Julia Fischer, Wigmore Hall, review The Wigmore Hall normally offers unimpeachably serious fare, the kind of music that allows critics to discourse wisely about different interpretations, and read meanings into every performing nuance. But every now and then a concert comes along that is free of all that. We're invited to sit back and revel in sheer virtuosity, and good tunes. Wednesday's recital from violinist Julia Fischer was one of these. She brought the kind of programme that was typical of touring violin virtuosi around 1930: four pieces by the great Spanish virtuoso Pablo Sarasate, the Devil's Trill sonata by Tartini, and Ravel's Tzigane. The piano accompaniment to Tartini's piece, sweetened with harmonies Tartini couldn't have known, added to the impression of being whisked back in time. Mingled in was the Mendelssohn sonata in F that Yehudi Menuhin patched together from the composer's sketches. On paper it was an odd choice. Fischer is a big name in her native Germany, but she's hardly registered in this country, so you'd think she'd want to bid for our attention with a more heavyweight repertoire. That thought was banished as soon as she began, because Fischer made these little trinkets glow like jewels. She has the commanding tone and manner of the old school. If you closed your eyes during Sarasate's Malagueña you could have imagined it was a seductive, moustachioed Latin fiddler on stage, and not an extraordinarily pale young woman with flaxen hair. She would fly up the fingerboard with careless ease, and then place the pizzicato chord that followed the flourish just so, with no rush. Her pianist, the excellent Milana Chernyavska, always knew just how long that pause would be. More riveting than the virtuoso fireworks was Fischer's tone, which was burnished and splendid right to the tip of every bow-stroke, the vibrato as unvaryingly intense as a furnace. It was the perfect foil to all those skittering high-wire acrobatics. In other music, that steely, imperious line could be a drawback; you might want to hear different colours. The Mendelssohn sonata was Fischer's opportunity to try some out, and perhaps ease that fiercely expressive vibrato. But she didn't take it, even in the Adagio's central section, where for a moment real anguish breaks the surface. The piece sounded like just another virtuoso firework, with a dose of moral edification added for Victorian ears. There may be more to Julia Fischer, but this concert didn't reveal it.