Grieg's Op. 7 is his only sonata for the piano, and the Op. 36 his only sonata for the cello. So it was a sensible idea to couple them, especially as their protagonists here, both youngish compatriots of the composer, are regular duo partners. There's just a touch of edginess in the keyboard's fortissimo, but also much that's mellow and delicate at the opposite extreme. The cello, a glorious-toned 1680 Francesco Ruggieri, could scarcely be more naturally or seductively reproduced. At its very modest price, this disc is a true bargain.
Even if not quite the repertory favourite it once was, the later and more ripely romantic Cello Sonata is the more individual of the two works, not least by reason of its endearing reminders of the 'Norwegian' Grieg. Birkeland and Gimse play it with enough imaginative vitality and warmth to melt the heart of the proverbial stone: their intensity in meeting the several passionate climaxes of the first two movements is as winning as their fantasy and caprice in the very long finale—and let me say at once that here its 'heavenly lengths' sound not a note too long. Their interplay as a duo is no less spontaneous and close as their attunement to the music itself—as the appealing little Intermezzo for cello and piano makes clear.
Coming from a mere 22-year-old, the Piano Sonata reveals a Grieg still bridled by textbook demands of sonata-form. But with his well-contrasted tempos, rhythmic incision, wide dynamic range and instantaneous response to every rise and fall of tension, Gimse commands attention throughout—even (again) in the elongated finale.'