I have to admit I was completely bowled over by this version of the Elgar Violin Concerto. It really is one for the ages. Yehudi Menuhin once expressed the idea that the work should be “sung”. I don’t know whether Vilda Frang is aware of that injunction, but she has knowingly or otherwise internalised that sentiment. 

In her hands, the music enshrines the soul of the violin as she readily assumes the role of orator, singer, poet, conjurer and wizard. From her rich warm nobilmente entry in the opening movement, some of the most arresting moments on the entire violin repertory, through the Elysian and at times melancholy-infused sweetness of the slow movement, to the flashing, slashing virtuosity of the finale, I was swept along exhilaratingly. 

Michael Kennedy has described the unique vibe of this concerto as “grand and opulent in scale and mood but also with a peculiar personal intimacy”. Frang is alive to every nuance, both stormy and lyrical, reticent and brazen, and calibrates her tone accordingly without ever appearing to micro-manage. Striding forth with a mixture of noble virility and...