These 12 discs incorporate an in-built fail-safe against hasty consumption, in that their interpretative ingredients are so rich, varied and unpredictable that to experience more than one CD at a time is to invite mental and emotional exhaustion. Casals is, of course, the lynchpin. A charismatic presence, he embraces each work with the passion of a devoted horticulturist tending his most precious flowers, and that his love extended beyond the realms of music to mankind itself surely enriched his art even further. Being a proud and unhypocritical humanitarian, Casals had long refused to step foot in Franco's Spain, and it was Alexander Schneider who coaxed him from self-imposed retirement for a series of music festivals in the French town of Prades-hence these recordings, most of which have never appeared on CD before (and those that haven't include some that are completely new to the UK).
Although a survey according to musical chronology inevitably starts us off on the wrong critical foot, it does at least afford us the opportunity of reassessing Casals's highly individual approach to Bach and Mozart. In the case of the Bach solo Cello Suites (EMI References, 3/89), Casals's eloquent solo voice remains uniquely arresting, but to confront these heavily accented accompaniments to various Bach concertos (recorded around the time of the first Prades concerts in early June 1950) is to enter into quite the wrong sort of period atmosphere-even though Isaac Stern and Clara Haskil extract a maximum of expressive potential from their respective A minor and F minor Concertos.
The Fifth Brandenburg is partially redeemed by Eugene Istomin's nimble solo cadenza, but Joseph Szigeti's thin-textured tone is far from steady, and the orchestra sounds rather dim. The C minor Concerto for oboe and violin is full of lovely things, but I suspect that both Stern and Marcel Tabuteau would have favoured a more mobile Adagio-a suspicion that applies ten-fold in the case of Mozart's Sinfonia concertante, where the Andante runs to a somnambulistic 14'05''. To be fair, Stern does sustain his line virtually every note of the way, but William Primrose seems ill at ease at this tempo; turn to his 1956 recording with Heifetz and Izler Solomon (RCA, 6/88-and which is as perversely swift as Casals is perversely slow), and the speed increase knocks an astonishing five-and-a-half minutes off the total timing of the movement. Casals gave another Prades performance of the work two years later (1953) with Joseph and Lilian Fuchs (Koch) and although there the Andante is almost as broad (there is merely a minute between them), the sum effect is far more fluent. I much prefer Sony's coupling, a winsome albeit small-toned 'Turkish' Concerto with Erica Morini, stylistically reminiscent of Adolf Busch and boisterously accompanied by Casals.
Of the two Mozart piano concerto soloists, Istomin (in K449) seems the better suited to Casals's outgoing bluster and brio. Mieczyslaw Horszowski was a favoured musical collaborator who is magnificently represented later on in the series (see below); he played K595 with Casals in Barcelona during the 1920s, and his finger-work here is both discreet and musical. However, Casals's eager accompaniment (so prophetic of Sandor Vegh's for Andras Schiff some 30 years later) tends more to overpower Horszowski than egg him on: it is an odd interpretative balance, the soloist classically restrained and invariably extrovert and larger-than-life. The fill-up, Mozart's mini aria-concerto Ch'io mi scordi di te is vocally hard-pressed, but superbly conducted: it makes us regret all the more that Casals never recorded a Mozart opera, Don Giovanni in particular.
Turning to Beethoven's cello sonatas and variations, Casals faces competition from his younger, more lustrous pre-war self (Pearl). He once said that ''it is better to have character in what you play than to have a beautiful sound'', and that more or less sums up what is on offer here-a dry, rather pale solo image with purposeful gestures (often wildly exaggerated), sundry grunts and frequent moments of wistful repose. There is more spirit than tone, more muscle than flesh, while the ever-intelligent Serkin proves a tower of pianistic strength, albeit a less colourful one than Horszowski provides on the Pearl set. However, the piano trios-or at least some of them-are revelatory. The Archduke hasn't the elegance of Casals's 1928 recording with Thibaud and Cortot (EMI References, 12/91), but it does have the first-movement exposition repeat and manifold poetic insights (try 12'25'' into the Andante cantabile). The two Op. 70 Trios are given with great gusto (the opening Allegro of the Ghost, for example) and perception-in fact, I can't think of any other interpreters who so successfully underline the sheer inventiveness of Beethoven's writing. The Op. 1 Trios are, again, quite remarkable: the E flat (with Joseph Fuchs a superb solo violinist) being all youthful audacity and cultivated elegance, the G major (with Schneider) harbouring an unforgettably poignant 13'30'' Largo con espressione-so exquisite in its tranquillity and sensitive phrasing. Op. 11, too, yields a mass of thoughtfully tended observation.
In the case of Schubert, the B flat Trio is abundantly lyrical but far less buoyant than the 1926 recording, again with Thibaud and Cortot (EMI References, 12/91). However, this Sony version of the E flat Trio must surely rank among the greatest chamber music recordings ever made. Everything 'tells'-the profound level of musical exchange between individual players, the complexion of their phrasing, their intuitive sense of timing and judicious choice of tempos. There is a Toscanini-style tautness and concentration to this performance, a feeling for structure and a control of musical line that fully reflect the score's symphonic design. The most celebrated Prades recording is still the Stern/Casals/Tortelier reading of Schubert's C major Quintet, a masterful traversal graced with elastic tempos, songful phrasing, appropriate rhetorical emphases (especially in the first and second movements) and fabulous string playing. The coupling here is a 'first release' (the only one in the series) of Schubert's Fifth Symphony, recorded in 1953-a warm, keenly inflected performance, jaunty in the outer movements and with an adoring, broadly paced Adagio. I presume that it has been held from previous view only because of a few minor executant mishaps. It is certainly well worth hearing, but I prefer Casals's 1970 live Marlboro recording (also a 'first release' when it was issued by Sony in 1989) which is rather more subtle, generally better played, far better recorded and has its first movement repeat intact (this earlier version hasn't).
Maximum contrast is afforded by Casals's 1953 recording of Schumann's Cello Concerto, a startlingly demonstrative affair with heavily thrashed accents, savage entries and a general proneness to exaggeration that makes a meal out of Schumann's already heightened psycho-musical pathology. And yet Casals's unique brand of poetry is frequently heart-rending: try from 11'25'' into the first movement and follow through to the next, and you'll hear palpable premonitions of the Elgar Concerto as well as some exquisite cello playing. Prior to an enjoyable (but, again, rather bullishly projected) set of Stucke im Volkston, we are offered an extremely fine reading of Schumann's sombre D minor Trio-a near-contender for 'best ever' status, running even its celebrated 1928 Casals/Thibaud/Cortot EMI predecessor (EMI References, 12/91) pretty close.
Which leaves Brahms, a majestic, big-boned account of the early B flat Trio and a sublime version of the sun-soaked B flat Sextet, one of the glories of this Casals Edition and a suitable place to close. If you need a prime sampling of the Casals manner at its most inspired, then try the Sextet's second movement and note the sullen, ghostly tone of the master himself at 8'32''-like some ancient bard relaying a solemn but wise message.
It sounds as effective on CD as it did on LP, but transfers elsewhere are distinctly variable. Horszowski's Mozart sounds cramped and antiquated, and where earlier CD alternatives are available (Schubert Quintet, Beethoven sonatas, Mozart Sinfonia concertante), the new transfers reveal themselves as marginally warmer but occasionally less well-focused. Still, the originals were no sonic blockbusters to start with-and niggling quibbles about hi-fi shouldn't dissuade us from requesting further Prades recordings (not all of them featuring Casals), primarily Brahms's Quintet, Op. 111 and Schumann's Piano Quintet, Myra Hess's Mozart Piano Concerto, K271, Casals's Mozart Symphony No. 29 and Eine kleine Nachtmusik, even (mono) Bach Orchestral Suites-not quite my cup of tea, perhaps, but warmer, sweeter and more nourishing than many we've had since. And don't forget Music and Arts' two four-disc sets of live Prades material ((CD) CD688 and 689, and featuring many of the artists represented here, plus the likes of Yehudi Menuhin, Arthur Grumiaux and William Kapell), fallible souvenirs to be sure, but full of wonderful things and an essential supplement to this most valuable, excellently annotated series.'