There has never, of course, been any shortage of recordings of this wonderful concerto, from the classic old Casals version of 1937 (HMV DB3288-92, 2/38) onwards; and several of today's leading cellists, in an age not short of fine cellists, have recorded it more than once. I should myself consider the versions by Fournier (DG 2535 106, 7/75) and Tortelier (HMV ASD3652, 5/79) to rank with those listed above; of them Jacqueline du Pre's HMV performance has her familiar golden glow, while Rostropovich's forcefulness (DG) seems to me to work against, not with, Karajan's bland predictability. Lynn Harrell's 1976 RCA performance will surely join the ranks of the classics, and is not, I think, dislodged by his new version.
The virtues of the new Decca are certainly considerable. There is naturally the advantage of digital sound, and musicianly recording with the finest technical resources is something of particular importance in this concerto. Brahms, when he first heard it, grumbled good-naturedly that he wished he'd known it was possible to write a concerto like this; and it seems certain that he was referring not only to the work's musical quality but to Dvorak's brilliant orchestration. He learnt something of what could be done with cello and orchestra from, surprisingly, Victor Herbert, whose Second Concerto he heard in America. Previously, he had been wary of the cello's nasal high register and grumbling low register, as he saw it, and the consequent difficulties of finding good and interesting balance with the orchestra. Anyone who listens to half a dozen bars of the Adagio can hear how inspired he was, especially by the use of cello with woodwind and trombones (one of Herbert's ideas). All this demands a skilful ear from recording engineers as well as performers. The new Decca is excellent; but so, in a rather softer acoustic, was the older RCA.
Exceptional sympathy is also demanded of the conductor, who must not only be a responsive accompanist but has the opportunity of making an unusual amount of the orchestral part; and this contribution was a most striking feature of the RCA record with James Levine. Indeed, everything seemed to come together between Harrell and Levine in that performance in a way I find it does not quite do with Ashkenazy. The playing by the Philharmonia is sharp and expressive, and Ashkenazy is, of course, a most distinguished Lieder and sonata pianist as well as a soloist; but one does not sense the rapport between the two that was so strikingly there in the RCA. Moreover, the opening ritornello is straightforward beside the subtle and expressive performance given by Levine.
Perhaps this has contributed to the nature of Harrell's performance, which lacks the serenity and intensity of the RCA. He tends now to overphrase, sometimes to distort note-values, sometimes to stress points that previously flowed easily and expressively. I do not wish to exaggerate this, for it is still a performance by a great cellist, indeed the contemporary cellist of all whom I would most rather hear in the work. But something seems to have occurred to affect the long line of this phrasing, and the freshness of rhythm, so that for all its many virtues I would not give it preference above the earlier version.
Though Kol Nidrei will hardly affect the issue of choice it is a nice bonus, elegantly and eloquently played.'