Music and Arts has unearthed what it calls "lost Feuermann," recordings the great cellist made during tours of Japan in 1934 and 1936. The 1936 sessions are mostly fluff, the sort of ear candy that makes for nice encores, and were staples of the 78 rpm era. Feuermann, of course, elevates them to the realm of high art. His seamless legato makes fascinating listening experiences of Mendelssohn's Spring Song and Rubenstein's Melody, and he sings Godard's Berceuse and Schubert's Serenade with bel canto phrasing worthy of a Golden Age tenor. His tonal command is complete, ranging from rich, dark tones in Tchaikowsky's Valse sentimentale to the light and airy in Schumann's Zigeunerleben. Unfortunately, the transfers obscure much of Feuermann's golden tonal resources through aggressive noise-reduction techniques. Compare, for example, the wooden mid-and lower registers in the Spring Song to the multi-colored hues of the same Japanese recording on Pearl 9446. The 1934 sessions sound much better, more vibrant and alive, with unobjectionable 78 surface noise. Those recordings offer real novelties--arrangements of Japanese folk songs, one by a composer named Taki on the back of the jewel box, and three by a man the skimpy booklet notes identify as "eminent Japanese composer and conductor" Kosaku Yamada. These are also of the bob-bon persuasion, and frankly imitative. Yamada"s Karatachi no Hana reminds one of "Old Folks at Home," while Ojoro Takashima sounds more Jewish than Ernest Bloch's Prayer from the 1936 set, making it a perfect choice for a "name the composer" quiz. The disc is filled out with three European recordings made early in Feuermann's tragically brief career--a saccharine Bach--Gounod Ave Maria, a gorgeously played Bruch Kol Nidrei, and the second and third movements of Haydn's Concerto in D disfigured by a scrappy orchestra and a slow movement of such gross sentimentality that its only redeeming features are Feuermann's rich tone and its suitability as a torture device for aficionados of the authentic instruments school. But this interpretation too, is authentic in the sense that it's the way Haydn was done at a certain place and a certain time. There's some wonderful cello playing on this disc and it will be welcomed by all who admire Feuermann's art, both for his playing and for the opportunity to hear some of his most rare recordings.

--Dan Davis, ClassicsToday.com

I had reached a kind of child prodigy status where my respect for older fellow cellists had become minimal. The sound associated with the cellists of the day made me annoyed, disturbed, and, at times, furious. One day around 1934 my mother took me to a concert. I couldn't believe it! Out came a man with a cello, sat down, and played it the way I heard in my dreams. It was Emanuel Feuermann (Janos Starker)