This is a memento of the first visit to Russia not only of Itzhak Perlman but of Zubin Mehta and the Israel Philharmonic. The Concerto performance here is hardly a direct rival even to Perlman's earlier Philadelphia/EMI version. The live recording, rather dehydrated and sometimes edgy with a heavy background, was made in Leningrad last year, a few days after the Moscow concert when the other half of the disc was recorded. There in the Tchaikovsky Hall the sound, though not ideal, has more bloom on it, and all niggling over such points completely disappears when one is allowed to sit in on some of the most amazing violin wizardry ever put on disc. Perlman's adrenalin flows, as—after announcing each in a loud, clear voice—he tackles one formidable encore after another. I find it impossible not to be thrilled when, quite apart from whether this or that technical detail was more perfectly achieved by Heifetz or whoever, this is such a warm, very human occasion. Was it like this, one wonders, when Kreisler or Heifetz gave their recitals, or even Paganini? The Moscow audience—very demanding when it comes to string playing—obviously thought so.
The rather old-fashioned feeling is established in the Tartini, done in the Kreisler edition with his cadenza, and that leads to a delicious account of Kreisler's Liebesleid. The Prokofiev March is not quite flawless, but crackles with electricity, and ''Nigun'' from Bloch's Baal shem lays bare the Jewish heart—much appreciated by a section of the audience. Though Perlman's announcement of the Wieniawski brings no ripple of applause—as his other announcements do—this little squib, let off with dazzling lightness, brings bigger cheers than ever. He throws off the Tchaikovsky/Kreisler arrangement in a rather extrovert way, free and flowing, and keeps for his final item the Bazzini, the biggest excitement of all. I find it not just thrilling but moving to hear the Moscow audience very audibly gasping with astonishment, not once but many times over, at such marvels of violin-playing.
The Concerto performance ends similarly with an account of the finale that, at breakneck speed and with dazzlingly clean articulation, brings the house down. If one is coldly objective, the first two movements are rather too heavily underlined, and even the opening of the finale sounds a little perfunctory, but that is hardly the point. It is another demonstration of wizardry well worth hearing, but go to the encores for something really special.'