The news of the death of David Oistrakh in Amsterdam on 24 October 1974 came as a great shock to the many thousands of people in all parts of the world who loved and admired him. The memory which nearly everyone had was of a stocky, genial man of middle age who looked as if he were very strong and full of vital energy. His last appearances in England were in November 1972 during the ‘Days of Russian Music’. At that time there was certainly no question of failing powers; his mastery was as great as ever. Then it became known that he had suffered a severe heart attack in 1973 and had been forced to give up his work for many months. However there was good news of his recovery this year and he was due to play and conduct in London last month. From a colleague who heard him play in Amsterdam very shortly before his death, I know that his performance was as superb as ever. His death came suddenly while he was still at the height of his tremendous musical and technical powers. He would undoubtedly have wished it thus; the thought of lowering standards, of anything second rate cannot go with the thought of David Oistrakh.

He was in the great line of Russian violinists and became the most famous representative of that school who continued to live in the country of their birth. It is sometimes forgotten that those whom we think of as Americans – Nathan Milstein, Isaac Stern and of an earlier generation Jascha Heifetz and Mischa Elman – were also born and in many cases trained in Russia. Several came, like Oistrakh, from Odessa that cradle of so many famous musicians. Those who left became cosmopolitans; those who stayed seemed to maintain something a little different, a little more earthy and perhaps simpler. Although he too had travelled the whole world many times, Oistrakh did not give the impression, in any superficial sense at least, of being a ‘man of the world’. He gave the impression of being exactly what he was: a simple, warmhearted man of great intelligence, charm, sincerity and integrity who had cultivated his tremendous gifts to their highest point of perfection at the cost of enormous work and concentration. His mastery was absolute. He knew exactly what he wanted to achieve musically and he knew the methods by which to achieve it technically so that working with him in the recording studio was a relatively easy and always highly rewarding task.

He was immensely self-critical and had an astonishing memory for what had been good or less good (one could seldom say bad) in any given take. Although when listening back he would often say, for instance, ‘Oh, the next one must be the one when I played the chords out of tune’, he would want to hear it all the same for there would be other good things in it. ‘Yes, let us use take 24 from there to here (indicating in the score) and then I think 27 was the best for the continuation’. So take 27 would be heard and Oistrakh was seldom wrong in his choice. Indeed one of the few difficulties in making records with him was to find sufficient time in the session to listen-back as frequently as he wished and yet get the performance finished as well.

His patience was very great and he always insisted on going on working until everything had been brought as nearly as possible up to his own exacting standards. He was extremely calm in the studio. Indeed, had one not had the evidence of his playing to refute it, one might even have thought that he was somewhat lacking in temperament. This was of course totally untrue but the temperament was held in check by great self-discipline. He was the kindest of men and I have never heard him make a remark or criticism which could hurt a colleague. If there was something to criticise in the playing of a member of the orchestra for instance, it would be said in such a kindly way that no one could possibly take offence. Only once did I see him get really angry but even then the anger was controlled with such strength that, although one could see it working inside him, silence rather than a furious outburst was the result. It was as if a black cloud had come over the sun but this was quickly dispersed since he realised that the only way to put things right was to work and work again until the playing of the passage which had caused the anger became acceptable.

Luckily he has left behind him a great legacy of recordings, a very large number of them for EMI. As with so many other great artists of the period, it was due to the enthusiasm of Walter Legge that Oistrakh was first invited to record for the company. Indeed, in the very interesting interview which he gave to Alan Blyth at which I was fortunate enough to be present, Oistrakh told us that as early as 1937, after he had won the Ysaÿe Prize in Brussels, Walter Legge had asked him to record for Columbia. At the time this proved impossible but as soon as Oistrakh was able to visit Western Europe again in 1954 (there had been a long gap mainly due to the Second World War) he started recording for EMI and continued at intervals to make records for the Company during the whole subsequent period. During the last decade Oistrakh made many outstanding records. It was due to the initiative of Peter Andry that some of the most notable came about: the Brahms Solo and Double concertos with George Szell and the Cleveland Orchestra and, most famous of all, the Beethoven Triple Concerto with the Berlin Philharmonic under Karajan and with those two other Russian giants, Richter and Rostropovich as his fellow-soloists.

With a section of the Berlin Philharmonic too, we recorded all the authentic works of Mozart for violin and orchestra as well as the Symphonie Concertante for violin and viola and the Concertone for two violins in which Oistrakh was joined by his son Igor. In these Oistrakh directed the orchestra himself and they were some of the happiest sessions which I have ever experienced with any artist. The orchestral players loved him and had of course a tremendous respect for him. He told me how he had first come to play a concerto – the Mozart G major – without a conductor. Years earlier, during recording sessions in London the conductor, Alceo Galliera, had been forced to leave for other engagements, so Walter Legge suggested that Oistrakh should record the work by himself. It was a great success and Oistrakh was a little nervous that he would not be able to reach the same standard when we recorded the same work in Berlin. But he need have had no fears.

He enjoyed conducting and told me that in his youth he had spent some time studying the subject seriously. It was only after his fame as a violinist was world-wide that he was able to put this study into practice. In the last few years he conducted frequently both in Russia and abroad and, as one would expect, he had thoroughly mastered the art and craft of the conductor. But as with other famous instrumentalists who have taken up conducting the magic which emanated from his bow did not always come over quite so clearly from his baton, although he gave many fine performances also in this role.

Oistrakh’s last recording for EMI was that of the First Concerto of Shostakovich (which he had previously recorded in Russia in mono only) under the baton of the composer’s son Maxim. Shostakovich himself was present during the sessions and it was touching to see the way in which the two great men – friends of long standing – deferred to each other when tricky points of balance or interpretation arose. There was a feeling of great human warmth in the relationship and the whole recording gained from it. It is indeed sad to think that such an occasion can never take place again.

The death of David Oistrakh, great man and great musician, at far too early an age, is an immeasurable loss to the whole musical world. It is easy to use these conventional words. In this case they happen to be as true as any could be.

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