This was the work in which Gidon Kremer was launched on the British public. His concert performance at the Royal Festival Hall in November 1975 (witnessed by Karajan himself, who flew over specially) was followed by the HMV recording (ASD3261, 10/76—nla), which in its degree of self-indulgence, particularly in the first movement, proved disappointing. It is fascinating to find that here, in his second recording of the Brahms, this time with a conductor who has often been accused of self-indulgence, he takes a far firmer line in that first movement. No longer does he sit down on a markedly slower tempo when a big melody comes to him, and though the tone remains exceptionally sweet, the clarity and precision of articulation are a delight.
If only the rest matched that, I could give a far more enthusiastic recommendation. Both in the slow movement and the finale I prefer Kremer's earlier version, for this time his idea of Adagio—already on the fast side before—os very nearly an Allegretto. The movement becomes a light-weight interlude, which in itself would be a reasonable view, but the absence of agreement on tempo between soloist and conductor, with the soloist ever pressing ahead of the beat, makes for an unsettling result. In the finale Kremer—as in the first movement—has exceptionally clean articulation, but his speed is so hectic—even faster than before—that all idea of Hungarian dance rhythms is lost, and the result lacks sparkle and charm. At a more relaxed speed Anne-Sophie Mutter plays with captivating swagger, and the impression she creates is the more powerful for that sense of strength in reserve. It is paradoxical too that though Mutter is balanced a little more backwardly than Kremer in her rival DG recording (also available on CD—400 064, 5/83)—even she is on the close side, as I have noted in my reviews—the impression is of a bigger, fatter sound than Kremer's. The achievement of Mutter in partnership with Karajan is the more impressive and compelling, the more I sample it.'