Elman made two commercial recordings of the Tchaikovsky 
          Concerto. The first, with Barbirolli in 1929, has seldom been out of 
          the catalogue in one form or another. The second dates from an LPO session 
          with Boult in 1954 and is much less well known. But dating from December 
          1945 comes this live Boston/Paray traversal that catches the great violinist 
          still on the right side of physical infirmity and a gradual but inexorable 
          waning of powers. These latter do manifest themselves in particular 
          ways in the companion concerto, the Mendelssohn. 
        
 
        
In terms of structure the Boston performance of the 
          Tchaikovsky differs little from the 1929 traversal; the timings for 
          the first movement are in fact almost identical though there are differences 
          in matters of thematic emphasis, metrical displacements, vibrato usage 
          and phrasal elasticity. This is still however, very recognisably, the 
          master tonalist of old, one who imbued every phrase with lavish intensity 
          and a throbbing, molten vivacity. He brings intense concentration and 
          expressive shading to his opening rhetorical statement and the Elmanesque 
          rubato that no-one could quite match. He is very slow and highly romanticised; 
          the orchestral pizzicati that point the rhythm are delayed an age as 
          a result. Elman lavishes prayerful simplicity after the cadenza and 
          his voluptuous vibrato takes on an ever more devastating candour. Behind 
          him the Boston winds are highly characterful and though there is some 
          crunch and other such aural damage (especially in tuttis) it will detain 
          only the pickiest of listener. Elman is not quite certain in his passagework 
          at the end of the movement – though the harmonics are negotiated well 
          enough – but one can hear how eventful and tactful is Tchaikovsky’s 
          orchestration when a fine conductor is in charge clarifying lines. The 
          orchestra emerge newly distinctive in the slow movement – flute and 
          clarinet principals especially. Elman’s phrasing rises and falls, ever 
          more rapturous and involved, his line taking on more and more a sense 
          of direction, the orchestral string blending under Paray of real distinction. 
          In the finale the orchestral accents are commensurately strong; this 
          is the one movement where the excitement of a live performance impels 
          Elman to a fleeter performance than his earlier commercial recording 
          though oddly it’s not necessarily more overpoweringly exciting. 
        
 
        
The Tchaikovsky is a reminder of Elman’s eminence; 
          in the first decade of the century it was he who was the most fêted 
          of young fiddlers and the Tchaikovsky was for a decade or more "his" 
          concerto. The Mendelssohn dates from November 1953. His slightly earlier 
          commercial recording with Defauw and the Chicago Symphony has always 
          been highly regarded whilst the twilight Vanguard session in Vienna 
          that produced the later disc, with the State Opera Orchestra under Golschmann 
          has not. Again Elman’s overall conception changed little and the difference 
          in timings between Mitropoulos and Golschmann are negligible. Elman 
          is perhaps guilty of some rough playing in the opening movement of the 
          Concerto; some rather inelegant expressive pointing is another particular 
          feature (but how irrepressibly Elman it sounds). With the highlighting 
          comes a rather static introspection and an equally glutinous tonal projection 
          that can too dramatically personalise the line. Nevertheless against 
          this one can cite the finger position changes that remind one of the 
          old lion and the beautiful strands of lyrical weight he can and does 
          lavish – even if the vibrato itself is now slowing and the tempos ossifying 
          somewhat in terms of phrasal interconnectedness. In the Andante he no 
          longer possesses the elfin projection or sense of relaxation that the 
          greatest interpreters of this work bring to it (if indeed he ever really 
          did – his recording with Defauw, though of course highly personalised, 
          was highly impressive). He does rather distend the movement (to 7.50). 
          He is jaunty and unmotoric in the finale; he never used it as a piece 
          of showmanship as other, less scrupulous colleagues did. He also makes 
          a couple of fluffs on the lower strings but these are minor details 
          – even if the final bars are rather grandiosely emphatic. 
        
 
        
The recordings have been handled with skill; the attendant 
          problems are really insignificant ones and won’t be in any way problematic. 
          As one who welcomes anything by Elman, no matter how minor, these major 
          live performances have a still compelling part to play in expanding 
          and widening the Elman discography; that they are ancillary to the main 
          body of his recordings is undeniable but wise heads will want to hear 
          them and reflect on Elman’s place in the hierarchy of great violinists. 
        
 
        
Jonathan Woolf