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The established partnership of Jamie Walton and Daniel Grimwood turn their attention to three cello sonatas whose composers link inexorably to Mstislav Rostropovich. All three wrote for cello – with piano, and with orchestra – as a direct result of their involvement and friendship with the great cellist. Of the works here only the Shostakovich (1934) does not bear his dedication, largely because the cellist would have been seven at the time!

That is the first work on this attractive release, finding Walton and Grimwood (the latter sometimes backwards in balance) in largely thoughtful mood, placing particular expressive emphasis on the second theme of the first movement. Such is the rubato applied to this by Walton in particular that the music almost stops, the higher note placed very deliberately in a perfectly valid and affecting approach. Elsewhere the tone is more aggressive, with a gruff scherzo-like second movement finding a shrill timbre when Grimwood is occupying the upper register. In the finale the straitlaced march is paced just right, with a hint of bitterness when the dynamics get louder.

The Prokofiev is much less introspective by nature, and has become one of the composer’s best-loved chamber works due to its immediacy and profligacy of good tunes, not to mention the odd humorous aside or two. If Walton does not perhaps explore the chances to make merry this is still a very positive performance, the affinity between cello and piano clear in the fast passages, while Grimwood lets Walton express himself more fully in the slower, more balletic writing. The second movement is quite direct, and as it progresses to an enjoyable, throwaway end, Grimwood’s control of the upper register is excellent. The piercing upper register does get a little uncomfortable in the finale, though is not a problem when the red-blooded last page comes in to view.

The Britten is the most successful performance, getting the balance between the slightly shy, withdrawn themes and the sudden outbursts spot-on in the first movement, and then allowing time for a few furtive asides and sidelong glances in the second. Walton and Grimwood are emphatic where the music calls for it, but keep an element of mystery as Britten moves relatively quickly between moods and forms. Walton’s pizzicato and armoury of tricks are precisely as required by the composer, securing striking sound-effects that are well caught by the recording. The duo scrupulously follows the composer’s markings. This is another successful disc for a partnership that clearly enjoys playing and recording together. Their forthright style in each of these three pieces pays dividends, and when all three are listened to consecutively they serve as an appropriate reminder of Rostropovich’s incalculable influence on the cello repertoire of the 20th-century.

Ben Hogwood

La Scena Musicale
****

Jamie Walton is a conviction cellist, playing the music he feels is most timely rather than what the industry demands. These three works make sense together but are hardly a commercial proposition. The 1934 D minor Shostakovich sonata is among the most affecting performances I have heard since Rostropovich died. The C major sonatas by Britten and Prokofiev have lower emotive traction, but the playing compensates with delicious little insights and evocations. Daniel Grimwood is the intuitive accompanist.

Norman Lebrecht

The Daily Telegraph, March 2012

Mstislav Rostropovich was a central figure in the cello music of all three composers on this disc – Shostakovich, Britten and Prokofiev. The Britten and Prokofiev cello sonatas were both written for his electrifying artistry and big-hearted personality, and, as the CD notes point out, the only reason Shostakovich did not write his own sonata with Rostropovich in mind was that the cellist was only a child of seven when it was completed in 1934.

The sonata is given a riveting performance by Jamie Walton and Daniel Grimwood. Theirs is a true partnership, responding with like minds to the lyrical, quizzical and visceral aspects of the sonata’s trajectory.

Whether in the beautifully shaped second theme of the opening movement, the aggressive motor rhythms of the scherzo, the intense introspection of the slow movement or the weird mix of simplicity and hyperactivity in the finale, this is a performance that seems to strike right at the heart of the music.

Britten’s sonata of 1961 and Prokofiev’s of 1949 make strong contrasting companion pieces and both are played here with palpable stylistic understanding. Walton’s palette of sound on his 1712 Guarneri cello is applied with aptness and imagination, Grimwood matching and complementing him in expressive nuance, emotional poise and potent energy.

Individual episodes in the Britten are sharply focused in character but integrated into a broad, organic structure. The solemnity and dark hues at the start of the Prokofiev yield to his distinctive melody and harmony, conveyed here mellifluously and with telling inflections and, in the finale, with a blend of delicacy and robust rhythmicality. This is highly cultured playing, rich in enjoyment.

Geoffrey Norris

The Strad, March 2012

This grouping of sonatas bound together by the remarkable inspiration of Rostropovich is a well-worn combination on disc. Despite a lightly over-ambient recording, both players give an earnest and sensitive account of the Shostakovich, particularly in the lyrical and intense first movement. The contrasting burlesque of the ensuing scherzo has considerable impact, although ha flawed recording balance with the awkwardly placed piano leads to a loss in clarity, – a flawed recording balance something that is even more noticeable in the Largo, performed here at a surprisingly brisk but convincing tempo.

Britten’s powerful Sonata receives an idiomatic and expressive rendition, although the frenzied intensity that builds up in the middle the first movement never quite ignited. Likewise, the fiery drama of the pizzicato Scherzo seems a little tame. The Elegy, however, flowers into a dark and troubled lyrical offering, and both the ensuing Marcia and Moto perpetuo are compellingly dark, menacing and turbulent.

My reservations over the recording surface again in the Prokofiev Sonata, though interpretatively the two artists’ performance effectively depicts the almost cinematic scene changes in the first movement. Whimsical in the Moderato by with a troubled edge, the players prepare us for the underlying grey shadows of the invention that in truth never entirely smiles.

Joanne Talbot