This is not only a historical, but a historic, recording of the Brahms. So far as can be gathered, it was the first complete recording of the work: it was also the first concerto recording both for Rubinstein (then aged 42) and for Coates. Claremont claim that it was made in London's dear old Queen's Hall, and the acoustics seem to be consistent with that; but Rubinstein's recollection differs sharply—''an ugly, completely empty large room where once some popular balls were held''. Soloist and conductor alike were unhappy with the performance, and in fact Rubinstein asked Fred Gaisberg not to issue it. ''Everything seemed to be against us: the piano was slightly out of tune and the tuner was not able to fix it. Mr Coates conducted at the opposite end of the room, far away from me, so of course I had as neighbours the percussion and brass instruments at the back of the orchestra.''
This would certainly seen to be an odd set-up; but apart from a rather plummy piano tone (perhaps due to the successful elimination of the 78s' surface noise) none of these problems is perceptible now. Though three takes had to be made of the original side 1, however, the piano's first big solo (at bar 11) is full of unfortunate splashes; but after this there are no more troubles, and indeed there is much to admire—the violins' phrasing and attack, the fervour of the dynamics, Rubinstein's tremendous forward drive in the first movement, the delicacy shown in the finale and its brilliant octave coda. What does fail to convince is Coates's extreme slowing-down at the tranquillo e dolce subject of the second movement, which wrecks the continuity of the scherzo. In the rapturous Andante (which is kept moving) the placing of the solo cello (or perhaps his mike) appears to have been changed from its position at the start of the movement for its reappearance in the key of F sharp.
With the Tchaikovsky concerto Rubinstein was very happy, playing with his friend Barbirolli, whom he much admired; and this proved to be a very successful issue. Writing in 1950 (The Record Guide), the respected Edward Sackville-West declared that ''although the recording dates from 1932, it still sounds well enough and the performance has all the necessary qualities''. With the latter part of that judgement I can agree; but I am baffled how anyone could accept so ludicrous an imbalance in the recording. The orchestral sound is hopelessly feeble, in a different perspective altogether from the piano: Tchaikovsky's dialogue exchanges between the two fail completely, the strings in the Allegro vivace section of the slow movement are lost under the piano's figurations, and the unfortunate oboe is frequently all but inaudible (e.g. at its duet with the cello in that same movement). All this so puzzled me, in view of what had been claimed, that I dug out the original 78s. There the piano tone was certainly rounder and less aggressive, but the orchestra was still far too faint, and I am at a loss to understand how this recording was ever praised.'