There have long been guitarists whose names are not of 'household' status but who, nevertheless, are of world class: Norbert Kraft (Canadian), the late Leif Christensen (Danish) and David Starobin (American) are shining examples. All possess(ed) outstanding technical command over their instrument, but place(d) it entirely at the service of the music; they are members of that small company of musicians who just happen to have chosen the guitar as their instrument. Many years ago in the Wigmore Hall, a noted critic who once reviewed in this journal said to me: ''Why is it, that every time I see this man's name [Giuliani] in a programme my heart sinks into my boots?''. Maybe it was because of the way in which so many guitarists present the same limited selection of his music, with facility unattended by understanding of its spirit. No one in their right mind would claim that Giuliani was more than small-beer alongside his nineteenth-century non-guitarist contemporaries: Beethoven he was not, but we should not perhaps believe that his Rossiniane were mere vacuous attempts to curry popular favour; the basis of his and their appeal was much the same as that of their eponym.
The total edition of Giuliani's guitar works (by Tecla) occupies 38 substantial volumes and, together with this recording, indicates that today's performers have been remarkably unenterprising in their exploration of what is on offer. Starobin uses a copy of an instrument of c. 1829 by Staufer, also the inventor of the arpeggione, the sound of which is caught with the utmost realism. It would be difficult to fault either the technical or musical quality of Starobin's acutely sensitive performances; they could change your view of Giuliani—or even of the guitar itself, and it is a pity that there are not more like them.'