There have been 
                  elite players who have reached an exceptional standard in official 
                  (or unofficial) second-study instruments. Kreisler never made 
                  a fetish of his piano playing though there’s a rare example 
                  of it on record. Heifetz too was by all accounts a fine pianist, 
                  though we have no extant evidence of it so far as I’m aware. 
                  The third spot in the triumvirate of great fiddle players would 
                  probably go to Enescu – but then he could turn his hand seemingly 
                  to anything. But there was a fourth in the shape of Arthur Grumiaux 
                  who was a prize-winning violinist and pianist at the 
                  age of eleven and who kept up his pianistic chops even as he 
                  toured and recorded. And the evidence is here.
                Heifetz left an 
                  over-dubbed recording; his famous and notorious Bach Double 
                  in which he took his epoch making playing to the logical limit 
                  by dispensing with a soloist partner and conductor and doing 
                  the whole job himself. I believe optical film was used. In October 
                  1959 Grumiaux went into the studio to record the Brahms Op.100 
                  and Mozart K481 sonatas, playing both parts. The greater burden 
                  falls in the Brahms, though obvious problems exist in both cases. 
                  This could rightly be called a stunt, the exact word annotator 
                  Raymond Tuttle uses (and then disregards) in his sleeve-note. 
                  I dare say we would not know if we weren’t told but the fact 
                  of the matter is that we are told.
                Grumiaux plays the 
                  Mozart (on violin, I think I should add for the moment) very 
                  lyrically, employing perhaps rather more portamento than he 
                  would a decade later, though they’re graciously quick and enlivening. 
                  He cultivates beautiful warmth and tonally he makes a consistently 
                  bigger sound than we’re perhaps used to. His Allegro finale 
                  is suitably deft and witty, full of strong characterisation. 
                  His piano playing leads when necessary and is punctiliously 
                  clean and impressive. As an old British comedian was fond of 
                  saying – You Can’t See The Join. Similarly with the Brahms, 
                  which receives a boldly sunny reading full of his generous and 
                  classical restraint, qualities that suit this sonata perfectly. 
                  And qualities we find in his piano playing to an almost comparable 
                  degree.
                The Grieg is the 
                  sole example of Grumiaux with a colleague. Here we have his 
                  long time colleague, the Hungarian István Hajdu. There were 
                  always bigger toned players in this work, more highly personalised 
                  and superficially exciting exponents. But what Grumiaux does 
                  is to balance the folkloric and the effortlessly lyric with 
                  marvellously calibrated precision; neither predominates and 
                  the sonata is kept in perfect balance.
                Given the unusual 
                  nature of the over-dubbing this has been one of the rarer items 
                  from Grumiaux’s discography and it’s pleasurable to encounter 
                  it in this well engineered and, as they say on the cover, “unique” 
                  disc. So full marks to Australian Decca for this – and let’s 
                  hope some questing soul will dig out Grumiaux’s wonderful recording 
                  on 78s of the Bach Double with English violinist Jean 
                  Pougnet. You’ll forget overdubbed Heifetz (and Szigeti/Flesch 
                  and a host of others) when you hear these two in full flight.
                Jonathan Woolf