Canadian cellist Zara Nelsova (her parents were Russian emigres) was known in the 1950s as the “Queen of the Cello”. This disc of 1953 and 1955 originals explains why. She’s best known these days for this recording of Bloch’s Schelomo, the only one I’ve heard that matches the even more intense André Navarra/Karel Ancerl recording from a decade later. Nelsova’s identification with the music is complete: she studied the work with Bloch, who conducted her first recording of Schelomo (1949) and wrote his solo cello suites for her. As the work’s solo protagonist, Nelsova is a commanding figure, her tone not just large but huge, as befits a disciple of Feuermann and Piatigorsky. Lest we think it’s been beefed up by the engineers, Tully Potter’s booklet notes quote cellist Kenneth Harvey as saying “she was a very gutsy player who always sounded like about six men.”
Her top notes are pure and singing, the middle register smooth and full, and her lowest register brings to mind the sepulchral rumbles of the great Russian bassos. It goes without saying that these attributes are made for Schelomo’s solo part, as is her intense vibrato and the innate sense of taste that guides her past the excess emoting often heard in this piece. Ansermet’s conducting matches her controlled passion, and he elicits from the London Philharmonic the washes of orchestral color that provide the work’s Oriental spices.
The Lalo and Saint-Saëns are works Nelsova also played often and well, and her versions with Adrian Boult’s stoutly professional support are worth hearing. In the Lalo, Nelsova lightens her tone and dances with agility in the central section of the delicious Intermezzo. I’ve yet to hear anyone make sense of the first movement, but the warm bath of her luscious tone is sufficient reward for wading through it. The Saint-Saëns is made of more durable materials, and if Nelsova doesn’t quite match Fournier or Starker (whose lighter, leaner approach better suits the work) hers remains a worthy performance. The warm, well-focused mono sound is good enough to reconcile you to the loss of stereo’s spatial benefits, but while Nelsova’s burnished tone is reproduced in all its glory, at times the sound of the orchestra becomes grainy. My only disappointment with this release is that Bloch’s Voice in the Wilderness, coupled with Schelomo on the original LP, isn’t a discmate here. On the plus side, that could mean more Nelsova is on the way from Testament.
