I am an admirer of the Mercury legacy, but this is one record I am unable to warm to. The recordings, made in Watford Town Hall in 1962 and 1964, have the cello placed in its natural position in relation to the orchestra, and the clear focus and sense of unexaggerated presence are striking. Perhaps it was the use of Telefunken 201 microphones, but to my ears the cello timbre seems to have too much emphasis on its upper partials, and not enough balancing warmth of resonance in the middle and bass. The orchestra too, while the tuttis expand vividly, has just a touch of hardness on the violins. Detail is admirable and there is no lack of body or ambient bloom.
Dorati and Starker, fellow Hungarians, and friends too, obviously have a genuine rapport, but—especially bearing in mind my remarks about timbre—their musical partnership is one of strong contrasts. This is apparent at the very opening of the Dvorak Concerto when after a thrilling orchestral introduction Starker's entry is less extrovert, and he phrases the second subject in a more moulded way, less dreamily than the solo horn. There are, however some memorable moments, such as the almost ethereal return of the main theme of the cello in the first movement (9'33''), touchingly ruminative with a gentle flute obbligato; then Dorati (at 10'36'') quickens the pace very effectively.
In Kol nidrei Dorati creates a striking feeling of atmospheric anticipation, but Starker's view of the work is sombre. The Tchaikovsky Rococo Variations are elegantly presented and here the cellist's refinement and bright clean timbre work well, although other recorded performances have more charm. Starker's admirers will not want to be without this record, for there is much that is eloquent and moving in the Dvorak Concerto, especially in the gentler pages of the Adagio and in the yearningly nostalgic solo passage near the end of the finale, but for this work I personally still like to turn to Rostropovich, preferably with Karajan (DG) in charge of the orchestra.'