essential purchase for
Rabin collectors.
Jonathan Woolf
Michael Rabin (violin) 
