Like Elgar before him, Walton was among his own finest interpreters on disc. He may have jokingly told the players that he was an amateur, but he belied that in the confident way (left hand firmly in pocket) he could steer them through the most intricate changes of bar length and rhythmic pattern. These three discs, now issued separately at mid-price in EMI’s British Composers series, are taken direct in excellent transfers from the four-disc Walton Edition (EMI, 11/94).
Until that set appeared, Walton’s own version of the First Symphony, recorded in mono in 1951, had been in limbo for decades, but this transfer proves one of the freshest, most invigorating versions ever, sounding far fresher than it did on LP. This account of Belshazzar’s Feast is thrilling, too, helped by full stereo sound, though I still live in hope that EMI will restore to the catalogue (maybe in this same series) the historic first recording, made under Walton in 1943. EMI issued it on CD in a first-rate transfer with other early Walton recordings, but managed to delete it again just before the Walton Edition appeared; it is a much-needed supplement.
That generous coupling of the First Symphony and Belshazzar is the most obvious recommendation, but both of the other discs are welcome, too, the more so now that they are separately issued, with excellent notes by Michael Kennedy and Lyndon Jenkins, skilfully adapted from the ones in the original boxed set. The Violin and Viola Concertos were not works associated with Menuhin before he made these recordings, but he was challenged here to give characteristically sweet and lyrical accounts, magnetic in the poignantly meditative moments, with ever-fluent rubato. This account of the Viola Concerto was the first disc to adopt the spacious approach which has tended to predominate ever since, with soloists such as Kennedy and Bashmet. The Violin Concerto, too, has tended, as here, to be taken more broadly over the years, losing nothing in warmth and only a fraction in fire and drama. Walton’s well-pointed accompaniments are models of understanding. The Partita, full of fun and only a little less fiery than Szell’s classic reading, makes up another generously filled disc.
The mixed bag of film music is a fascinating source of alternative versions of the principal Henry V episodes, and although the scenes with Olivier reciting the speeches (not only those of the king himself) are captured in limited mono sound from 1946, the performances are even more exciting, not least in the Agincourt charge with its thrilling arrow-noises at a key moment (try track 24, 2'40''), omitted in Muir Mathieson’s Suite version. The choral passages, too, are a major bonus. I only hope that the remaining disc from the Walton Edition, with a mixed group of orchestral works including the two coronation marches and two of the overtures, will not now be left in limbo again.'