(++++) FOUR FROM THE PAST FOR THE FUTURE

Winnie-the-Pooh Classic Collection. By A.A. Milne. Decorations by E.H. Shepard. Farshore/HarperCollins. $35.

     When it comes to children’s literature, a few books have gained the designation as classics and retained it for many generations of young people – often aided over time, for retention purposes, by transformation into new media, as J.M. (James Matthew) Barrie’s Peter Pan changed from a character in a novel for adults to the central character in a stage play to the protagonist of a novel for young readers. Barrie himself spurred and managed that evolution, and after the death of Barrie (1860-1937), many other hands shaped and reshaped the Peter Pan character in a wide variety of media. But unlike Peter Pan, described by Barrie in his play as “the boy who wouldn’t grow up,” real-life children do age through and eventually past childhood – a circumstance notably relevant to A.A. (Alan Alexander) Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh.

     Winnie’s wonderful adventures were always intertwined with the life of Milne’s son, Christopher Robin, for whom Milne created the character – named Winnie because real-life Christopher met a tame London Zoo bear called Winnipeg and was enchanted by the encounter. It is the enchantment that père Milne transferred so beautifully to his stories of Winnie and his friends, which take place in the Hundred Acre Wood, derived from the Five Hundred Acre Wood in real-world Sussex, England. And it is the enchantment that continues to imbue Pooh’s world even long after the time of A.A. Milne (1882-1956) and Christopher Robin Milne (1920-1996). It is a continuing pleasure to introduce children to Winnie and the other denizens of the Hundred Acre Wood, and that pleasure is in full flower with this handsome slipcased Classic Collection of all four books in which Winnie-the-Pooh appears: the poetry collections When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six, and the story collections Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner.

     Adults who buy this delightful set for today’s kids (or for themselves!) may be surprised if they remember Pooh and his friends primarily from the animated Disney versions of their adventures. Those are great fun on their own, and do a good job of maintaining much of the spirit of Milne’s writing, but the balancing act between narrative and art is quite different in the original books – with their utterly adorable “decorations” by E.H. (Ernest Howard) Shepherd. Instead of looking like roly-poly cartoon characters and more-modern stuffed toys, Pooh and friends are imagined by Shepherd in a style that fits with the original teddy bear, which dates to 1902; indeed, real-world Christopher Robin actually named his toy bear Edward before later calling it Winnie. Interestingly, the bear that Shepherd used as a model for his art was not the one belonging to Milne’s son but one owned by his own son, Graham, because it seemed more cuddly (although it was named Growler). The drawing style used by Shepherd now evokes a much earlier time, although it was aptly contemporary when the Pooh books were first published. As a result, there is nostalgia associated with the Pooh stories in their original form that accentuates the emotional content that they always included.

     That emotion always had real-world elements – Milne’s focus on the stories as relating to his son never wavered – but the connection became especially close and a touch tear-stained by the end of the last of the four books, The House at Pooh Corner. It is worth remembering – adults may not recall this and may even be surprised to find it out from this four-book set – that Pooh first emerged (as Edward) in a single poem in When We Were Very Young (1924). The story collection Winnie-the-Pooh appeared in 1926, after which Pooh showed up 11 times in the 35 poems contained in Now We Are Six (1927) – and then, at last, came The House at Pooh Corner (1928). None of this history and intertwining of poetry and prose is necessary for today’s children to meet and enjoy Winnie and his friends, but adults may want to consider it when engaging with all the non-Pooh poetry in the two verse collections – a great deal of which is, like the Pooh material, thoroughly charming. Milne had a lovely concept of Pooh as “a bear of very little brain” who is nevertheless thoughtful and friendly and a reasonably talented poet. The message of being true to oneself, no matter what one’s gifts may or may not be, carries down through the decades very effectively, and the underlying kindness of all the characters’ interactions is a form of sensitivity that retains its relevance today – and may perhaps be needed now more than ever.

     Children do grow up, though, and the bittersweet conclusion of The House on Pooh Corner – which Milne apparently did not intend as being anything more than a pleasant farewell now that real-world Christopher Robin was growing older – will likely affect today’s readers at least as much as it did those of 1928. In the last story, Christopher Robin has to leave the Hundred Acre Wood – the reason, his aging out of early childhood, is never explicitly stated – because he cannot simply “do nothing” anymore; the animals disappear one by one until only the boy and his bear are left in “an Enchanted Place” in the forest and go off together. Wistful and hopeful at the same time, this final scene may be one that modern parents need to absorb and digest on their own before reading it to or with children: it really does bring on tears, even if that was not its intent. The Pooh poems and stories fully deserve to be deemed classics of children’s literature as well as souvenirs of a time long ago when there was still magic in stuffed animals – a type of magic that, however greatly transformed and updated in the 21^st century, can still captivate children who are privileged to encounter it in the guise of the Hundred Acre Wood a hundred years in the past.

(++++) KEYBOARD REVISITS

Liszt: Piano Concertos Nos. 1-3; Concerto Pathétique; Rhapsodie Espagnole; Malédiction; Totentanz; Fantasia on Hungarian Folk Themes; Wanderer Fantasy. Joshua Pierce, piano; State Symphony Orchestra of Russia, Moscow State Philharmonic Orchestra, and RTV Symphony Orchestra of Slovenia conducted by Paul Freeman; Bohuslav Martinů Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Kirk Trevor. MSR Classics. $19.95 (2 CDs).

Bach: Harpsichord Concertos in D minor, BWV 1052, and F minor, BWV 1056; Brandenburg Concerto No. 5. Jeannette Sorrell, harpsichord and conducting Apollo’s Fire. AVIE. $19.99.

Idil Biret Archive Edition, Volume 21: Waltzes and Dances by Chopin, Berlioz, Liszt, Ravel, Debussy, Kreisler/Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Bartók, Mimaroglu, and Johann Strauss Jr. Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $19.99.

Idil Biret Archive Edition, Volumes 22-23: Prokofiev—Piano Sonatas Nos. 2, 4, 7, 8, and 9; Toccata in D minor. Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $29.99 (2 CDs).

     The relative ease with which older recordings can now be remastered and reissued has led to something of a flood of performances that are decades old – sometimes many decades old – and that have historical value or curiosity value. But they do not always have musical value, and it can be hard to figure out to whom some of these reissues are designed to appeal if both their performance value and their sound quality have been superseded in more-recent years. On the other hand, the same comparative ease that allows reissue of somewhat mediocre material also has made it possible to hear (or re-hear) some truly excellent performances that have fallen by the wayside for no better reason than that newer readings by other performers are available. In fact, some older recordings – and they are really not all that old – can truly be revelatory on several levels. That is the case with the MSR Classics reissue of lots of Franz Liszt’s piano-and-orchestra music, all featuring Joshua Pierce and recorded from 1993 to 1996. First of all, the sound throughout is first-rate, quite as good as pretty much anything to be heard in this repertoire in more-recent releases. Second of all – and this is really first – Pierce is an absolutely top-notch Liszt performer, and in fact it was his highly dramatic debut with Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in Moscow, in 1993, that launched his international career (a situation reminiscent of the launch of Van Cliburn’s worldwide fame through his 1958 Moscow performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1). And with this recording we have, lo and behold, Pierce’s performance of the Liszt with, yes, the State Symphony Orchestra of Russia. It is not the career-launching performance, but it is contemporary and excellent on all levels. And it is offered not only with the second Liszt piano concerto but also with the third, a work not even known until the 1980s and one of which Pierce has become something of a champion. Throw in the fascinating Concerto Pathétique, published in this version after Liszt’s death and incorporating material from very early in his career as well as from his final years, and you have a splendid CD that is a genuine event to be celebrated by Liszt lovers. And it is only the first of the two discs in this release. The second collects five of the composer’s almost-concertos, several of which are a bit more on the level of “display pieces” than are the concertos themselves, but all of which repay the musicianly attention of Pierce to excellent effect, giving audiences highly impressive and often genuinely thrilling listening experiences. The decidedly strange Malédiction, Liszt/Busoni Rhapsodie Espagnole and Schubert/Liszt Wanderer Fantasy – the last of these lasting longer than any of the numbered concertos – are particularly impressive, but all the pieces are more than worthwhile and very much worth owning in this comprehensive set. Yes, the recording involves two conductors and four orchestras of differing provenance and quality (the two Russian ensembles are the most impressive); but it is Pierce’s music-making that is in the forefront here, and it is so effective on so many levels that it fully justifies the reissue of this exemplary set of performances.

     The keyboarding is of a different sort and on a different level in the AVIE re-release of Bach harpsichord concertos as played and conducted by Jeannette Sorrell – and this too is an again-available recording deserving of rejoicing. It is billed as a “25^th anniversary edition,” in recognition of the fact that the Brandenburg concertos as played by Sorrell and the period-instrument ensemble Apollo’s Fire were released in 1999 – with the non-Brandenburg D minor and F minor harpsichord concertos as bonuses. Here as with Pierce’s Liszt, albeit in very different ways, the recording has lost none of its quality and none of its charm. These are charming performances, with lilt and brightness that make it sound as if the musicians are having a lot of fun producing the music and sending it out for audiences to hear. Given the frequent stodginess with which Bach is often delivered – even by period-instrument groups and sometimes especially by them – this lighter, serious-but-just-slightly-frothy approach is thoroughly winning. Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, a harpsichord concerto in all but name, especially benefits from Sorrell’s handling of the music: the overall ensemble is very clear, the musical lines beautifully balanced against each other, and the harpsichord kept tucked neatly and expertly into its traditional role until it isn’t – emerging from the responsibility of undergirding the music into the spotlight on its own in a way that sounds not only inevitable but also simply right, as if the concerto could not possibly have gone any other way. Because the solo-level expectation regarding the harpsichord is absent in Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, there is an element of pleasant surprise when the keyboard becomes more and more dominant within the ensemble, providing a version of the delight that Haydn was later to create with his all-of-a-sudden harpsichord solo in the finale of his Symphony No. 98. The D minor and F minor concertos, of course, are expected to focus on the harpsichord, and Sorrell makes sure that they do so in the historically informed milieu within which Apollo’s Fire makes music: there are no Lisztian fireworks or anything approaching them here, but there is primus inter pares camaraderie aplenty and, as a result, Bach performances that delight and captivate 25 years after their original release.

     Neither Pierce’s recording nor Sorrell’s ought really to be designated as “historic,” but that adjective does apply to the reissues in the long-running Idil Biret Archive Edition, which makes available recordings by the excellent Turkish pianist dating back considerably more than 25 or 30 years – in many cases as digital remasterings of original analog productions. The two latest releases from IBA continue to showcase the series’ unerring focus on this justifiably renowned pianist, who was born in 1941 and is still going strong. She was very much in her prime as a performer when the performances on these releases took place. Volume 21 is a potpourri of lighter and mostly familiar music, in effect a full CD of encore material, with recordings made as long ago as 1961 – although in one case (Liszt’s Tarantella from Venezia e Napoli) dating to 2011 and in another (Debussy’s La plus que lente) recorded as recently as 2018. The main thing that this disc shows is that Biret has been sensitive to the expressive nuances of these not-always-consequential little pieces throughout her career, and that her technique remains as consistent as her thinking about the music. The last two works on the disc are especially interesting. The penultimate is Pieces Sentimentales by Ilhan Mimaroglu, who is really known only for his electronic music but who created this pleasant (and tonal) piece early in his career. And the final work here is the Leopold Godowsky arrangement of Johann Strauss Jr.’s Künstlerleben, a version that extends and decorates the music far beyond what Strauss ever intended and in so doing creates a pianistic firebrand that Biret appears thoroughly to enjoy putting on display.

     Matters are considerably more serious in the IBA Volumes 22-23, which are devoted – both CDs – to piano sonatas by Prokofiev. The recordings here were made as early as 1960 and as late as 1977, all therefore in analog form, and they include some sonatas that she often played in recital as well as two – Nos. 8 and 9 – that she apparently recorded only once, for radio airplay. Biret has had a longstanding affinity for Russian music, especially the works of Rachmaninoff, but her handling of Prokofiev’s sonatas is more uneven, in the sense that she performed some frequently and others rarely. What is clear from the readings on this two-CD set, however, is that Biret thoroughly understands the structures of these sonatas and their differing intentions and emotional impact. She also displays remarkable consistency over the decades in handling the works’ technical and expressive challenges: Sonata No. 7 is offered here two separate times, once near the start of the first CD (as recorded in 1961) and once at the end of the second (as recorded in 1977). There is nothing formulaic or strictly duplicative in the two renditions, each of which has slightly different emphases and slightly differing tempo choices. But both are clearly reflective of Biret’s sensibilities and her understanding of Prokofiev’s music and his thinking about keyboard style, which means listeners to this release get even more insight into Biret as a thoughtful as well as technically accomplished pianist than the IBA discs usually provide. It is an out-and-out joy to have these recordings, like those by Pierce and Sorrell, readily available to music lovers everywhere.

(++++) KID KONSIDERATIONS

Why I Love Diggers and Trucks. Illustrated by Daniel Howarth. HarperCollins. $11.99.

Little Monsters. By David Walliams. Illustrated by Adam Stower. HarperCollins. $9.99.

     Young children’s own words provide the narrative for Why I Love Diggers and Trucks, but it is the entirely suitable illustrations by Daniel Howarth that bring the words pleasantly to life for kids beyond the ones who originally said them. The board book is appealingly simple, with each left-hand page until the final one starting with “I love diggers and trucks because…” and giving a specific reason for enjoyment – often a decidedly non-adult reason such as “they are noisy!” or “they make a mess.” Of course, it’s best to take the noise or mess in context: Howarth’s illustrations are filled with anthropomorphic animals in hard hats doing construction work of all sorts, so the noisiness and messiness are clearly in a good cause. The obvious non-reality of the figures is complemented by some touches that are realistic, not only the hard hats but also the ear protection the animal workers wear while making all that noise and mess (plus the occasional illustration of a nearby animal holding its ears because of all the racket). Some other kids’ thoughts that are illustrated here are “they are strong,” “they are powerful,” “they are busy,” and “they work hard,” but not all the remarks are along those lines. At one point, there is the comment, “I love diggers and trucks because…of their bright colours” (the book was originally published in Great Britain; hence the spelling). Elsewhere, the words are “I love diggers and trucks because…I have my own!” And that scene, of childlike animals using child-sized toy “diggers and trucks” in a sandbox, is in a sense what the book is all about. It is not, however, the most amusing illustration here – that would be the one that goes with “they are huge!” Indeed they are, as kids can see by looking at the 17 suitably dressed-up penguins clambering all over and around a gigantic snow-filled earth mover, putting air in the tires, painting the side, washing the wheels, and (why not?) swirling happily around one deeply recessed wheel and building a snowman up top. The final left-hand page of the book is the only one that does not start with “I love diggers and trucks,” because it makes the point universal: “Everyone loves diggers and trucks,” it says, and the right-hand page adds, “especially…ME!” And that illustration, showing hard-hat workers allowing kids to clamber all over some full-size construction equipment and familiarize themselves with it, will surely lead some children to ask adults to take them somewhere to see and experience real-world diggers and trucks. Parents: be prepared!

     The words come not from kids but from David Walliams in Little Monsters, and the illustrations come from Adam Stower, who previously illustrated Walliams’ Grannysaurus and Marmalade: The Orange Panda. But the underlying feelings in Little Monsters very definitely reflect those of young children. The issue here is one of belonging, specifically how to belong and where. As the title indicates, the tale is told by focusing on child monsters – amusing depictions of a little vampire, skeleton, mummy, ghost and, centrally, werewolf. He is named Howler, but he has a lot of trouble howling: his squeaky yelp causes other little werewolves to howl not with him but with laughter. Howler’s well-meaning parents decide to send him to Monster School to learn to be more frightening, but things do not go well for him there: the broom-riding teacher, Miss Spell, is disappointed with Howler’s attempts to make a scary face, sneak up to scare someone, and, of course, participate in a lesson featuring “gruesome growls.” Howler does so poorly that he gets sent to the headmaster’s office, where the head of school tells him he is an utter failure and is expelled. Poor Howler – and young readers, at least some of them, will know just how he feels. But after hitting bottom, Howler finds a way to climb the heights. It just so happens that the tale occurs at Halloween, and there happens to be a werewolf-friendly full moon, and Howler finds himself among many dressed-up human children who think he is wearing a really great costume. They invite Howler to trick-or-treat with them, and Howler, “smiling for the first time in ages,” happily goes along – and turns out to be so frightening to the human adults who answer doors that he and all his new friends receive “a hail of sweets” wherever they go and “had never had so many treats.” Things are certainly looking up for Howler – who, now inspired to assert himself, takes all the dressed-up human kids to Monster School and tells them to join “in the LOUDEST howl” they can manage. They shriek at top volume right behind the chair where Miss Spell is sitting, and sure enough, she screams, shoots out of her chair, bounces off the ceiling and walls, and lands on the floor after slamming into the headmaster, “who had appeared at the door” at just the right (or wrong) time. Miss Spell is out cold, and the headmaster admires Howler’s newfound prowess at scariness so much that he immediately welcomes him back to Monster School. But – and this is really the point of the book – Howler turns down the invitation, because he prefers to stay with the kids who accepted him when no one else would. He is happy, the kids are happy, and Howler’s parents “couldn’t have been happier that their son was happy just being himself.” So all’s well that ends well, and Howler happily goes to human-kid school at the end of the book, making everyone happy except maybe for the teacher, whose hair is definitely standing on end when he sees the new arrival sitting at the back of the room. Walliams tells the story amusingly and with obvious relish, and Stower’s illustrations are apt and funny and a definite plus for the narrative. And the point of Little Monsters will surely not be lost on kids: be yourself, connect with people who accept you for who you are, and you too can be terrifying. Oh…well…maybe that is not exactly the point, but it’s close enough, and certainly should give children and adults a jumping-off place for discussion after everyone reads and enjoys Little Monsters.

(++++) PIANISM PERSONALIZED

Mozart: Complete Piano Sonatas. Orli Shaham, piano. Canary Classics. $49.98 (6 CDs).

     Orli Shaham’s delight in Mozart is everywhere apparent in her Canary Classics cycle of the composer’s 18 piano sonatas, recorded in 2019 and 2020, released individually as two single CDs and two two-CD sets, and now packaged as a complete sequence. A pianist of sensitivity and close engagement with the music, Shaham allows the sonatas their full scope by taking all repeats and reproduces some of Mozart’s intent by creating decorations and embellishments for the music almost throughout – although these are certainly not historically informed performances and are given on a modern Steinway, whose full resources Shaham does not hesitate to employ from time to time (albeit sparingly – thankfully).

     The singing quality of Mozart’s piano writing, to which other performers have also paid attention, is prominent in Shaham’s readings, and her sense of vocal lines stands these recordings in good stead and frequently brings out a level of flow and simple (but not always simple) beauty that borders on the enchanting. For example, in Sonata No. 13, K. 333, operatic elements are prominent in the opening movement, which glides along like a sweet little cabaletta until Mozart makes it something more pianistic. The second movement also has a singing quality – indeed, it is marked Andante cantabile – and Shaham makes the most of this element, just as she pays close attention to the gracefulness of a finale marked Allegretto grazioso.

     Shaham plays both the larger, more-complex sonatas and the smaller ones with the same attentiveness and an enjoyment that is almost palpable. No. 18, K. 576, is filled with technical difficulty that gives Shaham no pause whatsoever, but it is interesting that she seems especially to enjoy the playful aspects of the work’s finale. On the other hand, No. 16, K. 545, which was designated by the composer as “for beginners,” works best when taken seriously by advanced players – and Shaham plays (and decorates) it as if she enjoys it, which is a fine and appropriate approach.

     There is a great deal to enjoy throughout the six-and-a-half hours of music here. These are knowing and carefully considered interpretations that tend, at least from time to time, to lean a bit more into the Romantic era than the music readily supports – but that are heartfelt and sincerely communicative throughout. Certainly it is possible to nitpick if one is so inclined. For instance, in No. 1, K. 279, Shaham tends to overuse the pedal a bit too often in chordal material – but her handling of the twinkling finale is thoroughly engaging. On the other hand, No. 15, K. 533/494 – a sonata that is more pretty than profound, being very well-made but a trifle on the cool side – lacks the small Romantic touches that Shaham employs elsewhere, resulting in a performance that is stately and elegant without being particularly moving.

     The cycle as a whole has warmth and expressiveness communicated more by Shaham herself than by over-reliance on a modern piano and the occasional inappropriate post-Mozartean touches that it invites. This is a pianist whose love of the music and close personal relationship with it clearly inform her interpretations: there is an intimacy to these readings that makes it feel as if she is sharing something of importance and enjoyment with close friends rather than producing an expansive sound for a large audience. It is the intimacy of the performances rather than any particular interpretative insight they contain that makes Shaham’s cycle so appealing.

     Unfortunately, there are capricious and sometimes outright sloppy presentation elements associated with this cycle – not in the music but in the recording and packaging – that detract from its appeal. Most notably, there is no discernible reason for the sonatas being presented as they are: Nos. 3, 13 and 17 in Volume 1; Nos. 9, 12, 18, 16, 4, 5 and 11, in that order, in the two-CD package called Volumes 2/3; Nos. 2, 1 and 6, in that order, in Volume 4; and Nos. 7, 8, 10, 14 and 15 in the two-CD package called Volumes 5/6. Total lengths of the sonatas are provided only for Volumes 1-4, not in the final two-CD set. There is no explanation for the names of sonatas Nos. 6 (Dürnitz) or 16 (für Anfänger). Nor is there an explanation of the chosen numbering system that designates K. 310 as No. 9 and K. 311 as No. 8 rather than the other way around (there is good reason for this, but why not explain?).

     There is surely some solid thinking behind the sequencing. In fact, Volume 1 includes the three sonatas in B-flat, and that is both logical and intriguing. But if there is similar thoughtfulness behind the remainder of the ordering, it is unclear and unexplained. That means the most likely reason for this order of presentation is simply that Shaham wants to present the sonatas this way – which is perfectly fine, but it would be nice to know why; and such a highly personal decision, by its very nature, somewhat limits the appeal of the cycle to listeners whose individual feelings about the music match or at least parallel Shaham’s.

     The booklet enclosures with the packages would seem the logical place to discuss matters like these, but these are woefully inadequate. The booklet with Volumes 5/6 comes closest to giving some background on Shaham herself, her history with Mozart, and her thinking about the sonatas. The booklet with Volumes 2/3 is the longest and the most personal – Shaham discusses her feelings about Mozart at some length and talks about various specific sonatas that, however, are not included in that volume, which was originally released (like all the volumes here) as a standalone product. The booklet with Volume 1 relates most directly to the music on the CD and is the only enclosure of real value for listeners not already well-acquainted with the music. The booklet for Volume 4 is a very brief throwaway. Considering the care and consistency with which Shaham performs these sonatas – whatever their order – the ancillary material could be and should have been substantially better.

     To some extent, these are niggling negatives; and to some extent, Canary Classics – which was founded in 2003 by Shaham’s brother, violinist Gil Shaham, and is owned by him – can do whatever it pleases and can afford to thumb its nose at any criticism of its decision-making. But Orli Shaham deserves better, strictly from the viewpoint of the presentation and packaging quality of this cycle, than she receives here. She has lived with Mozart’s sonatas for decades and has obviously thought about them with a level of deep involvement that appears again and again in her interpretations. She regales listeners with performances that were done under very difficult circumstances (because of the COVID-19 pandemic, during which many were recorded) but that never show the extent of external strain as the music unfolds in an unerring flow of beauty. Indeed, Mozart himself lived through periods of enormous personal difficulty in the years in which he produced these sonatas, but transcended his troubles to produce music that, if not entirely problem-free, possesses a foundational form of uplift and positivity that continues to communicate effectively more than 230 years after the composer’s death. Shaham connects with this music viscerally as well as thoughtfully, and it is through that connection that she forges a bond that bridges the centuries and shows the extent to which Mozart can continue to move, delight and inspire performers and listeners alike.