If Pearl has a mission beyond the need to survive in 
          the intensely competitive small market for historical recordings it 
          must be to present a facsimile of the ideal shellac listening experience. 
          Declicked but otherwise unfiltered the deep groove whiskery burble soon 
          sinks out of conscious hearing. The best filtering if we are not to 
          lose something of ambience or tone is the filter the mind brings to 
          bear. In the case of this disc the light crackle is in any event discreet 
          - barely discernible. 
        
 
        
The Brahms pairing surprises with the presence of the 
          fabled American pianist Kapell killed at the age of 31 in a plane crash 
          and with the lieder pianist Gerald Moore (he also recorded the Rubbra 
          Second Sonata with Sammons). In both sonatas Primrose is warmth and 
          vigour personified. There is no blurring of phrasing and while this 
          accent on punctuation and 'breathing' can, in other hands, seem over-emphatic 
          or stilted, Primrose's approach and tone remains clear, humorous and 
          virile. I cannot imagine Brahmsians being disappointed. In fact he strikes 
          me as a sort of counterpart of Isaac Stern in his Sony recording of 
          the Brahms Violin Concerto. 
        
 
        
The Benjamin work starts with a disenchanted and disenchanting 
          macabre little elegy. Benjamin's sound world owes more than a modicum 
          to Prokofiev (cf First Violin Concerto). What I wouldn't give to hear 
          this work in its orchestral finery preferably with Primrose or alternatively 
          with Frederick Riddle (who gave the UK premiere in Manchester with Barbirolli). 
          This work is coeval with the Symphony and both date from the late Second 
          World War. They share a seriousness and a tragic turmoil and serenity. 
          Primrose is always spick and span and attacks notes with a belligerent 
          bow when required. The work is also known as the Viola Sonata and in 
          orchestral dress as the Viola Concerto. 
        
 
        
Roy Harris is another symphonist but whereas Benjamin 
          produced only one, Harris wrote fourteen. The Harris Soliloquy and Dance 
          was issued by Victor with the Benjamin (Benjamin 11-9210-; Harris 11-9212-3). 
          Dance was as much a sympathetic mode of expression to Harris as it was 
          to Creston and, in his earlier works, Piston. The components of the 
          diptych are of practically equal length. The faltering soliloquy seems 
          to speak for the modest crestfallen man and the plangent piano writing 
          (articulated by the composer's wife) calls up echoes with the Third 
          Symphony. The Dance capers and ambles along with sidelong glances at 
          the oft-sniffed at Folksong Symphony (No. 4). 
        
 
        
The Kreisler-faked Pugnani piece is Bach-like and could 
          easily have been adapted from some lost movement from the four orchestral 
          suites or the violin concertos. It is highly entertaining - just as 
          much as the oboe and orchestra adaptations made by Arthur Benjamin and 
          so much in currency at Evelyn Rothwell concerts. 
        
 
        
The notes are by Tully Potter who is in his usual fine 
          form though I would have wished for more specifics on the works … as 
          well as the artists. In the case of Benjamin and Harris it is quite 
          plausible that this disc will be of interest for the composer content. 
        
 
        
Primrose was born in Glasgow on 23 August 1904 and 
          died in Provo, Utah on 1 May 1982. His artistry is fairly represented 
          here but we should remember that he commissioned concertos from Bartok, 
          Milhaud (No. 2), Rubbra and Fricker. 
        
 
        
The transfers have been well handled by Roger Beardsley 
          who has been favoured with what seems to be mint condition source material 
          ... or perhaps this is a tribute to Mr Beardsley's engineering artistry. 
        
 
        
        
Rob Barnett