By coincidence I 
                  was watching the DVD featuring an early 1960s Paris performance 
                  Grumiaux gave with Manuel Rosenthal of the Beethoven Concerto. 
                  His poise and relative immobility will come as little surprise 
                  even to those who, like me, never saw him in the flesh. That 
                  he played mostly with his eyes shut was more unusual. But he 
                  was perfectly balanced with regard to leg position, if not quite 
                  Kogan-like in perfection of posture, and made no extraneous 
                  gestures, either physical or facial. 
                His 
                  Concerto performance was impressive 
                  though constrained by the inevitable 
                  aural limitations of the format. In 
                  this later 1966 LP recording he was 
                  partnered by the New Philharmonia 
                  under Alceo Galliera and isn’t to 
                  be confused with the early 1970s recording 
                  with the Concertgebouw and Colin Davis 
                  – Grumiaux of course made multiple 
                  recordings of the Concerto. 
                Galliera 
                  manages to infuse some real metrical 
                  tension into the opening orchestral 
                  introduction, one that Grumiaux enhances. 
                  His trill is of electric velocity, 
                  the vibrato perfectly controlled, 
                  the gestures classical and pellucid, 
                  the phrasing of rapt naturalness. 
                  There are no emotive finger position 
                  changes that call attention to themselves; 
                  everything is directed inward, including 
                  the powerful orchestral pianissimo 
                  de Waart prepares for Grumiaux throughout 
                  the first movement. Refinement and 
                  lyricism are the watchwords of the 
                  slow movement and the finale, whilst 
                  never an adrenalin producer, ratchets 
                  enough of its own rhythmic drama to 
                  stimulate, educate and enliven. This 
                  is playing of elevation and finesse.
                The companion concerto 
                  is a rather unlikely one from the perspective of a professional 
                  player – the college standby of Viotti’s A minor [No.22]. This 
                  is a work that most players have essayed at some stage though 
                  few elite players have committed it to disc, though Menuhin 
                  did, and so did Accardo, De Vito, Morini, David Oistrakh and 
                  Stern – some have been recorded in concert or privately 
                  such as the superb Shumsky piano-accompanied version on Biddulph 
                  and a live Kreisler torso. This is a charmer of a performance, 
                  long on Gallant charm and garnished with some silkily elegant 
                  work in the genial slow movement, and some dashing passagework 
                  throughout. Is that a passing passage of poor intonation at 
                  5.55 in the first movement? Never mind. 
                The Viotti was originally 
                  coupled on LP with the then relatively newly rediscovered concerto 
                  by Michael Haydn and though it’s not the most obvious 
                  bedfellow for the Beethoven it’s not been re-issued for a good 
                  while and I prefer it to yet another re-issue of the two Romances. 
                
                Jonathan Woolf