''One of the finest Slovak performing artists'' is how the booklet describes Ida Cernecka, a pupil of Rudolf Macudzinski at the Bratislava Academy of Music from 1969–74 before postgraduate studies with Tatiana Nikolayeva in Weimar and Vera Gornostayeva in Moscow. Like Oliver Dohnanyi, now conductor of the Slovak National Opera House in Bratislava, she emerges here as a sincere, caring musician determined that neither concerto should emerge as a mere vehicle for virtuoso display.
That's at once apparent in her rather deliberate choice of tempo for the G minor Concerto's opening Molto allegro con fuoco, likewise her frequent yieldings of pulse to make its second subject speak more personally (perhaps she releases a little too much tension here). The Andante in its turn is warmly romantic without sacrifice of classical poise. In fact, it was the slow movement in each work which (for me) revealed her and also her orchestra and conductor at their most persuasive. It was in the two finales that I felt some disappointment, not for any technical shortcomings, but for a rather too solid, at times dogged, recreation of the elfland evoked by Mendelssohn at these points. This is not just a matter of tempo but also a strange reluctance to play really softly. For a sample of what I mean, tune in at 1'30'' in band 3. It's in these finales in particular that Cernecka and her colleages are outclassed by the more light-fingered and fancifully mercurial Perahia (CBS) and Schiff (Decca). Though both these rivals could be criticized for this or that (Perahia, perhaps, for a questionably slow Andante in the First Concerto and Schiff for moments of rhythmic inconsistency), they still come top of my list for their arresting, almost electric, immediacy of reaction (particularly evident in the launching of both works) such as might have been heard from Mendelssohn himself at their premieres.
The Czech recording, made in the Concert Hall of the Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra, dates from January and June 1985. Warm and full and forward as it is, it has neither the tonal refinement nor the textural translucency of what we're given by Decca for Schiff and his colleagues. Though vastly improved by transfer to CD, Perahia's sound still betrays its original age (1975). But in compensation for that, there is his own supremely stylish equation between the classical and romantic in Mendelssohn's make-up in both concertos—plus the bonus of three extremely finely played solo works. So, for all the virtues of his rivals Perahia remains my own first choice.'