The phenomenal success of Maxim Vengerov, still in his early twenties, has rested till now largely on the Russian romantic and twentieth-century repertory, but here he tackles one of the most formidable war-horses of the central repertory, and emerges equally triumphant. This is a live recording, and it has the feel of one in its tension, the sense of immediate and spontaneous expression, the magnetism, the excitement. So, in principle one might feel that Vengerov’s rallentando into the soloist’s first full enunciation of the main theme (track 1, 4'24'') is dangerously extreme. In the event I have rarely known that moment sound so magical, the easing into pure lyricism after the opening fireworks, heightened by the daringly wide range of dynamics which Vengerov uses – happily not ironed out by the engineers.
There and throughout the first movement this is a performance of extremes, just as felicitous in bravura as in lyrical purity, with wide tonal contrasts. It adds to the feeling of freshness and new discovery that Vengerov uses a formidable cadenza he has written himself. In the slow movement he is light and flexibly songful, with rubato sounding completely natural, never self-conscious, and the finale, taken fast, has a joyful swagger, with a little agogic hesitation before the accented chord each time in the third phrase of the theme, which underlines its folk-like quality. Mutter in her early recording with Karajan sounds slow and literal by comparison, and Perlman at a fast speed too is straighter, conveying ease rather than excitement. Only Tasmin Little, among those listed above, conveys similar exuberance, and it has been instructive to find that in all my comparisons that version, now on Classics for Pleasure, in every way rivals the finest here.
The coupling is an inspired one too. On Galleria DG has linked Zukerman’s versions of the concerto and of the Second Sonata, both as here with Barenboim in a double role. If in the concerto Barenboim with the Chicago orchestra is a degree sharper, less smooth than with Perlman or Zukerman, in the Sonata he is even more freely spontaneous than in his recordings of that work with Perlman and Zukerman. As for Vengerov, he brings out the mystery in this minor-key sonata as well as the power. The recording of both works is clear and full, with the violin not unduly spotlit. The one moment of doubt I have is over the sour entry of the oboe in the slow movement of the concerto.'