Some ten years ago, staying in one of the Soviet Union's less enticing cities, I was taken to a concert in which the prospect of a Vivaldi viola concerto did not seem to promise much consolation. Hardly had the soloist begun than I and those with me were transfixed. I had never heard viola playing like it, and since then difficulties about bringing Bashmet to the West have vanished and his reputation as a great virtuoso is firmly established. In one sense, of course, virtuosity is not the point in Harold in Italy: one of music's better known stories is of how Paganini turned the work down as not giving him enough room for display. But in another, it is very much the point. Bashmet is a great musician. Where Zukerman (Decca) seems to me, for all the brilliance of his own musicianship and artistry, to be presenting himself as the soloist in the work Bashmet enters gently almost abstractedly, not taking the centre of the stage but moving on to the scene wrapped in his own melancholy thoughts. From the first phrase, he compels attention by the inwardness of his playing, not its assertiveness. This is the hallmark of his performance. The ''Serenade'' is light and graceful, with a tinge of wry humour conveyed by the sorrowful viola to contrast with the simple happiness of the Abruzzi mountaineer. The ''Brigands' orgy'' is never an easy movement, but goes off well.
I am less sure about the ''Pilgrims' March''. Bashmet plays beautifully, and with a very sensitive manner of moving in and out of the steady forward movement with eloquent and personal phrasing of his own, and he brings off well the odd passage of whistling sul ponticello arpeggios (he does not sound all that close to the bridge, which helps, and perhaps the engineers also help). But the tempo, whoever wanted it, is regrettable. These pilgrims set off for their destination at a brisk 105 paces to the minute, which is a decent regimental quick march- Davis (Philips) opts for 80, and, tempo being a matter of more than simple pace, he also gives the March a greater gravity.
Throughout, Davis's understanding of Berlioz allows the orchestra its proper primacy, both in weight and in sensitively handled detail, whereas Inbal is more casual, more inclined to settle for generalized impressions rather than seek out the telling point of orchestral detail, the effective dynamic emphasis, the subtly balanced texture. Imai is a fine and interesting artist though she does not compare with Bashmet; but I would still recommend her and Davis's recording for repeated listening, while urging all lovers of the work to get a chance of hearing Bashmet. They might then be persuaded to go for him after all.'