The concert of 11 June 1967 from the Vienna Konzerthaus features two intensely committed musicians, violinist Henryk Szeryng (1918-1988) and Rafael Kubelik (1914-1996), each of whom possessed a natural penchant for the music of Dvorak and Brahms. The nationalistic strains of the Hussite Overture embrace martial motifs Smetana develops in the Tabor and Blanik sections of his epic cycle Ma Vlast. Kubelik elicits ferocious response from his bass fiddles and low woodwinds as a palatable tremor pervades the sonata-form evolution of this fierce, Lisztian color piece, which utilizes two hymns: Ye Who Are God’s Warriors and St. Wenceslas. The tempest, the Hussite Wars, rage as horns and confrontational strings vie for dominance, whilst a harp solo wends its way through the melee towards a rebirth of spiritual freedom. The extended final pages usher a whirlwind of Czech colors in rousing fashion, quite sweeping the audience and us into a kind of worshipful submission.
The oboe solo who will mark the Adagio of the Brahms Concerto makes his presence felt early in the opening movement, which reaches white-hot intensity in the tutti long before Szeryng adds his own alchemy to the mix. Collectors will gravitate to this collaboration as a splendid complement to the commercial version by Szeryng with Monteux and Haitink. The flute’s appearance to the long statement of the violin provides an aerial dimension to the performance which marks its eminently lyrical-dramatic character. Szeryng, typically, brings a spacious nobility of line to the concerto, especially in his arioso over plucked strings that soon moves into melodic sequences. Kubelik contributes an air of mystery to the dark strings, then the music breaks into long, arching periods and huge pedal points. The warmth of the Bavarian string section and the energy of the tympanist urge themselves upon us in the course of a large canvas. Szeryng, too, milks the Joachim cadenza for all of its bravura and poignancy.
Oboe, French horn, bassoon, and clarinets open the Adagio as a cheerfully supple wind serenade, to which Szeryng invests a vibrant song, his tone just a tad more nasal than that of Francescatti. By the movement’s end, however, violin solo and French horn achieve a perfect fusion of elements, the oboe having returned with what some call the only true melody in the whole concerto. Szeryng’s studies with Bronislaw Huberman might account for the sizzling, gypsy attacks in the Rondo movement, marcato in part but always blazing to the peak of a Hungarian phrase. The four-note motif introduces the thrilling coda that has a touch of fate about it, a colossal moment of heated ensemble that has the Vienna audience bursting with gratitude.
— Gary Lemco