I found the sound here a little off-putting. The A major Sonata opens with a passionate and fairly extended piano statement of a principal theme, which at once reveals that the recording of that instrument lacks brightness; the violin tone is not ideal either, being somewhat thin and wiry. That said, one gets used to it, and is also at once conscious that the playing is sympathetic and broadly enjoyable. Both artists are interpretatively inside the music—indeed, John Blakely provides a stylish and informative programme note—and offer a generally high level of skill. All the same, readers for whom technical polish is a sine qua non should know that Krzysztof Smietana's intonation is uneasy in the difficult violin octaves at 1'34'' and repeated at 3'21''; the same applies to another octave passage in the development section (4'12''). For myself, however, I find the performance appealing enough to absorb such occasional disquiet. The Andante has a chaste reticence that is wholly stylish, the scherzo is fleet and the whole has an attractive freshness. Try the gentle opening of the finale for a sample of how these artists respond to the youthful Faure's quiet rapture.
The E minor Sonata is a much later work—40 years later, in fact—and sounds like it, being more introspective. Here, too, the players respond to the music: its structural outlines are unconventional, but the composer's instinct is, if anything, more sure and the work is very rewarding. Again, I especially like the Andante in their performance. All the same, I do miss the kind of recorded sound which would allow such music all its mystery, and despite the artists' skill it is a little daylit. This repertory is still best served by the Grumiaux/Crossley recording of both sonatas for Philips, which is beautifully attuned to the music and excellent value at mid-price. The fill-ups offered by Smietana and Blakely are agreeable, but the Philips disc has the far more attractive bonus of Franck's Sonata (with another pianist, Gyorgy Sebok).'