Pity the poor trumpet player. Years of annoying the neighbors in the quest for a formidable technique, only to discover that he or she has been severely short-changed by the repertoire. Still, necessity is the mother of invention, and the trumpeter's lot has been greatly enhanced by what is politely referred to as transcription, or, more crudely, pinching that which rightfully belongs to others. This magpie tendency does have a down side--the need to adapt a string concerto (be it for violin, viola, or cello) for a wind instrument is the musical equivalent of kitting out a fish in a set of feathers; it needs tact and sensitivity to avoid sounding freakish, but here choices are well made. The Mendelssohn (the early D minor concerto rather than the more famous one in E minor) is the most surprising success, the trumpet chattering 19-to-the-dozen in the lip-crackingly fiendish finale, with a touching, lyrical extended slow movement. It becomes a much heartier piece with the brass implant, but it's none the worse for that. And the playing? It's beautifully mellifluous and brilliantly virtuosic. Trumpet fanciers will know that Nakariakov is right at the top of the pile. Others can rest assured that they won't hear the instrument played better than this. --Harriet Smith