Edward Elgar (1857–1934)
Violin Concerto in B minor, Op. 61
Arthur Bliss (1891–1975)
Theme and — well — Cadenza for Solo Violin and Orchestra
Introduction and "Allegro" (revised 1937)
Alfredo Campoli, violin
London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Adrian Boult (Elgar, 1955)
London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Arthur Bliss (Bliss, 1956)
DECCA ELOQUENCE 461 353-2 [63:52]
The subtle intake of breath before the pianist’s attack.
To begin with, this reissue of Campoli’s Elgar Violin Concerto—paired thoughtfully with Bliss’s own compositions—presents a fascinating window into mid-20th-century British musical sensibilities. The sonic texture is, yes, occasionally papery, a reminder of the era’s production constraints rather than any interpretative flaw.
But there’s a clarity here, a crystalline articulation in Boult’s orchestral introduction that many later recordings lack. You can actually hear the wind lines—carefully weighted, balanced—not swallowed up by the strings or brass. And this is no small feat with Elgar’s dense, orchestral palette.
Campoli’s entrance is a study in measured elegance. He avoids the temptation to over-sentimentalize—no mawkishness here—but still manages to convey that wistful introspection at the concerto’s heart. His slides…
they’re just right: swift and lyrical, not syrupy, with an expressivity that never feels forced. At about six minutes into the first movement, the interplay between his solo lines and the orchestra’s counter-theme emerges with poignant clarity—a dialogue — too often lost in more flamboyant, modern readings, say, a Nigel Kennedy interpretation where the orchestral fabric often feels threadbare, lacking that crucial backbone. This isn’t a recording that rushes headlong into the concerto’s fiery moments.
Campoli’s approach is more architectural, deliberate. The movement’s momentum is sometimes a shade restrained; at 16:15, for example, you sense the soloist’s technical resolve pushing at the boundaries of flow, a slight impeding of forward motion that might jar with listeners seeking visceral propulsion. Yet, this very constraint bestows a kind of internal coherence and structural awareness that one must respect.
The slow movement is, for me, the jewel in Campoli’s crown. It’s fluent—yes—but also deeply expressive without ever tipping over into overwrought territory. This is a balance that often escapes many great players, renowned names included.
The tone here possesses an ardent warmth, not a cloying sweetness. It’s as if Campoli is whispering secrets rather than declaiming grand pronouncements. And Boult’s conducting complements this beautifully; his dynamic shading is sensitive and carefully modulated, especially in those hushed moments where the players’s role becomes almost chamber-like.
On to the "finale": it aligns well with the overall temperament of the recording—alert, sympathetic, but perhaps not quite the breathless rush of the concerto’s most fiery exponents. Campoli surmounts the fiendish technical hurdles impressively, but not absolutely flawlessly. There’s a certain solidity, yes, but the galvanizing sweep—the sense of an unstoppable orchestral tide—that the Sammons recording famously achieves, is just out of reach here.
Turning to the coupling, one can only applaud the choice. Campoli’s long-standing association with Bliss lends authenticity to the Theme and Cadenza, itself a — lyrical gem drawn from incidental music for a radio play by Bliss’s wife, Trudy. The solo writing is idiomatic, the phrasing comfortable in the hands of Campoli, and Bliss’s own conducting of the Introduction and "Allegro" is spirited—bustling — rhythmically propulsive, packed with inventive wind textures and nervy string figuration.
It bursts with vitality, a fitting close to a disc that is as much a historical document as a musical experience. In sum, this disc isn’t just a nostalgic artifact; it retains vitality and — well — offers a compelling, if somewhat measured, vision of two central English 20th-century composers. Campoli, with his tonal beauty and — well — structural insight, stakes a claim as a major Elgar interpreter—just shy of the incandescent Sammons, but beyond most others.
For those seeking a distinguished, thoughtful Elgar and a lively encounter with Bliss, this DECCA release remains an essential listen.
