Once neglected on record, the Dvorak Violin Concerto is now well represented in the CD catalogue, and though neither of these new versions ousts the one I have listed in flair, nor musical magic—the vital element in a work not easy to bring off—they are both splendidly played and very well recorded. When I had finished my comparisons, noting that both feature the Philharmonia, I was curious to know which was recorded first, and was not surprised to find that it was the Teldec. Made at The Maltings, Snape in December 1989, it presents a crisp, direct view of the score, but one which minimizes the Slavonic flavour. Four months later at the end of March 1990 in EMI's Abbey Road Studio No. 1, the players relaxed far more over their work, pointing rhythms more infectiously; though this is mainly to the credit of the conductor, Leonard Slatkin, the extra familiarity of those players may well have affected the results too.
That contrast is even more marked when it comes to the soloists. Thomas Zehetmair plays with brilliance and precision, satisfyingly clean in attack, but next to the others this is an undercharacterized performance, with relatively little individuality or flair, and there is little sense of fantasy. If you want Dvorak brought firmly into the central Viennese tradition, with Czech flavours played down, then this provides a fair answer, but I can't think that many Dvorakians will follow that line. The Slavonic dance of the finale for example is neat and crisp at a fast speed, but there is next to no lilt. Ughi on RCA is just as quick, but characterizes far more positively, playing with panache, and is helped by brighter, fuller sound. Where Zehetmair scores is in his hushed playing, when in his restrained way he often conveys deep feeling without any expressive exaggeration.
Ughi is much more of an extrovert, plainly enjoying himself throughout. Thanks to the rather close balance of the soloist, there are moments when—particularly in the slow movement as well as in the Romance—with his heavy vibrato he coarsens the result. Go to Chung (EMI) for a heart-stopping account of that slow movement, hushed and expressive. Yet Ughi certainly can play gently, as he shows in the middle section, when his pianissimos are breathtaking. The advantage of his disc is that in addition to the Concerto and Romance, he has an extra fill-up. In the four Romantic pieces he is accompanied by Slatkin at the piano; very crisp and sympathetic. Labelled ''Cavatina'', ''Capriccio'', ''Romance'' and ''Elegy'', they make a charming group, though I imagine that as a whole they have not encouraged live performances, when the longest and slowest comes last.'