Friedman is in safe
hands in this series of Naxos restorations
by Ward Marston. Aficionados will be
very familiar with this series of English
Columbias and for more general comments
about Friedman I’d refer you to my other
reviews of the edition, all of which
teem with his incendiary echt Romanticism.
Here we arrive at his 1930 remake of
the Kreutzer Sonata with Huberman
– they also left behind an acoustic
version together (on Biddulph). Two
alternative takes of this 1930 set –
movements one and three – are also currently
on Arbiter and Naxos gives us the same
alternative take of the first movement.
I’ve always found Huberman’s huge downward
portamenti in the opening of the first
movement to be as intensely provocative,
as part of a musical argument, as the
rather austerely snatched phrasing.
His passagework positively crackles
and Friedman is a worthily combustible
partner, both men in regally driving
form; the reappearance of that immodest
portamento at the end of the movement
is part and parcel of Huberman’s expressive
symmetry. The differences however between
this and the published take are minimal
as is the case in the finale of the
sonata, where Friedman’s bass pointing
makes itself exquisitely apparent. In
the slow movement Friedman’s fast passagework
is as impressive as his colouristic
imperatives.
His Mendelssohn Songs
without Words may not be as well known
as his Chopin Mazurkas but they share
something of the same galvanic, life
affirming aesthetic. Big, vital, rhythmically
vivacious and personalised he brings
huge tonal warmth and depth to these
pieces. I’d especially cite the Op.30,
F sharp minor which is a little miracle
of poetry with superb differentiation
of depth and colour in the right hand,
and with the subtlest inflections in
the bass pointing – truly an example
of unselfconscious beauty. His rubati
are sometimes as cavalier and provocative
as they could be in Chopin – but who
could fail to resist his teasing way
with Op.67 No.2 or the vertiginous,
unforced power of his bass colouration.
His Liszt is a drama-laden curtain closer,
masculine and powerful.
All these qualities
are brought out in these vivid transfers
that, though they retain characteristic
Columbia surface noise, are impressive
and lifelike.
Jonathan Woolf