Ole Edvard Antonsen is the latest of the young pretenders to Maurice Andre's throne, vacated last year when the doyen of trumpeters announced his retirement. More perhaps than Wynton Marsalis or Hakan Hardenberger, both of whom have followed distinctive paths, this Norwegian 31-year-old has an innate sense of line in eighteenth-century music. In his finer moments this promises what few trumpet players other than Andre have achieved: the warm glow born of smooth articulation and a sound imagined by a musician prepared to sing from the heart. Antonsen's first major release is highly accomplished. There is an effervescence to his playing and a clarity of tone which, in the two baroque concertos especially, produce his finest and most searching moments. The Tartini concerto is dazzlingly executed, easily matching Andre's own account with the ASMF and Neville Marriner (11/74—nla) in terms of crisp articulation and effortless virtuosity. The dreamy second movement does not attain to the stillness and magisterial control of Andre's rounder tone but there is a yearning to Antonsen's performance, created in part by a slowing of his vibrato to blend with the lugubrious strings. The Telemann concerto is equally enticing: the fiendish opening Adagio is meltingly played and although he employs less rubato than he could, this is a far more interesting and subtle performance than Hardenberger gives on his all-Telemann disc.
The three and only classical concertos for trumpet are included here (the Neruda is really a piece for hand-horn) and Antonsen tosses them off with the nonchalance of one who has run the course many times before: we cannot, after all, expect the novelty of Haydn's spectacular concerto to remain with us for ever. Yet for an album dedicated primarily to a single artist, this is a performance where panache is delivered equally from all concerned. Jeffrey Tate moulds his forces beautifully so that the intricate dialogues and textures between soloist and orchestra are deftly caught. Antonsen is perhaps a little strident in places and, in the Hummel, his vibrato becomes incessantly fast and even but in the end one can only admire his open and bright musical personality. There is, I believe, promise of a fine artist here (not just a fine trumpet player), one who should not be afraid to explore his warm-hearted instincts.'