Since Sergei Edelman is a newcomer to the English CD catalogue perhaps I should first introduce him as a Polish-born 29-year-old who after studying with his father, established quite a reputation in Russia before emigrating in 1978, via Rome, to the USA where he was awarded first prize in the Young Concert Artists International Auditions the following year. All three works recorded here confirm him as a pianist of exceptional control and finesse; his incisive articulation and rhythmic precision in the flanking movements of both concertos, as also in the Allegro section of the Capriccio brillant are as welcome as his refinement and sensitivity In slow contexts, with never a moment of forced tone or unclean texture. But while Mendelssohn himself might have preferred his classical purity to the often over-ebullient eagerness of Katsaris in exactly the same programme with Masur, I'm sure he would still have questioned Edelman's predilection for slow tempo.
In every movement throughout the disc he is slower than all his rivals—and not just marginally slower, particularly in comparison with Katsaris. His Andante in the First Concerto, for instance, lasts for 7'07'' as against Katsaris's 4'51'' (even Perahia's timing, sometimes criticized as overleisurely, is only 6'28'') while his Adagio in the Second Concerto is no less than four minutes (all but four seconds) longer than Katsaris's 5'40''. Detail is always thoughtfully cherished and lines carefully moulded, but the melody lacks its natural flow. The faster movements in their turn are too deliberate to remind us that Mendelssohn's allegro markings are qualified by terms like con fuoco, vivace, appassionato and even scherzando. As I've intimated, for his musical poise and pianistic refinement Edelman can't be faulted. But in toto the Mendelssohn he presents is a little too emotionally reticent, a little too chaste.
Though mellow, the recording itself is certainly withdrawn in comparison with its rivals, particularly the forward Katsaris/Teldec/ASV issue. The Bamberg orchestra come into their own when on their own, but more than once struck me as unduly reticent when the pianist is the accompanist—as, notably, at the reprise in the First Concerto's slow movement. My favourite contenders remain the fancifully mercurial Schiff, finely recorded with Dutoit by Decca (though only the two concertos are included), and still more, the hyper-perceptive, magic-fingered Perahia with Marriner on CBS—and not least for the delightful interplay of piano with the ASMF.'