These new recordings of the Dvorak and Elgar concertos by Maria Kliegel, winner of 1981 Rostropovich cello competition, readily endorse her as an artist of exceptional ability. Even so, those of us who remain naturally cautious or simply sceptical, as far as superlatives go, will take heart from these performances, for the technical accomplishment of Kliegel's playing is balanced by a richness of musical insight which will not disap- point. What I already knew of her background had, I must confess, given rise to certain preconceptions, especially with the Elgar, in which I was expecting far more of the clinical rationality typical of Kliegel's mentor at Bloomington, Janos Starker. But any illusions crumbled within a very few bars of what is a quite outstanding performance of the Elgar concerto.
The boldness of the opening soliloquy recalls Du Pre at her finest, and yet Kliegel shares a yet deeper cup of grief in the world-weariness of the main first subject, carried with noble conviction. She takes a more improvisatory view in the lilting second group than Du Pre, but I still find Schiff (Philips) the most convincing of all in the transition back to the 9/8 at the close of the movement. The Scherzo is brilliantly done, and at a very fast tempo, but the conductor Michael Halasz overlooks Elgar's precisely noted A tempo indication (fig. 22) in response to the soloist's cantabile largamente statements at the end of each main section. The effect is not only tedious, but is quite the reverse of the composer's intention, clearly stated in the score. The Adagio is thoughtfully played, avoiding unwelcome posturing or empty affectation, though Kliegel is, if anything, a little too cool and dispassionate here. The finale is superbly paced, with the rumbustious militarism of the orchestration never allowed to dominate. The passage in which the soloist leads the orchestral cellos in a grand reprise of the main allegro theme is not as exciting as it could be, but the transition to the elegiac mood of the final pages (fig. 65) is unerringly convincing.
Maria Kliegel's Dvorak is cast in the grand manner, certainly, but the performance has an unexaggerated frankness which lends a charming intimacy to the work. The soloist's dialogue with the flute in the first movement development, where the opening motif is heard in a submissive, rather than heroic guise, is notably transparent, and I was surprised to hear Kliegel playing the descending octave trills following a monumental B major reprise of the theme in the coda; an emendation always omitted by Starker, who plays straight octaves here. The Adagio is treated objectively, and again possibly a touch coolly at times, although the playing is unfailingly distinguished with fine contributions from the RPO horns just prior to the cadenza. The finale has a crystaline lightness of approach, with subtle coloration from the soloist who offers many disarmingly spontaneous nuances, such as the glissando tastefully added just before the arrival of the second subject (ten bars before fig.4). Fournier and Schiff differ widely over basic questions of tempo in the finale, but the unforced beauty of Kliegel's playing during the final pages of the work put me in mind of the late Deryck Cooke's observation (penned, incidentally for Starker's 1958 recording of the concerto) that, ''if, at the end, Dvorak seems reluctant to end this magnificent concerto, then who shall blame him?''. The recording was made at Henry Wood Hall, and is full bodied and emphatic in major tuttis, yet one might have wished the overall balance to favour the soloist more than it does; nevertheless this fine addition to the Naxos catalogue is another outstanding bargain on this label.'