Osostowicz and Tomes, like Mintz and Bronfman (for Hyperion and DG respectively), offered only the two violin sonatas on their much praised Faure discs of 1988. From Fujikawa and Osorio, however, we get Faure's engaging, barcarolle-like early Berceuse and later B flat Andante (in part salvaged from his unfinished Violin Concerto) as well. The Grumiaux disc still more generously follows the two sonatas Faure sonatas with Franck's in A major to make a total playing time of 73 minutes. So in terms of quantity the newcomers present a challenge. But what about quality?
Faure-lovers have long prayed for a CD reissue of the two sonatas from Grumiaux and Paul Crossley. And they won't be disappointed. The sound itself is pleasing—better, even, than I remember it on LP. And there is a radiance in the playing suggesting an unerring understanding of structure and style that somehow goes hand in hand with the joyous spontaneity of new discovery. The hyper-sensitive suppleness of Grumiaux's shading and phrasing is a particular delight, as is his awareness that just as much of the musical message comes from the piano—particularly in the Second Sonata. As for Crossley, not for nothing has he come to be recognized as one of this country's most dedicated Faure specialists. It would certainly be difficult to over-praise the subtlety of the two artists' interplay in both works. Incidentally, their immediacy of response often finds outlet in a slightly faster tempo than that of their rivals, not least in both slow movements, where they rise more urgently to moments of heightened excitement (perhaps even too urgently in the Andante of the Second Sonata at the passage marked sostenuto introduced at 1'35'' in track 6). But these performances remain my own favourites of the four couplings. And despite the slightly plummier-sounding reproduction of Gyorgy Sebok's piano, I also found much pleasure in the open-hearted warmth brought by both artists to the Franck Sonata, where I had the impression that Grumiaux himself might have put aside a silken Strad in favour of a throatier Guarnerius. Too bad that the booklet-writer, heading his article ''Two Violin Sonatas from France'', was apparently not informed that the disc would in fact include three.
Moving on to the Japanese violinist, Mayumi Fujikawa and her Mexican partner, Jorge Federico Osorio, I could not escape the suspicion that they would have been happier on more overtly romantic ground than with the elusive Faure. While confidently committed enough musicians in their own way, their fervour is sometimes achieved at the expense of finesse—in tonal quality as also in purity of line (Fujikawa too often resorts to slurs under emotional pressure). Certainly in close comparison with Grumiaux and Crossley their phrasing is not so finely nuanced, nor has it the same element of sheer musical charm. I have to confess that I now and again even began to understand why the later and graver E minor Sonata is sometimes branded as heavy. All that said, you would still find plenty to enjoy in this duo's unaffected strength and directness if not having to measure them against such formidable rivals. And let me remind collectors that if it's only the two sonatas Faure sonatas that they want, the catalogue still contains those splendid readings from the mercurial Osostowicz and Tomes, and the more expansively lyrical Mintz and Bronfman, both very well recorded.'