Of the many recordings now available of Elgar’s Violin Sonata (which I surveyed in a Gramophone Collection in January 2016), this new album is unusual, and welcome, in its inclusion of the numerous miniatures. The Sonata poses various challenges. The first movement – tonally ambiguous for much of its course – is almost oversaturated with thematic material (rather like the immense Violin Concerto of 1910) and it shifts continually from bold gesticulation to limpid lyricism; added to which the piano part, equally important as that for the violinist, requires orchestral insight and interpretation evident in so many of the rhetorical gestures throughout the work.

In the lyrical parts of the first movement, especially the second-subject area (equally abstruse in its modal character), Wallin and Pöntinen capture the sense of mystery and underlying fervour; however, the tempo of the more forceful first subject seems rather pedestrian and, towards the end, where a more orchestrally generated urgency is surely called for, this, at least to me, tends to undermine the inherent stylistic need for exigent acceleration to the final climax, so characteristic of the composer. The enigmatic Romance, more eccentric in its outer sections, is more successful though even here I think a little more flexibility in tempo would have helped to point up Elgar’s peculiarly personal flights of fancy. By contrast, and perhaps ironically, the execution of the sonorous ‘big tune’ of the central section does embrace this flexibility, and Wallin (whose sensitive use of portamento is a pleasing aesthetic feature of the recording) comes into his own here and in the finale, where the tempo is for the most part more elastic and sympathetic. Nevertheless, there are still times in the last movement when I think both performers could have been more extrovert, especially in those sections of more rhythmic dynamism and emotional abandon.

Wallin and Pöntinen seem more at home in the miniatures. The earliest of them, the Romance in E minor, written when he was only 21, has little of what we recognise of the later composer, but it has an infectious poignancy reminiscent of Massenet or Gounod. Composed in the late 1880s, the Allegretto on G E D G E (written for the Gedge sisters, whom the composer taught in Malvern) has more melodic individuality and the wistful atmosphere is engagingly captured. Mot d’amour and Bizarrerie of 1889 convey a touching affinity for the high-class salon and both performers communicate Elgar’s attraction to the ‘light’ idiom with a compelling panache. Likewise, Salut d’amour, from the same date, an engagement gift for his fiancée, Caroline Alice Roberts, is imparted with tender affection (indeed here both performers seem to grasp more fully Elgar’s characteristically generous rubato). The much later Sospiri of 1914, better known in its version for strings, harp and organ though entirely effective in this arrangement for violin and piano, encapsulates that unique chemistry of introspective melancholy which belongs to the world of Elgar’s war and post-war years. The little Adieu for piano from 1932 has a charm and delicacy which suggest that the composer had not forgotten his empathy for a the long-past Victorian salon of his youthful days. The now highly popular Chanson de nuit and Chanson de matin, Op 15, are beautifully judged in shape and expressive dialogue between the two performers, notably the former, and both have that special Elgarian ambience of late Victorian nostalgia.

Though I have some reservations about their performance of the more substantial Sonata, Wallin and Pöntinen demonstrate a real sympathy for these shorter gems; I suspect they would discover a similar kinship for Parry’s Twelve Short Pieces, Mackenzie’s Benedictus and the delicious miniatures of Stanford.