The original Gramophone review

Elgar Violin Concerto in B minor

Nigel Kennedy vn LPO / Vernon Handley (EMI/Warner)

Elgar’s elusive, taxing concerto inspires the widest range of interpretation. Elgar himself encouraged the idea of fresh blood coming to this work when the 14-year-old Menuhin was asked to play on his own recording. That early version (1932) remains one of the models for all subsequent interpreters, but so does the other early recording (1930), which is just as revealing as the young Menuhin’s and in some ways more powerful, from Albert Sammons with Sir Henry Wood. Nigel Kennedy now comes to the biggest challenge he has yet faced on record, and in alliance with a conductor second to none as an Elgar revealer, produces a reading that matches any of those listed [as selected comparisons: Menuhin / Sir Adrian Boult; Itzhak Perlman, Pinchas Zukerman / Daniel Barenboim; Chung / Solti] in imagination and technical mastery, yet more than any of them pays a tribute to the example of Sammons, more so than to Menuhin. Broadly this is the most centrally Elgarian of all the readings. At the same time Kennedy consistently has one relating this work to the violin concertos of Beethoven and Brahms, at least as much as to any flowering of late romanticism. He lacks nothing in expressive tenderness – his account of the slow movement matches in every way the exceptional sweetness and purity of Chung’s reading – yet with Handley beside him there is no hint of self-indulgence, though Sammons-like he uses portamenti more freely than is common today. Even when in the finale he adopts a speed which is virtually identical with Sammons’s exceptionally fast tempo, he and Handley keep a tauter rein without losing excitement. Even in the long accompanied cadenza where Kennedy adopts the slowest tempo I can remember, there is an underlying pulse of concentration and steadiness. Tension is fully sustained through the longest pauses, and his ability to convey total repose as well as energy (not least in the slow movement) presents the vast structure with a clarity and intensity that none of the others outshines. The result has exceptional strength and clarity, and in that Kennedy and Handley are helped by the outstanding recording quality, warm and atmospheric yet nicely analytical with the soloist justly balanced, where in varying degrees all the other soloists are balanced close. This recording demonstrates that an impression of power is if anything enhanced by a natural rather than a close-up balance. Though I cherish all the versions listed, above all the Zukerman, this new one now stands as my first choice. No Elgarian should miss a performance which has amazed me with its command. It is always exciting when a young artist fulfils on record the promise of his early career. For Kennedy this record presents a landmark, plainly establishing how naturally and richly his expressiveness blossoms under the taxing conditions of the studio. Edward Greenfield (12/84)

Andrew Farach-Colton Nigel Kennedy’s first recording of the Elgar Violin Concerto was a significant milestone in the violinist’s career as well as in the work’s burgeoning discography. Edward Greenfield’s review was an unqualified rave, and the disc went on to win Record of the Year in the 1985 Gramophone Awards. As you know, Kennedy re-recorded the Elgar with Sir Simon Rattle and the CBSO 13 years later, a disc that you reviewed in these pages (1/98), writing, ‘From almost every conceivable point of view – authority, panache, intelligence, intuitive poetry, tonal beauty and emotional maturity – Kennedy surpasses his [previous] achievement.’ Returning to these accounts now, I’m curious to know if you feel the same way.

Andrew Achenbach Well, that’s quite the bold pronouncement from my younger self! Perceptions change over time, and while there’s much about Kennedy’s sparky remake that can still thrill and provoke (it was set down hard on the heels of an unforgettably intense performance at Birmingham’s Symphony Hall, which I attended), I’m now inclined to think that I seriously underestimated its altogether less self-conscious predecessor; indeed, making the latter’s reacquaintance in the present context has given me enormous pleasure.

AFC If it’s any consolation, I also remember thinking that Kennedy’s second recording surpassed his earlier version – probably because there’s oodles more outward intensity and drama with Rattle. I came to love this concerto through Kyung-Wha Chung’s highly sensitive Decca recording with incisive, muscular support from Sir Georg Solti and the LPO, and I think Kennedy and Rattle are closer to that interpretative style. But returning to Kennedy’s earlier account now, I have a greater appreciation for it being ‘less self-conscious’ (as you so succinctly put it). What impresses me most is the way that Kennedy and Handley see the big picture. Yes, they characterise detail, but the architecture is always kept in mind, and in a work of this size, that’s crucial.

AA Agreed – and such long-term cogency is all the more remarkable given the daring expansiveness of Kennedy’s conception overall. Then again, the 27-year-old soloist (who had already given more than 20 live performances of the Elgar prior to these March 1984 sessions at Watford Town Hall) could not have wished for a more sympathetic or dedicated partner. In an extensive interview for Gramophone (12/00) he heaped praise on Handley as ‘one of the few conductors who helped me believe that what I was doing wasn’t heresy’, which brings us, I think, to the heart of the matter, so eloquently expounded by Greenfield in his initial review: Kennedy by no means follows the famous example of his mentor Yehudi Menuhin; instead his playing more consistently evokes the ineffably poetic spirit, fiery temperament and sheer depth of understanding that are the hallmarks of arguably the concerto’s greatest ever exponent on disc, namely Albert Sammons.

AFC Oh, I agree that Sammons’s 1929 recording with Sir Henry Wood is astounding, though I can’t say I prefer it to Menuhin’s first account, made in 1932 with the composer conducting the LSO. I always keep in mind what Elgar wrote to a friend about this concerto – ‘It’s good! Awfully emotional! Too emotional but I love it … full of romantic feeling.’ And I think that emotional, romantic feeling is captured more vividly in Elgar’s own recording than it is in Sammons and Wood’s. (Actually, this may be Elgar’s finest performance on disc, perhaps because he was more comfortable when sharing the limelight.) The way I hear it, Kennedy seems to have found a middle ground between Sammons’s directness and Menuhin’s more ‘flowery’ style (as I think Kennedy once put it). Certainly, Kennedy’s spacious approach to the cadenza is closer to Menuhin’s in overall conception while being more like Sammons’s in its relative emotional restraint.

AA I’m more of a Sammons man myself. There’s a jaw-dropping virtuosity, emotional candour and delectably unforced authority about his contribution that slays me every time (both his initial entry and his delivery of the ‘Windflower’ theme have an indefinable ‘rightness’ about them). Also, unlike the 16-year-old Menuhin, Sammons had performed the concerto many times under the composer and Wood prior to recording it. Anyway, to return to the task in hand, another account worth mentioning in this context, I think, is that by Hugh Bean, a Sammons protégé whose personable warmth and touching intimacy of feeling made quite an impression on the youthful Kennedy (me, too – in fact, the LP served as my introduction to Elgar’s masterpiece). It also benefits enormously from the glowingly sumptuous sonics and judiciously natural perspective habitually achieved by EMI’s Stuart Eltham working in Liverpool Philharmonic Hall – qualities matched here by Kennedy’s team of producer Andrew Keener and engineer Mike Clements (and I do like Greenfield’s shrewd observation of how ‘an impression of power is if anything enhanced by a natural rather than a close-up balance’).

AFC I have to say I’m conflicted about the sound quality on Kennedy’s earlier account. I agree about its natural, concert-hall perspective, and I think it serves the soloist especially well, but I do wish the orchestral part had more ‘oomph’. That said, we’re talking about an early digital effort, and I think by that standard Keener and Clements did remarkably well. Might we focus on some interpretative specifics as we’re reconsidering this recording’s classic status? Right from the start Kennedy is marvellously subtle, his first entrance not only nobilmente as Elgar asks for, but inward-looking. I’m also in awe of his ability to phrase in a way that creates large, long-breathed arcs. And those flashes of virtuosity after fig 11 (or around 4'50") seem to be emotionally prompted. Then that glorious ‘Windflower’ theme at 6'35" – Elgar marks it semplice, and Kennedy somehow manages to be simultaneously unaffected and deeply expressive.

AA Yes, Kennedy’s approach here really does tug at the heartstrings to the manner born – and who could resist his absolutely exquisite dolcissimo tone at fig 29 (13'02")? How thrillingly, too, Handley nails that blazing orchestral eruption that launches the coda (listen from 17'39"). Come the slow movement, Kennedy surpasses himself in terms of rapt poetry and silk-spun poise as he ascends the heights from 1'37" and again from 7'53" and 10'20" – and what ravishing beauty Handley distils in the strings’ devastatingly poignant sighs at figs 47 (2'02") and 59 (8'05"). The closing paragraph from fig 63 (11'05") likewise moves to the marrow here, especially that one last lump-in-the-throat reminiscence (marked Molto lento) of what has gone before. (Towards the end of his life, Elgar recalled: ‘This is where two souls merge and melt into one another.’)

AFC I believe our listening notes are very much in sync, Andrew! There’s so much to admire in this performance (from both soloist and conductor/orchestra) that I’m sure we could both go on for pages. There’s only one passage that I really trip over every time, and that’s in the finale at fig 71 (1'38") – but it’s a odd bit to begin with, and few conductors make it sound natural (it’s one case where I prefer Rattle, and not surprisingly Elgar makes sense of it). But setting aside a few quibbles, this is a performance that I value more every time I hear it, and there’s no question in my mind that it richly deserves its status as a classic.

AA In a nutshell, this is music-making that makes you feel good to be alive! Listen from fig 111 (20'15") in the work’s exhilarating coda to experience the ecstatic joy these performers impart to that surging final appearance of the great Nobilmente tune from the slow movement. How to sum up? To my way of thinking, those mono-era treasures from Sammons, Menuhin, Jascha Heifetz and Alfredo Campoli continue to shine across the decades, while the new century has brought a handful of distinguished contenders (notably James Ehnes and Tasmin Little, both perceptively supported by Sir Andrew Davis). However, Kennedy ‘mark 1’ remains a very special, deeply felt whole which effortlessly activates the goosebumps.

This article originally appeared in the November 2024 issue of Gramophone. Never miss an issue – subscribe today