A valuable disc, and an enjoyable one. Miaskovsky's Cello Concerto has remained unjustly neglected by record companies since Rostropovich's 1956 EMI recording with Sargent and the Philharmonia (available recently in a fine CD transfer, 11/88—but since deleted). The Shostakovich Adagio, as far as I can tell, has never been recorded in this form. It does turn up in the 1951 Ballet Suite No. 2—slightly cut, and with unhappily bolstered orchestration by the Suite's compiler, Lev Atovmian. The relative restraint of this original 1935 score, particularly in a performance as expressive as this one, is infinitely preferable, though its brief, central climax still retains its overwhelming force. Stalin's reaction to Lady Macbeth in 1936 is common knowledge; less well known is that The Limpid Stream too was condemned by Pravda under the caption ''Falsity in Ballet''.
Not even Miaskovsky escaped the State's accusing finger in the second round of condemnations (in 1948), despite winning a Stalin Prize for his Cello Concerto and being titled ''People's Artist'' in 1946. The concerto (1944-5) is modestly orchestrated—the orchestral forces are identical to those used by Brahms in his First Piano Concerto—and it shares with the Elgar and Delius concertos an autumnal mood, albeit with an essentially Russian brooding and introspection, given full weight here with Lloyd Webber and Maxim Shostakovich, at 32 minutes, taking four minutes longer than Rostropovich and Sargent.
They take their time over the Rococo Variations, as well: a more 'authentic' account of the Original version (described on the score as the ''Composer's Version'' i.e. without the cut and rearranged order of the 'standard' version) than those recorded by Wallfisch (Chandos) and Isser- lis (Virgin Classics), both of whom incorporate a few features from the 'standard' version—though you would be unlikely to spot the differences, mainly in the fifth variation, without a score. Lloyd Webber's smooth, rich tone, has not the faintest trace of a rough edge; this is supremely elegant playing. Rather too elegant, maybe, in the final variation and coda where firmer tone, more bravura and less scherzando lightness are called for.
The very natural balance, with not a hint of solo spotlighting, may help to explain that last reservation, and the Philips engineers have contrived the most satisfyingly dark, spacious orchestral sound I've yet heard from Abbey Road's No. 1 Studio. Nowhere does this approach work better than in the concluding Tchaikovsky Nocturne, where the veiled beauty of the solo line completely dispels lurking suspicions of this as a soulful salon makeweight.'