Even for those of us who never experienced Oistrakh’s full, beautifully moulded tone in the concert hall, there is about his playing a special quality of honesty and nobility that transcends any merely sonic limitations. The Shostakovich violin concertos are of course closely identified with his artistry, and only a few years ago one might have considered this BBC Legends compilation a compulsory purchase. Today, the choice is not so simple, two out of three of his ‘official’ recordings of the First having returned to the lists in much improved sound. Nor is this the only radio tape of this repertoire in contention.
Oistrakh’s Soviet-made accounts of the two concertos – as ‘definitive’ as any recordings can be – are currently to be found on the economically-priced twofer listed above. The violinist was a serious-minded virtuoso whose interpretations did not transform themselves radically. Nevertheless, there are some changes of emphasis here. In this (stereo) relay of the First Violin Concerto, he creates such a spellbinding atmosphere in the first-movement ‘Nocturne’ that it scarcely matters that woodwind solos are less carefully dovetailed in Edinburgh than in Leningrad.
At the expense of some depth of feeling, Oistrakh and Rozhdestvensky take a decidedly fierce view of the slow movement. Launched with minatory timps, this ‘Passacaglia’ is no subjective nostalgic wallow, its unchanging bass well to the fore. The finale, like the Scherzo, is immensely spirited, the normally cultured woodwind of the Philharmonia encouraged to emulate the rawness of their Soviet counterparts. In the Second Violin Concerto there is no lack of poise and intelligence, but Oistrakh communicates the music’s angry essence like no one else. Tempos are generally pressed harder than you might expect, that burnished tone designedly cutting up rough. Small wonder that the Proms audience erupts with even more than its customary fervour at the close.
And yet... Competition is fierce, above all in the A minor Concerto, and not merely from the dedicatee himself. Shostakovich’s formidable technical and interpretative challenges have been relished by the new generation of Russian virtuosos. For once, we can look forward as well as back. With Rostropovich on the podium, Maxim Vengerov turns in a performance of extraordinary power and passion, lacking Oistrakh’s authenticity of experience perhaps but compensating with an extra edge of youthful adrenalin and excitement. For a rather different, swifter view, coloured by Kent Nagano’s more precise and limpid accompaniment, Vadim Repin avoids rhetorical overkill, stressing rather the chamber-like intimacy of much of this score. I would be inclined to give these equal priority with the new issue as a supplement to the (mono-only) Oistrakh/Mravinsky. In No 2, Vengerov is again Oistrakh’s principal rival, though here I think there is something uniquely compelling about the live version under Svetlanov’s watchful gaze.
And finally: a real rarity. Altogether less intense, Ysaye’s reverie sits rather oddly in this company. Its idiom is post-romantic, or more specifically post-Chausson, with touches of the Debussy of Pelleas et Melisande. Oistrakh die-hards should be delighted, and the (mono) sound is good