It's time for Delians who secretly love this early one-movement Piano Concerto to stand up and be counted: the meditative sections of the concerto may be infused with the romantic nostalgia of Grieg, but Fowke and Del Mar, more than usual, alert you to Delian reverie in the making. And Fowke's dazzling technical prowess (aided by Unicorn-Kanchana's grander than grand piano image) should also enthral lovers of romantic piano concertos in general—listening to this disc it's hard to understand that the solo part was once considered to be more of an obbligato.
To dispense with very minor minus points first: something odd happens to the timpani and pizzicato strings on the first beat of 3 before fig. 3, 1'41'', perhaps an edit that excludes the start of a mistimed entry? And there was a more credible balance between soloist and orchestra in previous accounts by Moiseiwitsch and Lambert (recorded in 1946, HMV, 1/47—nla) and Kars with Gibson (Decca, newly available on CD—(CD) 433 633-2DSP). But the start of the final section (at fig. 21, 16'42'') was the only place where the larger than life piano image sounded incongruous, and it is a real treat to be able to relish Fowke's immaculate and impassioned fingerwork. There is just as much orchestral detail here as in those earlier accounts (woodwind and cello solos lovingly attended), which, given a balance that maximizes the element of solo display, speaks volumes for the accord between soloist, conductor and engineers. And this consensus can be felt in decisions on pacing. Fowke and Del Mar are slower (and can afford to be) than Moiseiwitsch and Lambert in the central Largo, and yet negotiate Delius's challenging, potentially awkward, changes of tempo in the work's concluding minutes with a similar energy and sense of resolution.
''A colossal nocturne'' is how Beecham described Paris. Del Mar certainly seems to agree with the adjective—this is ''The Song of a Great City'' unfolded with all the time in the world. And worlds apart, as the dancing swings into view, from the emphatically present and brilliant Mackerras (see page 43). Some four minutes longer, Del Mar suggests, perhaps, the composer contemplating his energetic youth from a distance, his Paris as a bygone era. I did wonder whether Del Mar really gave us a con vigore at 8 before fig. 15 (9'54''); and whether continuity and orchestral discipline were momentarily under threat from the broad manner. But the grandeur and deep perspective of this Paris are hypnotic; Del Mar complements Mackerras and is just as daring.
Wild and wayward, Life's Dance also uses a Straussian sized orchestra to depict ''the turbulence, the joy, energy, great striving of youth''. Dating originally from the same year as Paris (1899), Delius tinkered with it for over a decade. It often recalls the sounds and sensations of Schoenberg's Gurrelieder—not surprising when you consider that Schoenberg began his composition in the same year, also based it on a Danish drama and used a vast orchestra. Rather more startling is how the tail end of the tune in that most English Dance Rhapsody begets Rimskyan orientalisms (the Queen of Shemakha from Le Coq d'Or, perhaps) after four minutes or so. Both works are available on a mid-price EMI disc conducted by Sir Charles Groves ((CD) CDM7 63171-2), but Del Mar is far more attentive to Delius's indications of tempo and dynamics, much more forceful in the former and flexible in the latter.
Having heard Del Mar rail against the artificiality of modern recording techniques in a radio interview last year, I imagine he would be well pleased with the results here: a decently recessed orchestra and a generous acoustic (St Barnabas, Mitcham in South London) that rarely impedes inner clarity and coherence. My own preference would have been for a little more help from the RPO strings in heavily scored passages, but compensation comes in particularly rich and full lower woodwind and lower brass sounds in Paris and Life's Dance. Another essential disc for all Delians.'