Enescu’s epic string Octet rides the turn of the last century like an exotic handsome carriage‚ its sinuous Eastern­style themes rolling along on a quiet but insistent bass line. Previous recordings have given us the straight text but Gidon Kremer’s new Kremerata Baltica CD features an interesting and variegated string­band arrangement by Leonid Desyatnikov. The musical upshot of this reworking is a sort of large­scale cyclic concerto grosso where solo and tutti forces alternate‚ converse or support each other. Desyatnikov’s arrangement never fattens or confuses the musical texture. Indeed‚ it often serves to add clarity‚ as in the jagged second movement’s urgent fugato‚ which gains an aural dimension‚ and the contrast with Enescu’s Korngoldian solo string writing at 4'17"‚ which is duly underlined. The third movement (all four are inter­related) is like a gentle lullaby and the latter part of the finale (from around 5'53") an embellished valse fantasy where in this texturally bolstered context violin arabesques and pizzicato side­commentaries keep busy while the principal theme soars away on lower strings. You can tell Ensecu was on a ‘high’ and the Kremer’s performance is stunning. Previous recordings of the original Octet include three bargain contenders‚ all from Romania: a characterful old mono Electrecord version under Constantin Silvestri‚ an urgent but coarsely recorded Bucharest Virtuosi recording under Horia Andreescu (Olympia) and a less forceful but rather more refined digital Arte Nova production with Cristian Mandeal at the helm. If you want to check the original against Desyatnikov’s transcription‚ then Arte Nova’s CD has the added benefit of being available at super­budget price. The A minor Piano Quintet of 1940 was completely new to me. Again Enescu opts for interconnecting movements but the overall complexion is darker than the Octet‚ the language infinitely more subtle. It reminded me both of late Fauré and late Brahms‚ the former in its densely harmonised but poignant first two movements (though there are also hints of Enescu’s folk­like Third Violin Sonata)‚ the latter in the ambiguous questioning of the third movement. The finale on the other hand sounds more Bartókian‚ though not in the closing moments which are unexpectedly protracted. There’s more musical meat here than in the Octet but less in the way of instantly memorable themes‚ which means that it’s a harder nut to crack. The knotted musculature of Enescu’s converging musical lines remains as fascinating and perplexing as ever‚ and the performance is again of the highest order.