There was a time in the not-too-distant past when Bloch's chamber music prompted reverential intakes of breath. Works like the string quartets and Piano Quintet were rated as masterpieces, and there were fine recordings available (notably by the Griller Quartet on Decca) as supporting evidence. Nowadays, although the violin sonatas are aired fairly frequently, the unaccompanied Cello Suites are virtually unknown. They're late works that, while taking an obvious cue from Bach, still have plenty to say. The First Suite (1956) opens with a 'Prelude' before progressing to a lively Allegro which, in terms of style, isn't too far removed from the racy 'folkisms' of Kodaly's solo Sonata. The typically Blochian slow movement calls for simultaneous bowed and pizzicato playing, and the work closes with an appealing 'Gigue'.
Both the First Suite and contemporaneous Second were dedicated to the distinguished Canadian cellist Zara Nelsova. No 2 is, as Erik Levi tells us in his informative notes, more chromatic in its musical language than the First. Levi also comments on its unusual structure, where the various sections lead into each other. Here Bloch widens his expressive vocabulary (the second movement is especially dramatic) and makes greater technical demands on his soloist. The German cellist Peter Bruns takes everything in his stride and his grainy, nicely modulated tone helps focus the music's manifold rhythms and colours.
Bach hovers nearest the Third Suite (1957), whereas memories of Schelomo are most pronounced in the Meditation hebraique. Years ago, I treasured an old Parlophone 78 of Gregor Piatigorsky playing the opening 'Prayer' from Bloch's suite From Jewish Life (with organ accompaniment, would you believe!). And while I won't pretend that Bruns is quite in Piatigorsky's league for quietly stated eloquence, he plays beautifully and makes a more cogent case for the cello version of Baal Shem's 'Nigun' than Alexandre Kniazev did on a recent Chant du Monde CD.
Miriam Kramer's programme might usefully serve as a sort of 'Bloch starter-pack', with the delightful Suite hebraique as its tuneful opener. 'Rapsodie', the Suite's first movement, harbours a noble melody reminiscent of top-drawer Max Bruch and Kramer's performance of it could hardly be more heartfelt. Listening again to the two violin sonatas, I was struck afresh at how much I prefer the organic evolution of the Second to the aggressive, quasi-Bartokian gesturing of the First. Both performances are extremely good (though Simon Over might have played just a little more quietly at the start of the First Sonata's slow movement), but the Second is the finer of the two, especially in the ecstatic, double-stopped statements of the central theme. Scanning the catalogue for rivals, Heifetz is an obvious point of reference, and Friedman a viable option; but the combination of Kramer's musicianship and Naxos's price will be irresistible to most repertory explorers.
As to the two shorter pieces, I would agree with Richard Whitehouse (another excellent annotator) that the Melody recalls Faure. Abodah is something rather special and, like the 'Prayer' for cello, has enjoyed the advocacy of a superb Golden Oldie interpreter. Yehudi Menuhin's 1939 recording might justifiably be rated as his greatest solo 78, a reading of such poise and tempered passion that one cannot imagine it ever being equalled. Still, Kramer's version from 60 years later is pretty good (a little slower, a little less intense than Menuhin), and the recording is, as one would imagine, rather better.
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