Now 76, Aaron Rosand has devoted more of his time than most to keeping alive the Golden Age, when violin recitalists offered plenty of variety in their programmes, played from memory and were not afraid of hyphenated composers. This pleasant concert – with an unpardonable number of empty seats on view – is a treasurable memento of his art.

After the stylish appetiser (Leclair), the main course is the Franck Sonata. This has a certain authenticity as Rosand studied the work with Ysaÿe’s student Leon Sametini using Ysaÿe’s original score (the work was a wedding present from Franck to Ysaÿe). Rosand plays it with ravishing poetry and passion, but the suspicion raised in the Leclair sonata that the piano was underpowered is here confirmed. The Yamaha itself sounds lovely and Robert Koenig plays it with sensitivity, but, whether through lack of projection or misjudged recording balance, it simply does not match Rosand’s dynamic scale, fatally undermining the dialogue so essential in this work. The sweetmeats are tossed off with charm and aplomb (though with a hint of approximation in the final pages of Zigeunerweisen), and include Preghiera, a little-known collaboration between Kreisler and Rachmaninov. It turns out to be an adaptation of the theme from the slow move- ment of the Second Piano Concerto (I thought the performance a tad vulgar, but hush).

By contrast to Rosand, the French violinist Christian Ferras (1933-82) is filmed in black-and-white and given a well-integrated balance between himself and his pianist, Fred Astaire lookalike Guy Bourassa who, unusually for an accompanist, though his score is laid in the piano, knows the music by heart. Considering the age of these Canadian television broadcasts from the early 1960s, the sound quality is remarkably good, though the production values are primitive: a small be-curtained studio and the cameras offering just three angles: two-shot, close-up (Ferras) and close-up(Bourassa).

Both artists play with the assurance of long association – I particularly liked the delicacy and nonchalance of the Debussy Sonata, and Ferras’s fiery dispatch of the Tzigane. The polished Orchestre de Radio-Canada provides solid support in a fine account of the Mendelssohn. Altogether a valuable reminder of a wonderful artist. VAI’s insert says nothing of Ferras and Bourassa; I don’t mind no frills but such omissions are as discourteous to the artists as they are to the buying public.

So to the Violinists’ Violinist (11/04). The svelte figure and film-star good looks evident in some grainy footage shot in 1937 make David Oistrakh almost unrecognisable from the later podgy musical icon familiar to all. The art-deco setting, the moody lighting and the anonymous pianist banished to the back of the stage provide an echt period setting for Liebesleid. The Intermezzo from Lalo’s Symphonie espagnole was filmed 15 years later, the year Stalin and Prokofiev died.

The remainder of the programme comes from the 1960s and is the compelling reason for investing in this DVD: three of the greatest concertos in the repertoire played with all the mastery and maturity of Oistrakh at the height of his powers. The unflashy demeanour, his warm, silky tone and the palette of colours achieved with such economical means make for a richly enjoyable and rewarding experience. The Brahms, Tchaikovsky and Sibelius concertos are similar in conception to his DG recordings from that period, though 14 years on from his 1952 recording of the Brahms, the slow movement is taken at a broader tempo. Oistrakh’s encore after the Tchaikovsky is a rarity – Locatelli’s Caprice Op 3 No 23 orchestrated (and conducted) by Rozhdestvensky. The bonus, filmed in Japan in 1967, is of a rehearsal of the first movement of the Kreutzer Sonata. Single camera, extreme close-up on Oistrakh for the duration. The poor pianist, Frida Bauer, might as well be a backing track.