BRAHMS. Double Concerto in A minor, Op. 102, Tragic Overture, Op. 81. Anne-Sophie Mutter (yin); Antonio Meneses (vie); Berlin Phil- harmonic Orchestra / Herbert von Karajan. DG digital ® 410 603-1; 410 603-4; Compact Disc version 410 603-2 (to be reviewed later).

Double Concerto—selected comparisons:

D. Oistrakh, Rostropovich, Cleveland, Szell (2/70) (5/77) (R) ASD331 2

Perlman, Rostropovich, Concertgebouw,

Haitink (10/80) ASD3905

This is a record which deserves to win golden opinions. The work itself is one for which Brahmsians invariably have a deep unspoken affection; and its significant that Karajan comes to it in the late afternoon of his musical life, tempting as it must have been in earlier times to try to emulate the precedent set in 1948 by Toscanini, Mischakoff, Miller and the NBC SO (RCA mono ATI25, 4/74—nla). In the event, I think Karajan's reading is even finer than Toscanini's. There is all Toscanini's energy, grace, and sense of scale; but even finer orchestral playing and a pair of gifted young soloists whose eloquence and sense of wonder is as moving, in so prevailingly autumnal a context, as Miranda's wide-eyed wonderment—"0, brave new world"—before that very Brahmsian old man, the ageing Prospero.

It's a measure of the style and effectiveness of this reading that I can think of nothing that has given me comparable pleasure since I acquired the deeply satisfying Cohn Davis recording of Mozart's sublime Sinfonia Concertante for violin, viola and orchestra, K364 (Philips 6768 365, reviewed on page XXXX—part of a three-LP boxed set). As Karajan conceives it, Brahms's concerto is the grandchild of that earlier masterpiece, a true sinfonia concertante. It takes a musician of imagination to conceive the work in these terms and though I think there is room still for a sterner, more heroic view (Szeh!, on HMV, is masterly), I would have no hesitation in preferring this to all extant rivals, including the HMV /Haitink with its conventionally big, closely balanced solo performances.

Karajan's pacing of the work is masterly. Allegro, Andante (a true Andante, allowing the young players to catch the music on the wing, as it were), and Vivace non troppo are touched off with the kind of unaffected ease which only a master conductor of long experience can command. The response of the BPO itself is of an order which is rare even by their own extraordinary standards; all burnished warmth and civilized ease yet musically alert in every bow-stroke and breath of their playing. (Js this how the orchestra sounded during the hallowed old-world reign of Nikisch?

1 suspect so.) Happily the DG recording is also intimate, clear, burnished and warm; finely scaled and free from the kind of redundant circumambient space which blurs and inflates the Concertgebouw Orchestra's contribution under Haitink.

If I come tardily to the soloists, it is not because there are caveats to be entered. Far from it. Apart from a slightly tentative start together, their playing is a special delight; yet everything is integral, nothing is alien to the concertante spirit of the piece. And therein lies the miracle, and the cause of my reluctance to highlight this or that detail in their playing. Anne-Sophie Mutter, whose Brahms playing reached special heights in her Berlin recording of the Violin Concerto (DO 2532 032, 7/82; CD 400 064-2, 5/83) needs no introduction; Antonio Meneses, though, may be less familiar, He's a young Brazilian cellist, a pupil of Janigro, and at the age of 26 Karajan's newest protégé. I'm told that in the concert hall he has a small, elegant sound, with impeccable intonation. As such, he is perfectly cast here and I can pay him no higher compliment than to say that often on this record his Brahms reminds me of the Brahms of Pierre Fournier.

The Tragic Overture memorably complements the Double Concerto. Karajan's reading is neither enervating nor aggressive; the heroic argument is quietly touched in but the nature of the tragic sensibility seems to be the conductor's chief preoccupation. In exploring the music's tragic-pathetic mood, Karajan is helped by string playing of unexampled mellowness and trombones whose soft legato playing is a miracle of control and atmospheric suggestiveness. Thus, the music is shot through with a profound and subtle sense of loss which in no way inhibits a motion and a form that is prevailingly classical.

All in all, I would be surprised if this didn't prove to be one of the famous records of Karajan's later years. It is also an auspicious debut for Meneses in a work which from now on I shall always think ofas Brahms's K364. R. 0.

(See also "News and Views" on page 317)