The constituent parts of this carefully considered production include a velvet-toned solo line, fastidious instrumental balancing, fine orchestral playing and considered articulation from all concerned. Wherever the score quietens (such as at 11'06'' into the first movement), the musical tension is well sustained and so is the rarefied atmosphere created by Bartok’s exquisite scoring. The playful banter between soloist and orchestra works especially well – at 2'21'', for example, where Gil Shaham prompts an alert response from strings, harp and woodwinds. There are odd flashes of drama, such as the swooping glissando at 11'36'' and the emphatic full-tutti crash that lands in its wake. And there are also some magical details, my own favourite being at 5'41'' into the second movement, where Shaham’s passagework flutters within a dark aural environment like a captive butterfly circulating Bluebeard’s Castle. Note, too, the gently jabbing clarinet (in A) during the same passage and Shaham’s perfectly realized smorzando (‘extinguishing’ or ‘gradually dying away’) at 9'33'' into the finale.
I could go on, but won’t, because it is time for me to voice my one principal reservation about this performance – namely, a certain lack of temperament. You sense it more or less from the beginning where, beyond the strumming harp and held pianissimo horns, Shaham’s first entry is too urbane, too carefully calculated. Sometimes his attack is strong, sometimes underpowered (at 4'35'' into the first movement, which is hardly ‘loud and resolute’). But what I miss most is the kind of maverick passion that Zehetmair, Gitlis, Stern (CBS, 10/59 – nla), Menuhin (in his first recording) and, on occasion, Mullova and Chung (under Rattle) bring to the piece. Shaham, although an extremely accomplished player, emerges as overly cool, excessively laid-back – and that in spite of his avowed love for the music. These are not emotions to recall in tranquillity, but fiery gestures born of a spirit poised on the edge of catastrophe. War was already in the air and Bartok would soon leave his homeland forever.
Boulez occasionally allows the temperature to dip: the big tutti 1'04'' into the third movement is lacking in fibre. Being meticulous is all well and good, but not at the expense of a work’s broader emotional implications. One might also mention that Shaham and Boulez exceed Bartok’s prescribed total timing by around six-and-a-half minutes (40'32'' as compared with, say, Zehetmair and Ivan Fischer at 35'24'').
The two Rhapsodies are similarly well observed, especially at 1'59'' into No. 2’s first movement where an entrancing recipe of solo violin, woodwinds and gentle percussion make an unforgettable effect. But spend just a few minutes in the company of Boulez with Menuhin – less transparent, less well recorded and, to be honest, less well played – and you edge nearer the rustic soul of this glorious music. Shaham and Boulez present a workable – and enjoyable – overview of the concerto, but fail to engage the spirit. Or at least that is how it sounds to me. Best to stick with Zehetmair (my top digital recommendation in the concerto), Menuhin, Gitlis or Mullova.'