Politically, personally and stylistically, no composer was closer to Dmitri Shostakovich than Mieczysπaw Weinberg (or Moisey Vainberg as we used to call him). With his sometime protector’s star in the ascendant, Weinberg’s music enjoys far wider dissemination than ever it did in their lifetimes. There are orchestral works to be sampled on Chandos and a string quartet survey from CPO to which this violin sonata series is a welcome supplement. Problems remain. Weinberg was unstoppably fecund. His oeuvre may have been expertly crafted but its individuality is debatable. For cellist and academician Alexander Ivashkin, Weinberg should be ranked among those imitative Soviet-era composers who, in their day, devalued the musical vocabulary associated with their master. Is this fair? The composer’s growing body of fans will point to its specifically Jewish coloration and tell you that the influence ran both ways. In the present context it should be recalled that Shostakovich’s only violin sonata was composed many years later. Kolja Blacher and Jascha Nemtsov have already paired Weinberg’s Third and Fourth Sonatas with that austere repertoire staple on the Hänssler label.

This new CPO collection is less likely to create duplication on the shelves. The Fourth Sonata (1947) carries a dedication to Leonid Kogan, the fabled lean-toned Soviet-era virtuoso whose security above the stave was no doubt a tad more reliable than Stefan Kirpal’s, good as his performance is. In a helpful booklet-note, David Fanning is most enthusiastic about the four-movement Fifth, a major utterance dedicated to Shostakovich who, in 1953, had just helped secure Weinberg’s release from detention. The wistful limpidity of its opening Andante con moto is contrasted with a pair of scherzos. The second, a shadowy waltz, is particularly effective while still operating within the ambit of Semitised Shostakovich. The finale makes as if to strike out into Ravelian territory but takes in Shostakovich-style fugal writing and cyclical reminiscence. The very early Three Pieces (1934-35) bring up the rear in predictably eclectic fashion. Vivid recording that captures Andreas’s piano tone sympathetically at times immortalises Stefan’s intakes of breath.