Ivry Gitlis - Berg, Hindemith & Stravinsky: Violin Concertos (2002)

Ivry Gitlis’ career was anything but conventional. He made few records, performed the premieres of works by Xenakis and Maderna, and made a cameo on the Rolling Stones’ “Rock and Roll Circus”. In his prime in the 1950s, he was considered one of the great and adventuresome violinists of his time, yet his legacy largely has been confined to cult status. While his recent ill-advised appearances (at the age of 80) with Martha Argerich and others have done little to enhance his reputation (and possibly have hurt it, to judge by the reviews), these well-mastered classic recordings re-issued by Vox (also available a few years ago through The Strad magazine) surely will burnish the image of this iconoclastic violinist.

In each of these concertos, Gitlis displays not only his astonishing technique but also a mesmerizing ability to color each note, each phrase, to a degree that makes these “old” readings sound fresh today. To be sure, this 1962 Hindemith, the highlight of the disc (one of the two he made that year), is among the fastest on record and is all the more gripping as a result. While it does not necessarily best the standard-bearing accounts by Oistrakh and Stern in overall interpretation and refinement, Gitlis’ recording is white-hot and full of emotion (a word used sparingly when speaking of Hindemith). The orchestral accompaniment seems like it can barely keep up with him, especially as he occasionally tends to add unmarked accelerandos.

In the same vein, Gitlis’ Stravinsky concerto reading has a good deal in common with his ferocious Bartók traversal (also on Vox). He virtually attacks the music, imbuing it with an electrifying rhythmic savagery in the heavily accented passages. At the same time, his playing never defaults to simple sound and fury; he changes his sonority frequently such that the first movement alone is filled with dozens of colorful inflections. The disc opens with Gitlis’ searing 1953 Berg recording, which was widely admired upon its release (with little competition beyond Louis Krasner’s premiere recording) and won the Grand Prix du Disque in France.

Gitlis’ playing style is neither for the faint of heart nor for lovers of the mellifluous playing of a Szeryng or Milstein. He is a force of nature, uninhibited, with a vibrant and sometimes wiry tone. These recordings put Gitlis right up front so every detail of his playing is vividly captured. The orchestras supporting him are definitely second-tier, detracting somewhat from the listening experience (the weak brass in the Berg and the weird Herb Alpert-like trumpet in the third movement of the Stravinsky are the main offenders). But in the spirit of re-discovering one of the great “forgotten” virtuosos, this disc is a welcome addition to Gitlis’ small but influential discography and at least should expand the cult’s membership.