Perlman's coupling of concertos by Castelnuovo-Tedesco and Ben Haim brings a heartfelt tribute to his Jewish background. These are live recordings, made in the Mann Auditorium in Tel Aviv, happily with the orchestral sound less brutally dry than usual, here given an acceptable bloom. The Castelnuovo-Tedesco work, the second of the three violin concertos he wrote, is the best-known, largely because it was a favourite of Jascha Heifetz, who commissioned it and recorded it in 1954. That earlier version has appeared on CD in coupling with chamber works by Ferguson, Francaix and Khachaturian(RCA, 9/90), but this new one finds Perlman just as commanding, relishing not just the bravura but the warm lyricism, often reminiscent of Bloch's music. It also recalls Hollywood epic film-music, though it was not until 1939 that the composer settled permanently in Los Angeles, fleeing from Mussolini's anti-Jewish policies in Italy. The opening orchestral motif with its parallel-fifths chords is very Bloch-like, and leads on to one heart-stirring Jewish melody after another. The subtitle of this work is I Profeti, the Prophets, with the three movements devoted respectively to Isaiah, Jeremiah and Elijah. That first ''Isaiah'' movement, the longest, leads to an imaginative cadenza in which the soloist is accompanied by the harp. My only surprise is that a composer who latterly made a speciality of teaching composition was so slack over his structures. The second movement, ''Jeremiah'', is a lament, gently melancholy rather deeply sorrowful, with the warm melodies punctuated by a brass fanfare motif. The finale seems the least attuned to its subject, with a jaunty march for the main theme, much brilliant passagework for the soloist and a brassy conclusion, hardly an apt tribute to Elijah, the thundering prophet, who prompted a far more accurate portrait from Mendelssohn. As violin music pure and simple it works well.
If the Castelnuovo-Tedesco work readily sustains its half-hour length, the Ben Haim work, ten minutes shorter, runs fewer risks. The brisk outer movements have main themes that remind me of Hindemith. Ben Haim, born in 1897 in Munich, started life as Paul Frankenburger, but after fleeing from Hitler and settling in Palestine in 1933, adopted his new Hebraic name. The Hindemithian vigour—with a march theme dominating the first movement and an even jauntier main theme over oompah rhythm in the finale—readily gives way to Bloch-like melodic writing, with augmented intervals reflecting the music of the synagogue. The central Andante affetuoso, too, is a simple Jewish song, with the main melody returning at the end stratospherically high. Both works inspire Perlman to some of his most masterly playing, not just breathtakingly brilliant but deeply felt. The playing of the Israel Philharmonic is not always ideally polished, but the extra emotional thrust of live performances brings ample amends. I only wish that Perlman would now record the great concerto that both works often resemble, the Bloch Violin Concerto, still seriously neglected on disc.
The many items in the four-disc retrospective, ''The Art of Itzhak Perlman'', were chosen by the violinist himself, and I am delighted that he decided to round off the selection with one of his first EMI recordings, made in 1971, which is among the most breathtaking examples of violin virtuosity on disc, the Sarasate Carmen Fantasy. That concludes the fourth disc containing shorter items, including two jazz pieces with Andre Previn and two delectable performances of Kreisler works. It is a measure of his artistry that Perlman can give such weight and intensity even to the arrangement of My Yiddishe Momma. It is good too to find Perlman choosing the Mozart Oboe Quartet, a work in which he is hardly the leader. That honour goes to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra's principal oboe, Ray Still, joined also by Pinchas Zukerman on viola and Lynn Harrell on cello. Like the Vivaldi Concerto, the Bach Violin Concerto in G minor (the arrangement of the F minor Clavier Concerto) has the Israel Philharmonic directed by Perlman himself, and at the very start the result is heavy and lumbering. But then, the moment he himself starts to play, the Perlman magic takes over like the sun coming out. His partnership with Vladimir Ashkenazy is well-represented by the Brahms D minor Violin Sonata, and though the five concertante works include the unexpected choice of the Sinding Suite, these are certainly among his finest performances for EMI, even if the sound for the Khachaturian is as unhelpfully dry as any from the Mann Auditorium. At mid-price with well over 70 minutes of music on each disc, and a note explaining the choices, it makes a generous and attractive compilation, well-transferred.'