It was not my intention to listen through this set at one sitting, but like the reader who couldn't put his book down, I was drawn ever onward by one magical performance after another. Practically all the recordings are old friends, but it has been a rich experience to hear them in magnificently clear and vivid new transfers. Even the most tricky items, such as the Minuet (which had to be transferred from a dubbed matrix), now sound well through the sympathetic and skilled use of new technology.
Elgar's first escape from the confines of acoustic recording was in April 1926, when he recorded Cockaigne and the first two Pomp and Circumstance Marches. Clearly he relishes the new freedom provided by the use of the microphone, and there is a particular exuberance in his performances. As in 1975, when EMI's ''Elgar on Record'' box was issued (2/75), an initial decision to reissue just one version of each work was sensibly changed, and the new Edition contains all the re-makes. Thus we hear the second Cockaigne, recorded in 1933 on three sides instead of four: this is slightly warmer, more inward than the 1926 version; also three of the Pomp and Circumstance Marches from 1932-3, which are more grounded, better played and recorded than the five earlier versions, but not quite so joyfully outgoing in feeling. I hope the old theory that Elgar took these marches quickly in order to fit them on one side each can now finally be buried: anybody with two good ears can hear that the flexible tempos spring from his own inner pulse, and not from a need to force the music into a strait-jacket. The additional Land of Hope and Glory, taken from a Pathe soundtrack, has a particular value in providing the only really clear image we have of Elgar's voice, when, in somewhat ironic vein, he greets his players and asks them to ''play this tune as if you'd never heard it before''.
Felix Salmond gave the first performance of the Cello Concerto, but a few months after the premiere Elgar and Beatrice Harrison collaborated on the work for the first time, and performed it regularly together thereafter. Harrison was not exactly a virtuoso, but she was a fine, sensitive player, who gives a noble, deeply felt reading of the work—one which is devoid of ostentatious emotion as applied by some more recent interpreters.
Not until the early 1930s did Elgar have the chance to record with an orchestra of the first rank. His 1930 performance of In the South has all the immense vitality and grandeur one expects of a performance under his direction, although the LSO of those days was not a virtuoso body. The BBC Symphony Orchestra of 1932-3 was in a different class, and apart from Cockaigne and the marches we have a wonderfully expressive and moving Kingdom Prelude with Boult's newly created ensemble. Beecham's new LPO was an even more magnificent instrument, and perhaps Elgar's most accomplished recording technically is a reading of Froissart which in turn blazes with boisterous pleasure and then touches the heart with the most affectionate phrasing. The Serenade is given a charmingly tender performance by the strings of the LPO, who then respond to Elgar with a poignantly played Elegy—an apt subject for what turned out to be the composer's last recording.
An unusual aspect of Sir Edward's work is shown in the piano items. He did not compose at the keyboard, but used the instrument as a means of experimenting with and developing existing ideas. It must be emphasized that his recorded improvisations are not finished performances, but three- and four-minute glimpses of just one aspect of his creative process, caught on the wing.
The tale of how Sir Edward supervised the two Caractacus excerpts by telephone line from his sick-bed has been told on many occasions. The exercise was effective in that Collingwood certainly absorbed elements of the composer's own performing style in his readings. Less well known is the story of how Elgar presented his record producer Fred Gaisberg with the manuscript of Mina on the latter's last visit. Gaisberg recorded the piece just in time for Sir Edward to make some lucid criticisms, and it was re-made after his death. Both performances are included here—the 'incorrect' version appears for the first time. Sir Landon Ronald enjoyed a high reputation as an Elgar conductor, and both men were associated with HMV. Ronald's 1935 recording of the Coronation March is thus the only example we have of how he conducted his colleague's music. All these extra items make a welcome pendant to the main exercise.
The Elgar Edition thus reaches its conclusion. In every respect it has been a highly successful enterprise, and will inform and stimulate those who admire the music. It has another important function, and that is to provide a source of reference for practising musicians. Sir Georg Solti and others have used Elgar's recordings as an adjunct to the printed scores. I hope that more and more performers will be similarly instructed in the years to come. I have not seen the insert-notes for this issue.'