What would we give to have heard Paganini playing, even in a recording? He apparently mesmerised his audiences; but how? Just by incredible technique? His collective works suggest that it was not all technique.

I wonder this when listening to a good new recording (Naxos, of course) by Philippe Quint in which he plays an hour of Paganini-Kreisler arrangements with piano (not, alas, including the rather interesting first movement of Paganini's first concerto in its Kreisler re-write, with orchestra). I do not like Paganini's caprices with a plonking piano "accompaniment" (nor do I like a piano added to Bach's unaccompanied sonatas and partitas à la Schumann). The Paganini caprices just do not need a piano filling in harmonies in the background. Quint plays three of the caprices, and I wish he had played them solo.

I have never before heard, nor owned a recording of, Paganini's Variations on "Non più mesta" from Rossini's La Cenerentola (twelve and a half minutes). Which is where I would have liked to be able to compare Paganini to Quint, and others. These variations (like the "di tanti palpiti" variations also on this CD), contain many passages where the violin plays melodies in double-stopped harmonics. As every violinist knows, to play extended passages in double-stopped harmonics is extremely difficult. Quint plays all such passages carefully and with grim determination ... and accurately. But did Paganini just toss them off insouciantly and with much aplomb? Or did he approach them in the same way as Quint, and others?

I admire Quint's accuracy and style. I do miss the kind of swashbuckling, daredevil approach I suspect Paganini would have brought to the originals. I would like to have heard Kreisler play all these works a 100 years ago when he would have been 35 years old and in top form; I suspect Kreisler would have brought much charm to the music. Quint does well, and his pianist, Dmitriy Cogan, plonks and plinks discreetly where required. But I suspect I would have preferred Nicolò Paganini, or Fritz Kreisler in his prime.

After 55 years, it takes a very special performance of the Brahms violin concerto to hold my interest. So I was pleased today to be able to listen with avid interest to Sergey Khachatryan broadcast from the Royal Festival Hall, with Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Philharmonia orchestra (14 June 2010). This is a warm, mellow, lyrical performance of the work from both soloist and conductor. A few fluffs and rhythmic instabilities from time to time, but the recording studio has lied to us that violinists can play a 40 minute concerto without one doubtful note (thanks too often to 186 takes and patches).

Not the least remarkable, for me, was the quality of sound on my CD-R disc, recorded from the BBC site off the web. I have many, many recordings of the Brahms concerto that are worse than this in terms of balance, violin sound, and recorded sound.

The latest Cembal d'Amour CD of David Nadien is pretty good. Nadien plays the Franck and Debussy sonatas, a couple of short bits, and the Prokofiev sonata for two violins (with Ruggiero Ricci). Perfectly acceptable recording quality is from 1970.

All the usual Nadien attributes are to the fore: fleet tempo, fast vibrato, spot-on intonation, and a suave dynamism. Admittedly the Debussy and Franck sonatas sound more American than Franco-Belgian, but one listens to Nadien for great violin playing, not necessarily for authentic interpretations. The duo sonata with Ricci comes off very well indeed and makes for enthralling listening.

The pianist, someone called David Hancock, is a bit of a weak link in the Franck and Debussy which are true duo sonatas and call for complete equality of charisma between violinist and pianist. Hancock belongs to the Emamuel Bay school of accompanists, and one can never confuse him with Alfred Cortot (in partnership with Jacques Thibaud). As soon as the violin plays, Hancock retreats obsequiously to the background. But one buys a David Nadien CD to sit back and listen to incredible violin playing, not necessarily for ideal interpretations. With dozens of recordings of the Franck and Debussy in my collection, I can look elsewhere for well-balanced interpretations, if necessary. For the Franck sonata, there are Kyung-Wha Chung and Radu Lupu, Christian Ferras and Pierre Barbizet, Arthur Grumiaux and Georgy Sebök, Yehudi Menuhin and his sister in 1936, Vadim Repin and Nikolai Lugansky, Thibaud and Cortot, plus many others. For the Debussy there are Chung and Lupu, Ferras and Barbizet, Graffin and Désert, Grumiaux and Hajdu, Ginette and Jean Neveu, Christian Tetzlaff and Leif Ove Andsnes, Thibaud and Cortot ... plus, plus, plus as they say in American hotels.

A correction to my comments on Thomas Zehetmair playing the Elgar violin concerto: the recording is really quite good, after all. You just need to turn the volume up a few notches then "dim and distant" vanish. I just hope my neighbours are Elgar-lovers.

And the performance really is exceptionally good. Knocks the socks off most of the competition (except, perhaps, the 1938 Sammons). But the recording certainly beats Sammons! This is probably the Elgar performance I shall now take down off the shelf any time I want to wallow in the violin concerto. Zehetmair has not, in the past, been a violinist who showed up on my radar; mainly, I suspect, because he rarely has played the kind of music that appeals to me.

Much of the music of the late- or post-Romantics is full of angst and neuroses: one thinks of Tchaikovsky, Mahler, Rachmaninov and Elgar. Some musicians ladle kilos of extra angst on the music, viz Bernstein in Mahler, or Nigel Kennedy or Menuhin in the Elgar violin concerto. Others choose to play the music "straight" and let the neurotic bits speak for themselves, viz Haitink in Mahler, or Albert Sammons in the Elgar.

I prefer the straight approach, which is why, in a concerto so lucky with recordings, I have always liked Sammons, Heifetz, Kyung-Wha Chung, Dong-Suk Kang and Isabelle van Keulen rather than Menuhin, Kennedy, Zukerman, Campoli or Hilary Hahn. Also why I prefer Casals in the Elgar cello concerto to the famous Jacqueline du Pré.

And which is one reason why I have enjoyed the new recording of the Elgar concerto by Thomas Zehetmair. He plays it straight, and does not slow down and wallow in sentimental passages à la Kennedy (who verges on the ludicrous at times, but not as ludicrous as Igor Oistrakh in a highly unmemorable Russian recording). Only slight minus for the Zehetmair is the Hallé recording, which is a bit dim and distant with the violin entombed in the general orchestral sound. But the performance as a whole is highly enjoyable. A plus is the idiomatic and no-nonsense accompaniment of Mark Elder with the Hallé Orchestra. My sixteenth recording of the Elgar violin concerto. And one well worth having.

In classical music, fame is somewhat fickle and unpredictable. Mediocre conductors can become "famous". Talented violinists and pianists can become international stars. Exceptional pianists and violinists can remain relatively unknown as, for more obvious reasons, can potentially famous conductors.

These thoughts on listening to Willem Noske (who?) playing Mozart's 4th and 5th violin concertos, plus Henriëtte Bosmans's (who?) Concert Piece for Violin and Orchestra.

Mozart was only 19 when he wrote K 218 and K 219 in 1775. It is thus somewhat ridiculous to hear them played by Yehudi Menuhin and the Berlin Philharmonic conducted by von Karajan (for example) or Isaac Stern and the New York Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Willem Noske is ideal; accurate intonation, and happy to project this young man's music. Too many cadenzas -- which may be historically accurate, but they do jar. No wonder that, after Mendelssohn, many composers took to dictating their own cadenzas. In these live performances, K 218 dates from 1940 (Concertgebouw Orchestra) and K 219 from 1971 (Residentie Orchestra). I like these appropriate performances a lot.

Ms Bosman lived from 1895 until 1952. Her concerto is by no means nondescript; in fact, it is a lot more interesting than most 20th century violin concertos. Alas, unknown and probably never played today; this live performance dates from 29 September 1962. The finale maybe is not up to the rest of the work, but that tends to be a feature of many concerto finales. Off-hand, only the Shostakovich 1st concerto, and the Elgar concerto, have 20th century finales that I quite look forward to.

Yesterday saw the demise of my entire LP collection, plus LP player. The collection that I started in 1955 has now been given away (except for a few nostaligic LPs from the 1955-7 period). About 100 or so LPs were left from the last savage cull of 3-4 years ago. Sad to see them go; but I never have played them over the past ten years, and coupling up the LP player took up valuable space. And, also, I have more than enough CDs that are too seldom played. I still have one LP deck that plugs directly into a computer USB port for transfers from LP to CD, so I can still do the occasional transfer.

My spicy squid dish has now reached perfection. But I must cut back on the chillies and Cayenne pepper!

It is difficult to hold the attention of a listener for a solid hour of "salon pieces" for violin and piano. Even if the composer is Sarasate. But, I have to say that Tianwa Yang managed it this evening. Many, many violinists have recorded a selection of Sarasate's Danses Espagnoles: Heifetz, Hassid and Kogan spring immediately to mind as benchmarks. But Ms Yang is a virtuoso in the true sense of the word and, moreover, she has a sure instinct for Sarasate's style and for the colour palette of the violin. St Klaus of Naxos has signed her up to record all Sarasate's music and I shall buy the complete collection with alacrity as and when the CDs are release. Playing like this is not to be missed.

Not often these days I am found listening to the music of Johannes Brahms. I find his thick textures unpalatable, and I suffer from indigestion. But I have been greatly taken with a CD on which Alexander Rabinowitsch (piano), Philippe Hirschhorn (violin) and David Geringas (cello) play the string sextets Op 18 and Op 36. Arranged by whom, I know not. But the two works make very digestible piano trios, and all three musicians are excellent (especially Hirschhorn, of course). An unexpected pleasure.

It may be time to reconsider my doubts about Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. He could be "gusty" in his singing. But a giant box of him singing over 400 Schubert Lieder on 21 CDs lasting 24 hours recorded 1966-72 with Gerald Moore suggests much of the gustiness of the 1950s has gone (or has been tamed by a new team of DG engineers). Whatever; I can now admire his beautiful light baritone voice and, most particularly and most welcome, his exemplary diction and articulation. With some singers it can be difficult to ascertain in what language they are singing; with DFD, you hear every word and fluent German speakers have no need of a copy of the libretto (which can be downloaded from the Internet if required, nearly 200 A4 pages thereof).

The songs on the CDs are in chronological order, starting with Eine Leichenphantasie D 7 -- which will probably turn out to have been written when Schubert was only two years old -- and ending with the so-called Schwanengesang D 957 assembled from unpublished songs left over after Scbubert's untimely death in 1828. Pretty well every song for male voice is in the mammoth set; some of the "songs" are more like substantial Gesangszenen, or operatic scenes, than traditional Lieder: thus Eine Leichenphantasie weighs in at 19 minutes, Der Taucher at a record-breaking 24 minutes, Lodas Gespenst at 12 minutes, Die Erwartung at 11 minutes, Der Liedler at 13 minutes, Einsamkeit at 18 minutes and Viola at 13 minutes. But pretty well everything else follows the 1-5 minute pattern where Schubert seems to have been at his best (in so far as Lieder were concerned). A veritable feast of listening. Gerald Moore, as always, is a very welcome partner in Lieder recordings, taking over when the music demands it, and staying back when appropriate. The CDs cost me around £2 each, which has to be the bargain of the century.

There can be something exhilarating in witnessing a talented young musician trying to make his or her mark on the over-crowded musical world. It would have been interesting to have heard the young Vladimir Horowitz or Nathan Milstein back in the early 1920s, long before laurels were rested on and a certain inevitable sense of routine took over. I found the new CD by Chinese pianist Yuja Wang a superb experience. Here is a real keyboard athlete, but with excellent musicality to boot, trying hard to impress us: and impress us, she does. Has anyone played the Three Movements from Petrushka as stunningly as this? And Brahms' Paganini Variations whiz by.

True, Ms Yang is 24 years old and very pretty (seemingly a prerequisite for any modern musical artist). But all that is forgotten once Stravinsky's music whistles past and Ms Yang can be considered simply as a remarkable pianist. I shall add her to my list of "consider all her CDs carefully and probably buy". The Chinese are turning out some formidable instrumentalists; Yuja Wang joins the violinist Tianwa Yang in my Chinese musical pantheon.

Listening to Yevgeny Sudbin playing sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti is an enjoyable way to pass an hour or so. Sudbin convinces. And the "shuffle play" facility on my CD player really comes into its own; the problem with a CD containing 18 sonatas is that numbers 1-10 tend to be listened to often, and numbers 15-18 remain relatively unknown. Shuffle playing resolves the problem.

Must have been a Black Saturday, since I slept all the afternoon and, in the evening, listened to Rachmaninov's second symphony, followed by Tchaikovsky's sixth, followed by Elgar's first. A late romantic, gloomy, symphonic evening. However, many thoughts for my one-day treatise on ethnicity, race and nationality in the performance of music (in the order of the above works, LSO-Gergiev, Philharmnonia-Cantelli, and Philharmonia-Barbirolli).

Happily, as a teenager, I learned the texts of many German lieder, so I can now sit back and listen to the music without having to simultaneously read a translation. Yesterday evening I really enjoyed listening again to Schumann's Liederkreis Opus 39. Schumann is not normally one of my preferred composers, and our paths rarely meet. But the Opus 39, plus the Dichterliebe (plus Schubert's Winterreise) were the staple diet of my teenage years and I still love those lieder cycles very much.

Yesterday's recording by Werner Güra (with Jan Schultsz, piano) was less than ideal. The voice is balanced back from the piano; not good. And Güra's diction and articulation are also less than ideal, with a result that many of the words are inaudible, especially in soft passages. I have three other Liederkreis recordings (including Fischer-Dieskau from the 1950s, the recording with which I grew up). But maybe I'd better be in the market for a new version (I also have Bostridge and Partridge, but German lieder really need native singers -- as do French or Russian).

At last, I have found the perfect way to cook squid, for me. A sauce of tomatoes (with fresh tomatoes). Olives, garlic, salt, pepper, birds-eye chilli peppers. Olive oil, and cayenne pepper (on the squid, prior to adding to the sauce). Delicious! Eat with rice.

Visited the French Market in Tetbury this morning and came away armed with Livarot, Camembert, Pont L'évêque, many saucissons, Bayonne hams, rabbit pâté, and a hot baguette. Food for a few months! This French market is a very fine institution. I must find a fool-proof way of getting its advance itinerary.

Music mainly provided by Franco Gulli; my musings on him, and nationality in music performance, in due course.

After all, there are advantages to being a compulsive collector of this year's favourite violinist. True, it has given me immense collections of Oistrakh, Milstein, Gil Shaham, Maxim Vengerov and others (now considerably weeded out). But it also means that when I pass an enjoyable evening listening to Hagai Shaham playing the 21 Brahms-Joachim Hungarian Dances, I am able to reach out and listen to ... all 21 again.

Hagai Shaham is a first class violinist. But I was dissatisfied. There was a sameness about the 21 dances that was a bit illogical. Not too much variation in dynamics, attack or tempo. I have felt this same mixed admiration before about Hagai Shaham. So I turned to ... Oscar Shumsky (an advantage of being a compulsive collector of the violinist du jour). 42 Hungarian Dances in one evening! But it was well worth it: the music was the same, but Shumsky provided everything that Shaham lacked, especially dynanimcs and variety.

I have a lot of Shumsky recordings: Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Kreisler .. and Pierre Rode, and Glazunov. Thank goodness. As time passes and as my Gil Shaham and Maxim Vengerov CDs vanish off to charity shops, and Oistrakh and Milstein languish unplayed, there will always be Shumsky to retrieve affectionately off the shelf. Like Heifetz, I only heard Shumsky in person once (Beethoven violin concerto, Festival Hall, London). But the impression is indelible.

Just enjoyed a three hour Phillippe Hirschhorn festival, courtesy of Ronald and Doremi. Hirschhorn belonged to that enormous band of supremely talented violinists who, for one reason or another, never recorded for a major company so remained comparatively unknown: one thinks of David Nadien, Oscar Shumsky (before 1980), Joseph Gingold and a horde of Germans, Austrians, Russians, Czechs, Hungarians and Romanians. In the late 1960s and the 1970s, when Hirschhorn was young and ambitious, recording companies were devoting their violin repertoire to the Korean Kyung-Wha Chung, to the Israelis Pinchas Zuckerman and Izhak Perlman, and to the Latvian Gidon Kremer (somewhat ironically). No room for yet more supreme violinists, and not yet the horde of smaller recording labels that would bring hope and exposure to more violinists.

Hirschhorn favours deliberate tempi in pretty well everything he plays; just as Heifetz seemed to have a rapid internal tempo clock, so Hirschhorn has a slow one, which has the advantage of allowing us to hear all the subtle bowings and notes that are usually glossed over in more rapid traversals. We hear intense concentration from this violinist, and a very sharp focus on his violin and the notes he is playing. The playing is highly committed. His vibrato belongs to the "odd" school along with that of Tossy Spivakovsky, Zino Francescatti and Ivry Gitlis. Often, in his intensity, Hirschhorn reminds me of Ginette Neveu. Janine Jansen was a Hirschhorn pupil, and it shows in her intensity.

An excellent way to spend three hours. Hirschhorn made no commercial recordings, and all the recordings we have of him come from radio or festival archives. My guess is he was one of those people who were best heard live, and that in a studio he might have lost much of the élan that permeates these performances.

Philippe Hirschhorn's live 1967 recording of Paganini's first violin concerto is one of the classics of the recording corpus. Yes, it's live and, yes, it's a young man's competition bravura performance. But it's not only live; it's also ALIVE! Just like the audience at the end of the first movement and at the end of the concerto. At the 1967 competition Hirschhorn beat Stoika Milanova into second place (and Gidon Kremer into third). With playing like this, you can certainly see why. A tonic in an age of over-careful, edited, polished, studio performances. For a change, Doremi's transfer is exemplary.