This is the recording of Bartók's piano concertos the world has been waiting for. Yefim Bronfman conquers not only the tremendous technical difficulties of the music, but also the widely varying moods, from the violence of the First Concerto through the otherworldly calm of the Third. Esa-Pekka Salonen leads the Los Angeles Philharmonic through the extremely difficult orchestral writing without a misstep, contributing his own powerful impulse to the music while seconding Bronfman's ideas. The recording is nearly ideal in its clarity, balance, and dynamics. It's hard to find a more satisfying CD of any music in the current catalogs.

In many performances of the Bartok Solo Sonata its legendary difficulty is more apparent than its beauty and nobility: the violinist sweats profusely in a cloud of resin dust, his bow reduced to a tangle of snapped horse-hair, and the sound he produces is gritty and rebarbative, eloquently expressive of strenuous effort. Nigel Kennedy's account is the most warmly lyrical that I have heard, his tone beautiful and expressive in even the most hair-raising passages.

Isabelle Faust plays Bartok like a wonder-struck explorer confronting new terrains. She wrestles triumphantly with the First Violin Sonata's knotty solo writing, reduces her tone to a whisper for the more mysterious passages, employs a wide range of tonal colours and trans forms the finale's opening bars into a fearless war dance. This is cerebral music with a heart of fire and will brook no interpretative compromises: you either take it on its own terms, or opt for something milder.

Juno Award-winning ensemble Les Violons du Roy reveals its astonishing breadth with a new CD release, Bartók, under the baton of Associate Conductor Jean-Marie Zeitouni. Best known for interpretations of baroque and classical masterpieces, Les Violons tackle Bartók’s Divertimento, Romanian Folk Dances and Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta with conviction and verve. Bartók’s music was deeply influenced by Hungarian, Slovakian and Romanian folk music. His Romanian Folk Dances, composed in 1915, have remained his most popular work. Premiered two decades later in 1937, Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta is the culmination of Bartók’s long search to forge a language for art music that integrates the characteristics of the folk music of the countries of eastern Europe.

A new recording of a work as often recorded as the Concerto for Orchestra should offer something unusual, as well, and this disc does. Kossuth, a 20-minute symphonic poem, was the 22-year-old composer's first major orchestral composition. The conception owes much to Richard Strauss and the style to Liszt, but there are plenty of hints of material that show up in his mature works. The Village Scenes is a particularly exciting choral-orchestral expansion of a work originally for voices and piano, and the Concerto of course, is enormously popular.

The solo piano music of Béla Bartók is sometimes compared to that of Schoenberg, but Bartók's works are more emotionally accessible to listeners, particularly when they are played as Andreas Bach does on this album. While a great importance is placed on the percussiveness of Bartók's music, Bach instead focuses on the harmonies and the temperaments of these works. He does not ignore those more primitive aspects of the music, but rather than being sharply aggressive, Bach uses more of a forceful follow-through to control the sound.

György Sándor gave the world premiere of this concerto in 1946, just a few months after Bartök's death. His deep knowledge of the composer's works and special insights into the style make this account indispensable, even if it is not as brilliantly played as some. The pianist is quite free with rhythm and accent in his approach, conveying not the dreamlike, otherworldly atmosphere more than a few interpreters have found in the piece, but something very much of the moment and of this world.

Chung’s performance blazes with energy and commitment, and is brilliantly backed up by Solti and the LPO. If the violinist errs at all, it is in trying to put swagger into the opening subject of the first movement by leaning into its accents and dishing out some rather heavy portamento. The result sounds unduly Romanticized. But in the rapt second movement Chung is exquisite, and she turns in an electrifying account of the finale, abetted by Solti’s energetic prodding of the orchestra.