By Richard Morrison

Published: Monday, 24 January 2022 at 12:00 am


Few concertos begin as ominously as Elgar’s for the cello. When the soloist’s bow bites into those stark E minor chords, it’s like a summons – and not to cocktails and a gossip. What we know of the work’s genesis reinforces this sombre impression. Elgar began writing it towards the end of the First World War.

The Edwardian world, his world, had been blown apart. Many friends were dead. He had turned 60 and just undergone a throat operation. Alice, his stalwart wife, was ailing.

To pile misery on misery, Elgar accurately sensed that taste had turned against him – a suspicion cruelly confirmed when the grossly under-rehearsed premiere of this concerto was received with indifference in November 1919. He never completed another major work, though he lived for 15 more years.

All this suggests that the composer was feeling pretty low. On the concerto’s final page he even wrote ‘RIP’. No wonder that some cellists play the piece like a requiem. But is such morbidity valid? Much of the music is vitality itself. Elgar himself described it as ‘a real large work and, I think, good and alive’.

What is the best recording of Elgar’s Cello Concerto?

Jacqueline du Pré (cello); London Symphony Orchestra/Sir John Barbirolli
Warner Classics 6230752    (1965)

Seven years after John Barbirolli conducted André Navarra’s version of this concerto in 1958, he found himself recording the Elgar again. This time the soloist was a British sensation, just turned 20.

Her name was Jacqueline du Pré. She opted for audaciously slow speeds and even more daring dynamics, often producing something between a whisper and a whimper, and intensifying the solo line with old-fashioned portamenti. Barbirolli must have been the first to realise that du Pré’s interpretation was unlike any other. It still is.

Elgar himself said that this concerto summed up ‘a man’s attitude to life’, and I think this places an obligation on intepreters to dig deep into their own souls.  Which is exactly what du Pré did, over and over again, when she performed this work. Perhaps in her later recordings (three live-concert versions; one for television) she overdid the soulful angst.

Her 1971 recording with Daniel Barenboim, for instance, seems almost a self-parody. But back in 1965, guided by the wise and humane Barbirolli, she achieved a much more satisfactory balance between head and heart. Hers is not a performance that I would want to live through every week. But it’s the one recording of Elgar’s Cello Concerto that I would not want to live without.

Here, we explain how Elgar’s Cello Concerto made Jacqueline du Pré quite so famous.