(++++) GIFTING SYMPHONIES AND SONATAS

Vaughan Williams: Symphonies Nos. 5 and 7 (Sinfonia antartica). Sheila Armstrong, soprano; London Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra conducted by Bernard Haitink. LPO. $17.99 (2 CDs).

Elgar: The Dream of Gerontius; Symphony No. 1. Peter Auty, tenor; Michelle Breedt, mezzo-soprano; John Hancock, baritone; Collegium Vocale Gent and Royal Flemish Philharmonic conducted by Edo de Waart. PentaTone. $29.99 (2 SACDs).

John Knowles Paine: Symphony No. 1; Overture to Shakespeare’s “As You Like It”; Shakespeare’s “Tempest”—Symphonic Poem. Ulster Orchestra conducted by JoAnn Falletta. Naxos. $9.99.

Schumann: Symphony No. 3 (“Rhenish”); Brahms: Symphony No. 2. Orchestra Sinfonica di Torino della RAI (Schumann) and Philharmonia Orchestra (Brahms) conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini. IDIS. $18.99.

Schumann: Sonatas Nos. 1-3 for Violin and Piano. Christian Tetzlaff, violin; Lars Vogt, piano. Ondine. $16.99.

Schubert: Piano Sonatas Nos. 13, D. 664, and 18, D. 894. Janina Fialkowska, piano. ATMA Classique. $16.99.

Corelli: Chamber Sonatas, Opp. 2 and 4. The Avison Ensemble conducted by Pavlo Beznosiuk. Linn Records. $34.99 (2 SACDs).

     As the heart of holiday gift-giving season fast approaches, classical-music lovers –or people shopping for classical-music lovers – may be wondering what sorts of recordings to consider that are just far enough off the beaten path so they would make worthy additions to existing collections…even ones that already contain pretty much everything in the standard repertoire. One approach is to look for unusually interesting recordings of standard or near-standard works, such as Vaughan William’s Fifth and Seventh Symphonies. The Fifth requires an orchestra able to play for nearly 45 minutes at levels that only rarely rise to forte, and a conductor able to shape the very quiet, frequently hymn-like music in a way that retains forward flow and audience interest. The Seventh, on the other hand, needs a conductor able to accept the work’s film-music-like sound and the use of the orchestra for tone-painting and to support the story of Robert Falcon Scott’s doomed Antarctic expedition. Bernard Haitink proves more than equal to both symphonies’ requirements in a new LPO release of performances he conducted years ago: the Fifth in 1994 and the Seventh in 1984. The grand sound and sensitive playing of the London Philharmonic, and Haitink’s sure hand for pacing and emphasis, make this two-CD set a fine gift for lovers of Vaughan Williams’ symphonic music.

     An important work of another major British composer, The Dream of Gerontius, gets a very fine performance in particularly excellent sound on a two-SACD set from PentaTone. Elgar’s sort-of-oratorio (the composer objected to use of the term) is highly impressive in choral passages and very effective orchestrally as well, and Edo de Waart marshals vocal and instrumental forces to fine effect. The strongly Catholic flavor of the theme – the faithful Gerontius dies and, after several scenes of a journey through a noticeably Catholic afterlife, is gently placed in Purgatory – may not appeal to all listeners and was in fact a barrier for a time to the work’s performance in some quarters. But the music is so well-crafted that this piece is very much worth having even for listeners who do not accept its highly traditional religious message. And it is coupled with a fine rendition of Elgar’s First Symphony, one of the few well-known symphonies in the key of A-flat and a piece that nicely complements The Dream of Gerontius because of the symphony’s mood of benediction, notably in its slow movement.

     An American near-contemporary of Elgar (1857-1934), John Knowles Paine (1839-1906) is far less known and represents a notable discovery – one of many made by the very dedicated JoAnn Falletta, whose fine Naxos recordings with the Buffalo Philharmonic and the Ulster Orchestra regularly explore the works of lesser or simply forgotten composers with intelligence, skill and considerable sensitivity. Falletta’s Paine disc with the Ulster ensemble shows the composer’s very considerable skill at orchestration and his clear absorption of his Germanic training. His works are not particularly innovative – likely the reason they have not remained in the repertoire – but all three of those on this CD are well-crafted and convincing. Paine’s Symphony No. 1 is skillfully designed and well-orchestrated, thematically pleasant and well-constructed. The As You Like It overture is also tuneful and moves gracefully throughout, while the longer Tempest symphonic poem is clearly in the mode of Liszt, featuring six distinct sections played one after the other and skillfully portraying Ariel, Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda, Caliban and some of the scenes of Shakespeare’s play. One thing that makes this CD a particularly felicitous gift is that the music will almost surely be unfamiliar to the recipient, but the Romantic mode in which it is written will make it easy to listen to and immediately accessible.

     Those seeking a gift of more-traditional symphonic repertoire, but still a recording that the recipient is unlikely to have already, can consider the CD of Schumann’s Third (from a 1961 performance with the Orchestra Sinfonica di Torino della RAI) and Brahms’ Second (from 1962 with the Philharmonia Orchestra) under conductor Carlo Maria Giulini (1914-2005). This recording from IDIS (Istituto Discografico Italiano) is labeled “Carlo Maria Giulini Collection, Vol. 1,” and may encourage a recipient to look forward to further releases. It is also very worthy in its own right. These are familiar works and ones with which Giulini was frequently involved – particularly the Brahms, which he performed innumerable times and frequently recorded. Giulini’s approach to Brahms changed over time, with some of his recordings being highly propulsive while others are staid, slow and unashamedly heavy. This one is on the moderate side, as is the Schumann. There is nothing especially innovative in either interpretation, and neither orchestra is of the first water in these performances, but both readings are intelligent, well-thought-through and frequently exhilarating. They will give a listener the chance to hear a major conductor with whom he or she may not be highly familiar – a fine gift indeed.

     Not all music lovers gravitate to symphonies, of course, and there are some very fine performances of sonatas available this year for those who prefer them. Schumann’s three violin sonatas receive sensitive and elegant readings from Christian Tetzlaff and Lars Vogt on a new Ondine CD. The first sonata did not much please the composer, who said he wrote the second – which is nearly twice as long and altogether broader in scale – because he was dissatisfied with his original attempt. All three sonatas are in minor keys (Nos. 1 and 3 in A minor, No. 2 in D minor), and all three show clear evidence of being composed late in the composer’s life. (The third is actually an expansion of two movements of the F-A-E Sonata, which Schumann co-wrote with Brahms and Albert Dietrich.) There are a number of fine recordings of the three sonatas, but the works are not especially well-known, and many chamber-music lovers may not have a recording – or may have only one and would enjoy an additional view of the music. Tetzlaff and Vogt handle the sonatas with skill and sure inter-instrumental communication, passing the themes and accompaniments easily back and forth and keeping the music’s flow moving smoothly and often elegantly. Lovers of Schumann and of the violin-and-piano repertoire will find this well-recorded disc a lovely gift.

     For single-instrument Romantic-era sonatas, a fine choice for gift-giving would be Janina Fialkowska’s very involved, beautifully phrased performances of Schubert’s Piano Sonatas No. 13, D. 664, and 18, D. 894. The latter, which dates to 1826, was much admired by Schumann, who called it the most perfect of Schubert’s sonatas in both form and conception. It was the last Schubert sonata published during the composer’s brief life, and it remains a remarkable achievement both in scale – 37 minutes in Fialkowska’s performance – and in its mood of serenity, which is rare among Schubert’s sonatas and is nowhere else spun out at this length or with this elegance. The coupling with D. 664 from 1819 is an interesting one, since the earlier sonata, which is in three movements, is the first in which Schubert seems wholly comfortable with Beethoven’s sonata form. The music itself is more straightforward than in the later sonata, with the melodic ease and beauty of which Schubert was always capable but without the underlying complexity of the later work. The Fialkowska CD will be a fine gift for listeners unfamiliar with these Schubert sonatas, with the Canadian pianist, or both.

     And sonatas are not of course confined to the Romantic era, although the word “sonata” did mean somewhat different things in earlier times. There are pleasures galore in a highly engaging two-SACD set of Corelli chamber sonatas by the Avison Ensemble under Pavlo Beznosiuk, who directs while playing the violin. The group’s four other members – Caroline Balding on violin, Richard Tunnicliffe on cello, Paula Chateauneuf on archlute and Roger Hamilton on harpsichord and organ – are thoroughly comfortable with Corelli’s style and with their own places within these finely crafted Baroque pieces. The two sets of sonatas da camera are part of the Avison Ensemble’s project of recording all of Corelli’s chamber music, but this recording stands perfectly well on its own, with every performance poised, balanced, carefully constructed and played with a very high level of artistry. The pacing of the faster movements, and the balance within them, are particularly impressive. These sonatas have been popular among performers since their first publication in 1694, but they are not a “fixture” in many people’s classical-music collections, so this Avison Ensemble set could be a highly welcome gift for many lovers of Baroque music presented in top-notch, historically sensitive performances.

(++++) THE SNARKY SIDE

Unsportsmanlike Conduct: A “Pearls Before Swine” Collection. By Stephan Pastis. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.

Rat’s Wars: A “Pearls Before Swine” Collection. By Stephan Pastis. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.

The Fuzzy Bunch: A “Get Fuzzy” Collection. By Darby Conley. Andrews McMeel. $12.99.

Why Grizzly Bears Should Wear Underpants. By Matthew Inman. Andrews McMeel. $16.99.

Awkward Family Holiday Photos. By Mike Bender and Doug Chernack. Three Rivers Press. $15.

     There is edgy, and then there is edgy. One of the most highly regarded comics of recent decades was The Far Side, in which Gary Larson created a surrealistic world where social situations became decidedly weird and logic was often turned on its head. That was edgy – but Larson stopped doing his panels in 1995. Since then, cartoonists have pushed more for edgy, which means testing the limits of what syndicators and newspapers will allow, creating ever-more-bizarre characters and circumstances, and producing surrealistic scenes that make Larson’s seem almost, well, normal. In the forefront of this trend are Stephan Pastis and Darby Conley, whose strips are so filled with attitude that they practically overflow – it is no coincidence that Pastis and Conley have even parodied each other’s work. Pastis’ two most recent collections, Unsportsmanlike Conduct and Rat’s Wars, take absurdity to new heights – or depths, depending on your point of view. The cover of Unsportsmanlike Conduct actually shows Rat kicking Pastis (the cartoon version, a regular character in the strip) in what the strip refers to as the “oompa-loompas” during a boxing match – a scene unimaginable outside the world of underground comics until Pastis not only imagined it but also got his publisher to accept it. And the whole book pushes things just far enough and then a little too far. For example, Rat calls for the overthrow of the government, knowing nothing can be done about him because he is, after all, only a cartoon character; so government goons show up and arrest Pastis (the cartoon version), releasing him only when he pledges to turn Pearls Before Swine into a “gentle family strip”; so Pastis introduces his cartoon mother, since family strips always have moms in them, and she spends her time cursing, drinking beer and shooting pigeons. Pearls Before Swine is like that. Meanwhile, Pig’s girlfriend, Pigita, stops going out with him and ends up dating a dung beetle, while Pig dates a mop and, later, a lamp; one of the crocs dresses up as the Pillsbury dough boy and delivers buns to Zebra, thinking that is what is meant by the phrase “crocodile death roll”; and there are the usual awful puns (especially in Sunday strips) and the mayhem that results as the characters attack Pastis for creating them. There are also some instances of genuinely clever drawing, even though the strip is not noted for its art. For instance, one Sunday sequence reuses a previous Sunday’s in black and white in the background, with color overlays in which cartoon Pastis and his characters debate the reuse of old comics.

     Rat’s Wars continues along the same lines – starting with the best title yet for a Pearls Before Swine collection, since the “Star” in “Star Wars” is indeed, when spelled backwards, “Rats,” and Rat is indeed at war with practically everyone and everything, as the cover makes clear. Here we find cartoon Pastis disassembling his body to prove to Rat that he can’t be killed – even though Rat has done just that because, in an earlier sequence, Pastis shipped Rat to Yakutsk, Siberia. Larry the crocodile gets into big trouble here for rubbing his “badonkadonk” against that of a zebra, being too drunk at the time to know what he is doing. Elly Elephant, a recurring character always in search of love and never finding it, tries to assemble a basket of avocados, each symbolizing a trait she wants in a man – but when she puts “dependable” in, “adventurous” falls out, and when she includes “non-superficial,” she loses “handsome.” Rat launches an “Occupy Sesame Street” protest, which ends when he is offered the job of replacing Mr. Rogers, which leads to a takeover of the neighborhood by Jihad Jerry. There is also a war between East Coast and West Coast cartoonists, with cameo appearances by Cathy, Beetle Bailey and others. And, again, there are some disturbingly good (and disturbing) drawings, such as Sunday panels in which Rat becomes Jeremy from Zits and Pig turns into Jeremy’s dad. Pastis has clearly grasped the concept of edgy and is wringing every bit of humor out of it. Or, perhaps, wringing its neck.

     Conley handles edgy differently but no less, well, edgily. The setting of Get Fuzzy is more traditional than Pastis’, with a couple of talking animals living with a mild-mannered human (whose lack of personality and unattractive appearance are not the strip’s strong points). But the way these animals talk – and the way the many other animals in the strip talk – is what sets Conley’s work apart and brings it well into the realm of edgy. In The Fuzzy Bunch, Bucky, the one-fanged Siamese with an unkind word for everybody, proposes a variety of ways to “improve” soccer, such as putting a forward’s grandmother into a dunking booth that dumps her into ice water whenever the team takes a shot that misses an open goal. He also warns the sweet and ever-naïve Satchel Pooch about “Checkpoint Charlie the Tuna,” creates an army of monkey soldiers from potatoes, and convinces Satchel of a previously unknown menace, with this result: “I assume your dog clogged the toilet with garlic bread to deter the vampires that live in the sewer.” (These, by the way, are alligator vampires.) The absurdity of language and illogic never ends in this world. Bucky disproves the notion of an asteroid wiping out the dinosaurs by explaining his theory that “science is bunk” and “that I, Bucky Katt, am Shiny-Po, the sun god.” In fact, Bucky develops the theory of “the big bonk” to explain, well, everything, later deciding that Satchel is a witch, which leads to both animals making head signs at each other. And then there is Bucky’s CD, with tracks such as “You Make Me Wiggle Like a Flea Infestation.” Rob Wilco, the feckless human in the strip, insists on talking logically and patiently to both Bucky and Satchel, with the result that Bucky constantly misunderstands and gets angry and violent, while Satchel constantly misunderstands and gets weepy and upset. You would think that Rob would eventually learn, but in this particular grouping of mammals, it is hard to escape the notion that he is the one with the smallest amount of grey matter. And that, of course, is part of what makes the strip edgy.

     One thing clearly driving the profusion of edgy is the Internet, where humor and everything else sprawls all over the place and frequently becomes more foul-mouthed and unkind than it ever did in the days when newspapers ruled the information universe. Some comics created specifically for the Internet have a kind of fiendish intensity that even the edgiest newspaper strips lack – a prime example being the creations of Matthew Inman, who goes by the designation “The Oatmeal” and whose latest non-Internet production is Why Grizzly Bears Should Wear Underpants. Inman’s cartoons do not work as well in print as online, which is why the book gets a (+++) rating: the jokes and almost-jokes go on and on and on, which is fine on the Web (where space for producing material is essentially infinite) but less effective in print, where Inman’s productions take up more pages that are strictly necessary to make his points. The title sequence in the new book, for instance, has plenty of funny (and edgy) moments as the bear is related to human bullies and self-important boobs – the idea being that if he wore underpants he might learn that “compromise is the best way to endure this bumpy-yet-awesome journey we call LIFE,” for instance by accepting a carcass-flavored smoothie instead of insisting on an actual deer carcass. Also here is a paean to accidental punching: “The airplanes we fly/ soar high up in the sky/ and when I remove my coat/ I punch you in the throat.” One sequence on E-mail (“the more work I put into it the more work comes back”) shows how to create a new filter to lighten the load – and how the filter is likely to backfire. The love-hate relationship with smartphones is here, too. Inman’s drawings are more like sketches, and indeed tend to be rather sketchy, showing characters with completely round heads (though these figures are nothing at all like the famous round head of Charlie Brown in Peanuts) and sometimes no characters at all (one six-page sequence is all text about how to use E-mail and how not to use it). Why Grizzly Bears Should Wear Underpants is uneven in a way that would matter not at all online, where people can and do click through quickly from one experience to the next and where anything that does not instantly grab one’s attention is rapidly bypassed in favor of something that does. In a book, though, Inman’s humor falls a bit short – even though it hits the edgy mark as often as it hits the tasteless one.

     Awkward Family Holiday Photos desperately wants to be edgy, but this (+++) book mostly manages to be tasteless, albeit not in the manner of Inman’s humor. The fun here – when there is any – comes from the juxtaposition of awful or inappropriate photos with the occasions they are supposed to celebrate. Unfortunately, a lot of the pictures are simply sad, having obviously been taken by people in far-from-ideal circumstances or ones with no idea of how to compose a good photo. There is a mocking tone to Mike Bender and Doug Chernack’s book that is rather unseemly (“unseemly” admittedly being a quaint concept in the Internet age). The occasions here range from Thanksgiving and Christmas to Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Grandparents’ Day. One photo shows a baby peeing into his mother’s face as she cuddles him for the camera. One features a mom with sky-high hair in the vein of The Bride of Frankenstein. One has circus acrobats climbing a tall pole – as one of them holds a baby by the hair. One shows four clearly disaffected, sullen people clustered around a barbecue grill; on the opposite page is a scene in which one person’s face is entirely obscured by magenta smoke. A photo of seven people shows six sitting next to each other while the seventh is isolated and alone to the side and behind everybody. Another shows a man apparently about to slit his wife’s throat with a kitchen knife as she pretends to scream (presumably she was pretending). Some photos come with comments from the people involved: “It’s hard to look scary as a werewolf [for Halloween] when your parents look like they’re starring in the musical Cats,” for example. The strangest photos are the most disturbing ones, such as a picture of a naked man squatting next to a clothed child (presumably his) as the two of them light sparklers for Independence Day. In these Internet-focused days, very little is now deemed in bad taste, and certainly some of the pictures in Awkward Family Holiday Photos are merely unfortunate, poorly composed, or funny for all the wrong reasons – and, indeed, many of them are funny. The problem is that Bender and Chernack are trying too hard to be edgy with what is essentially a book of embarrassment – to be truly edgy, one needs to have  a point to make, perhaps crudely, but still, there needs to be some point. Too many photos in this book, far from being pointed, are merely dull.

(++++) HISTORY AND ALMOST-HISTORY

The Family: Three Journeys into the Heart of the Twentieth Century. By David Laskin. Viking. $32.

“Mr. President”: George Washington and the Makings of the Nation’s Highest Office. By Harlow Giles Unger. Da Capo. $25.99.

27: A History of the 27 Club through the Lives of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse. By Howard Sounes. Da Capo. $26.99.

The Great Trouble: A Mystery of London, the Blue Death, and a Boy Called Eel. By Deborah Hopkinson. Knopf. $16.99.

     The lessons of the past, great and small, distant and more-recent, inform all of these books, three written for adults and one for younger readers. In The Family, journalist David Laskin traces the three branches of his own Russian Jewish forebears, their lives collectively touching on and being touched by major currents of the 20^th century. The book starts with the six children of a Torah scribe on the western fringe of the Russian empire and leads readers through the branching of family members and through multiple upheavals. One group comes to the United States and prospers as founders of Maindenform, the lingerie company. A second works to form a new nation – Israel – in the land known as Palestine. And a third stays true to its roots in Europe, thus getting caught up in the Holocaust. The Horatio Alger story of hard-working immigrants making good in the New World (focusing on Itel, the woman whose drive made Maidenform a success) contrasts dramatically with the disillusionment of Chaim in Palestine, where disappointment rather than the biblical land of milk and honey is the order of the day. And both those tales contrast sharply with that of the family members in Nazi-controlled Europe. There is no new insight into the Holocaust here, but seeing its impact through the individual stories of those who experienced it gives it more immediacy than one finds in more-sweeping accounts. There is new insight into the Russian Revolution, the Great Depression and other seminal events of the 20^th century, as Laskin manages to mingle grand historical occurrences with the small matters of everyday life that bring history alive. The Family is written novelistically and reads like a work of fiction, despite its factual basis and meticulous research. Its only significant flaw lies in leaving some questions unanswered, and perhaps unasked – such as why the prosperous Americans apparently did little or nothing to help family members trapped in Nazi-dominated Europe. Still, Laskin does not whitewash most of his family history, and his book is all the better for showing that his ancestors had their share of good and bad, as well as their share of success and failure.

     Harlow Giles Unger reaches back much farther and in a much less personal way for “Mr. President”: George Washington and the Makings of the Nation’s Highest Office. But the story he tells is no less fascinating. Unger’s book is essentially a tracing of the roots of what we now call the “imperial presidency,” which most people believe to be a purely modern phenomenon – attributed by many to Franklin D. Roosevelt, for example. But Unger convincingly argues that this is not so: the seizing and exercise of powers not given to the president by the Constitution dates back all the way to the nation’s first chief executive. The Constitution, Unger explains, carefully enumerates presidential powers and just as carefully limits them: the Founders wanted more of a figurehead leader than someone who might abuse power as they saw King George III abusing it. But Washington – accurately described by Unger as “probably the most selfless, self-sacrificing president in American history” – again and again went beyond his enumerated powers to solve crises that Congress could not or would not handle. Sometimes he worked with others in government who wanted a strengthened federal presence: he had Alexander Hamilton borrow funds from the Bank of New York to keep the government running after Congress adjourned without approving a funding bill, thus taking over congressional power to appropriate funds and approve spending. At other times, he acted entirely on his own: he personally ordered General “Mad Anthony” Wayne to raise an army to fight Indians who were attacking farmers – even though the Constitution clearly makes Congress, not the president, responsible for raising armies and declaring war. Readers may get extra insight from Unger’s book by first reading its appendix, which encapsulates the seven areas in which Washington cemented a strong, even imperial presidency: foreign policy, executive appointments, government finances, military affairs, legislation by proclamation and presidential order, federal law enforcement, and the still-thorny area of executive privilege. It is genuinely fascinating to follow Unger’s tracing of so many supposedly modern “presidential excesses” to the nation’s first president: this book really does shine a new light on social and political conflicts that continue to this day.

     More modern and of far more limited interest and importance, Howard Sounes’ 27: A History of the 27 Club through the Lives of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse is plainly aimed at readers fascinated by specific pop-music artists whose careers burned both brightly and briefly. The self-destructive behavior of the six artists mentioned in the book’s title is self-evident and not  really of major historical or social significance, but of course it is meaningful to people who celebrate, even idolize these performers. There is nothing special and certainly nothing admirable about dying at the age of 27; and Sounes does not ever provide powerful evidence connecting the artists’ lives and deaths in any meaningful way beyond their age at death. Yes, he shows how five of the six (Winehouse being the exception) had troubled childhoods and significant mental-health issues, but so do many, many other people – whether they are celebrities or not – and nothing in the explanations of family background here shows why these particular circumstances led these particular people down the particular road they took to an early death. Nor does Sounes manage to show why or how the artists rose above their troubled backgrounds, however briefly, to attain success and temporary artistic prominence; again, many other performers overcome childhood adversity, and so do many non-celebrities – and just as many are dragged down by it and accomplish little of significance. The treatment of Winehouse’s death as an inexplicable tragedy in light of her more-supportive upbringing begs the whole question of what these performers’ backgrounds have to do with the way they lived and died. And the five-page “long list” of others who died at age 27 confuses matters even more, since it includes not only people who lived “a dissipated life” (ragtime jazz pianist Louis Chauvin) but also ones whose early death had nothing whatsoever to do with dissipation (Wally Yohn of the band Chase, who died in a plane crash). Sounes’ book is a (+++) production for those fascinated by the artists he profiles, but it is more a work of celebrity-worship-exploitation than any sort of serious historical, much less psychological, document.

     The Great Trouble, on the other hand, is a (++++) book and something special. A piece of historical fiction for younger readers, it focuses on an enormously important advance in science and medicine of which most of those readers – and most contemporary adults, for that matter – have little awareness. This is the work of Dr. John Snow, creator of the modern medical science of epidemiology, who was born 200 years ago. In medical circles, Snow is famous for figuring out how cholera spreads – and saving countless lives in the process. And that is the basis of Deborah Hopkinson’s well-written, well-paced book, which is part adventure, part detective story and part a portrait of the gritty realities of 19^th-century London and the poor children scraping out a meager living within it. Cholera, known as “the blue death,” is spread, everyone believes in the year 1854, through “bad air,” but Snow does not think so – he is convinced it is spread through contaminated water. And so he embarks on a program of map making when the latest epidemic hits, eventually creating a map – reproduced in the book – that pinpoints a pump on Broad Street as the source of the water that is causing people to sicken and die. This story alone is fascinating enough, but Hopkinson, with a sure hand and a sure sense of how to appeal to readers as young as age 10, mingles it with the fictional tale of a “mudlark” named Eel – an orphan who spends his days scrounging in the filthy water of the Thames for bits of this and that to sell. Eel has a secret that he must pay to preserve, and he has an enemy in the person of a particularly nasty piece of work called Fisheye Bill Taylor, and on top of that, Eel has to contend with the spread of the blue death in the area where he lives. Hopkinson mingles the factual material with the fictional skillfully, making the already-fascinating story of Snow’s tracking of the cholera epidemic into one element of a larger tapestry of London life in the 1800s – in which Eel’s adventures help bring the city and its people alive. Snow is a major figure in medical history, but not one particularly well-known outside modern medical and epidemiological circles. Showing the importance of his seminal work within the tale of a “street kid” of the Dickensian variety is a highly effective way to make Snow come alive for today’s young readers, while giving them a page-turner of a book at the same time.

(+++) GIFTS FOR FANS

Warriors: The Ultimate Guide. By Erin Hunter. Harper. $19.99.

Cody Simpson: Welcome to Paradise—My Journey. Harper. $21.99.

The Wildwood Chronicles, Book II: Under Wildwood. By Colin Meloy. Illustrations by Carson Ellis. Balzer+Bray/HarperCollins. $9.99.

Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog. By Tom Watson. Harper. $12.99.

My Weird School Special: Deck the Halls, We’re Off the Walls! By Dan Gutman. Pictures by Jim Paillot. Harper. $4.99.

     As the holiday season rapidly approaches, families are certain to be on the lookout for gifts that are sure to please – which means that books directed at a specific fan base will be particularly welcome. If you are looking for a big, well-produced book that will be a significant present for someone who loves the Warriors series about cat clans, a cat civilization and cat-focused otherworldly mysteries, then Warriors: The Ultimate Guide will be a great choice. A handsome hardcover volume packed with attractive illustrations that really show the cats’ different personalities, the book includes full descriptions of many of the members of Thunderclan, Shadowclan, Windclan, Riverclan, Skyclan and the Tribe of Rushing Water, and also features sections called “The Early Settlers” and “Animals Outside the Clans.” Several short stories are included in addition to the descriptive material, and the whole book makes it clear just how well the team that writes as Erin Hunter (Kate Cary, Cherith Baldry, Gillian Philip, Inbali Iserles, Tui Sutherland and editor Victoria Holmes) works together to produce seamless narratives in a complex, multifaceted world where all the parts fit together very well indeed.

     Fans of Australian singer Cody Simpson will welcome the chance to revel in his supposedly autobiographical thoughts and his feelings about music and success in Cody Simpson: Welcome to Paradise—My Journey, one of those books that professes to show that a 16-year-old has in fact had a “journey” in life and, what’s more, is able to write about it himself (of course he is not the author, but the actual author remains uncredited). Here are comments that are entirely typical for books about and supposedly by pop stars, but with a slight Australian skew to reflect the fact that Simpson is from Queensland: “Honestly, if I have downtime, I’d rather be outside, surfing or skating or hanging with my mates.” There is nothing particularly revelatory here, nothing that would interfere with the carefully crafted and well-packaged Cody Simpson image: “It took a while for it all to sink in. I hadn’t really thought about what it would mean to be a professional musician. I was so focused on swimming, and I was only 13 years old. …Not surprisingly, my swimming suffered when I was traveling back and forth to the States.” For most fans, the big attraction will in any case not be the words but the pictures, of which there are plenty – again, carefully selected to reflect the packaged image that Simpson and his music are supposed to evoke. Non-fans will have not the slightest interest in this oversize hardcover book, but those who are devoted to Simpson will enjoy it from start to finish.

     Of course, there are plenty of gift books out there for fans of other sorts, and some of them can be particular bargains. The new, well-priced paperback edition of Under Wildwood, which appeared in hardcover last year, is an example. At nearly 600 pages, this second book of Colin Meloy’s trilogy, amply illustrated by Carson Ellis, contains plenty of adventure and intrigue for fans originally captivated by the first book, simply called Wildwood. The series focuses on the dense, tangled forest called the Impassable Wilderness, said to be on the edge of Portland (not coincidentally, Meloy, Ellis and their son live in Portland, Oregon). Prue McKeel and her friend, Curtis, discover many of the usual tropes of fantasy in the forest, from warring creatures to dark doings of all sorts; echoes of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia stories will be clear to those who know those tales. After the rescue mission of the first book, the second starts with Prue living a rather dull, mundane life until – no surprise – she is drawn back to Wildwood, which is being torn asunder by the usual evil doings as well as some unusual ones relating to titans of industry (who tend to be notably absent in other fantasy novels).  Prue and Curtis do indeed need to go under Wildwood, as the book’s title implies, to succeed in their second quest, and it is clear from the book’s poetic conclusion that there is more to come – which it does in the trilogy’s finale, Wildwood Imperium. Fans of the first book who have not yet read the whole series will have plenty to keep them enthralled in the second installment.

     And let us not forget smaller books that can serve, literally or metaphorically, as stocking stuffers. Stick Dog Wants a Hot Dog is for fans of the original Stick Dog book by Tom Watson, and they will certainly agree with the comment on the cover that this is “another really GOOD story with kind of BAD drawings.” That is the positioning of Watson’s books and part of their fun: Stick Dog is so simply drawn that just about anyone can re-create him, but his big eyes, thought balloons and endearing nature add up to gentle amusement. Watson’s writing style certainly helps, as when Karen the dachshund explains about telling time: “‘I know all the o’clocks. Two o’clock. Seven o’clock. Fifty-three o’clock. Tomato o’clock. All of them!’” Helicopters, raccoons, a large and bearded stomping man, a completely misunderstood human exercise session, and a rescue that involves Karen jumping from an upstairs window into a sheet all stand in the way of a journey to “Peter’s Frankfurters” – which, however, is successful at the end, leaving everyone and everything quite satisfied, especially Stick Dog’s stomach.

     And in more or  less the same vein, Dan Gutman’s Christmas-themed My Weird School foray will be great for fans of the various Gutman school-oriented series. Everything is here, from the funeral for Striker Smith’s head after the action figure is decapitated by a school bus, to a visit to a Santa with bad breath and maybe “a GPS and state-of-the-art surveillance technology.” An escaped petting-zoo reindeer, a rapper named Cray-Z, Officer Spence on a Segway, and other entirely typical elements of Gutman madness are complemented by weird Christmas facts – about the first song broadcast from space, the real meaning of “mistletoe,” a mall with an indoor ski slope, the Santa Claus Museum in Columbus, Texas, and more. There are also a few pages of games, puzzles and Weird-School-focused trivia questions, all adding up to a seasonal feast for the eyes and a temporarily engaging treat for the brain – at least the brains of Gutman devotees.

(++++) CONCERTO AND SYMPHONIC CYCLES

Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 3; Bartók: Piano Concerto No. 2. Lang Lang, piano; Berliner Philharmoniker conducted by Sir Simon Rattle. Sony. $15.99.

Stravinsky: Violin Concerto; Prokofiev: Violin Concerto No. 2. Patricia Kopatchinskaja, violin; London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Vladimir Jurowski. Naïve. $16.99.

Bach: Violin Concertos in A minor and E; Concerto for Violin and Oboe in C minor; Sonatas Nos. 3 and 4 for Harpsichord and Violin. Janine Jansen, violin; Ramón Ortega Quero, oboe; Jan Jansen, harpsichord. Decca. $15.99.

Grieg: Complete Symphonic Works, Volume III—Concert Overture “In Autumn”; Lyric Suite; Klokkeklang; Old Norwegian Melody with Variations; Three Orchestral Pieces from “Sigurd Jorsalfar.” WDR Sinfonieorchester Köln conducted by Eivind Aadland. Audite. $19.99 (SACD).

Schumann: Complete Symphonic Works, Volume I—Symphony No. 1; Overture, Scherzo and Finale; Symphony in D minor (original version, 1841). WDR Sinfonieorchester Köln conducted by Heinz Holliger. Audite. $18.99.

     Lang Lang’s tendency to pound the piano into submission has thankfully diminished somewhat in recent years – a particularly good thing when he performs concertos such as the Prokofiev Third and Bartók Second. These two works are rarely juxtaposed in recordings, which makes the Sony CD featuring the Berliner Philharmoniker under Sir Simon Rattle extra-special. In truth, the performances are special, too. Lang Lang is particularly impressive in the Bartók, where he shows a somewhat uncharacteristically light touch coupled with a sensitivity to rhythms and phrases – a combination leading to a more musically mature performance than this consummate showman usually delivers. Perhaps Rattle gets much of the credit – he certainly gets some of it for the wonderful way he brings forth all the colors of which the Berlin Philharmonic is capable (and there are a lot of them). The brass tone of the orchestra is, as always, exceptional, and the sheer vitality that Rattle obtains from the orchestra makes for a performance both exciting and musicianly. The Prokofiev is top-notch, too, but not as surprising: it is the sort of concerto that fits Lang Lang’s style well, and indeed the pianist has said it is his personal favorite among Prokofiev’s five concertos. This is scarcely unexpected: the Prokofiev Third is a display piece, communicating more flashiness than depth, and Lang Lang makes no attempt to extract anything particularly profound from it. The result is a highly exciting reading that is not in any way revelatory: all is on the surface. But it is a tremendously polished surface and clearly one with which Rattle, usually a more-sensitive conductor, is in this case quite happy: he goes along with Lang Lang’s approach and actually emphasizes elements of it by playing up some of the orchestra’s more-raucous contributions. Both for repertoire and for the sheer skill of the performance by pianist and orchestra alike, this is a highly successful and very engaging disc.

     Prokofiev is paired with Stravinsky on a more moderate, less over-the-top Naïve CD featuring violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja and the London Philharmonic Orchestra led by Vladimir Jurowski. The Stravinsky Violin Concerto and the Prokofiev Second here get thoughtful, carefully assembled performances in which soloist and orchestra cooperate throughout rather than seeming at times to be competing to outdo each other (as is the case with Lang Lang and Rattle). There is certainly no lack of excitement here – quite the opposite – but there is a sense that the music comes first and the performers are at its service. The sensitivity of the Prokofiev Second is particularly welcome: Kopatchinskaja gives it time to breathe in the first two movements and only lets loose with stirring intensity in the finale. As for the Stravinsky, its operatic elements come to the fore here and it emerges as a display piece, yes, but not one in which the violinist is all that matters: what Stravinsky puts on display is his own thinking, his own unusual design for the work, and his own sense that a concerto can be more than a back-and-forth discussion-cum-competition between single instrument and ensemble. These are subtler performances than those of Lang Lang and Rattle, neither better nor worse but different in their emphasis and the way they handle the conflict and cooperation between soloist and orchestra. Jurowski seems somewhat more cerebral and controlled here than Rattle does when working with Lang Lang, and this is all to the good for the music, which comes across as a success both in what it communicates and in how.

     The concertos of Bach communicate very differently, and Janine Jansen brings a suitably light touch and elegant fingerings to them on a new Decca CD. The all-Bach disc contains a particularly good A minor concerto (BWV 1041), a bit more emotional than the work usually is but certainly nowhere in Romantic territory. The concerto in E (BWV 1042) is technically impressive but seems a touch more ordinary – the interpretation does not go anywhere new, although it treads familiar territory with considerable grace. The violin-and-oboe concerto, a reconstruction that is increasingly finding favor with performers and audiences alike, has considerable warmth (again, within appropriate Baroque confines) and some lovely interplay between the solo instruments. And the two harpsichord sonatas fill out the disc very nicely indeed: each is as long as each of the concertos, and each sonata is as filled with musical ideas worked through with an equal amount of integrity and spirit. But the sparseness of line in the sonatas, with only two instruments rather than a chamber ensemble, lets Jansen bring out the melodic elements and contrapuntal elegance of the works’ construction even more clearly than in the concertos. There is a sense of friendliness and intimate cooperation among the musicians on this recording, which would be clear from the performances even if listeners did not know that harpsichordist Jan Jansen is Janine Jansen’s father and cellist Maarten Jansen is her brother. Chamber works always have considerable intimacy when well played, and the ones here have more than most, thanks partly to Jansen’s wonderful violin tone (she plays a 1727 Stradivarius) and partly to the fresh view of the music that all the performers bring to these readings.

     The first-rate Grieg series on Audite is filled with freshness as well. Eivind Aadland again and again offers interpretations of familiar music that make the works seem new, no matter how often a listener has heard them before. The third volume of the series is a highly attractive mixture of the well-known with some definite rarities. Aadland conducts with great sensitivity and a particularly sure grasp of the music’s context and scope. The pieces here are mostly transcriptions and mostly play to Grieg’s greatest strength, the creation of miniatures. Only one work, the Concert Overture “In Autumn,” lasts more than 10 minutes as an integrated piece. Klokkeklang (“Bell Ringing”) is only a five-minute work, and the three other pieces on this very well-recorded SACD are more extended only because they are collections of small component parts: the very attractive Old Norwegian Melody with Variations, for example, lasts nearly 23 minutes only because it includes 15 separate elements. The best-known works here, Lyric Suite and Three Orchestral Pieces from “Sigurd Jorsalfar,” are also collections of short movements, each of which is a little gem in itself and each of which, when added to the others, produces a totality that (especially in the Lyric Suite) is equal to more than the sum of its parts. The consistency of the playing of the WDR Sinfonieorchester Köln is one of the many pleasures of this recording and of this ongoing series, which is giving listeners a chance to hear Grieg as a far more varied and wide-ranging composer than he appears to be to people who know only the Piano Concerto and excerpts from Peer Gynt.

     The WDR Sinfonieorchester Köln is also featured on an Audite CD that marks the start of another series that promises to be a very fine one indeed. This one will present the complete symphonic works of Schumann as conducted by a very knowledgeable and intelligent conductor, Heinz Holliger. There are a number of rarities in Schumann’s orchestral music, and one of them turns up with two familiar pieces on this first recording. The rarity is the Symphony in D minor, the work that we know today as the very popular Symphony No. 4 – in a later version, in which many orchestral parts are doubled and the overall texture of the music is made heavier and muddier. The work’s popularity in that later version is testimony to the quality of the ideas and the excellence of the unusual structure, which straddles the line between single-movement and multi-movement form. And there is no question that the well-known version is a solid and weighty work. But the earlier one, which is very rarely performed, is significantly lighter, more transparent, and clearer in its presentation of themes and its balance among orchestral sections. The actual music changes very little between the two versions, but the effect of the symphony changes dramatically, as Holliger’s fine performance makes very clear indeed. The other two symphonic works here are the ever-popular “Spring” symphony, which gets a nicely balanced and bright reading in which the orchestra’s singing qualities are particularly prominent, and the curious Overture, Scherzo and Finale, an almost-symphony in which each movement could stand alone but in which the three together make up a particularly lighthearted and bright work (because of the lack of a slow movement) that almost sounds like theater music. Holliger’s well-thought-out, well-put-together performances bode well for this Audite series, and if the mix here of popular and less-known works continues in future volumes, this group of releases – like the Grieg series – will be a notable one indeed.

(++++) PIANISTIC PLEASURES AND OTHERS

Alkan: Le Festin d’Ésope (No. 12 from Op. 39); Trois morceaux dans le genre pathétique; Ouverture (No. 11 from Op. 39); Sonatine, Op. 61. Vincenzo Maltempo, piano. Piano Classics. $13.99.

Rorem: Piano Album I; Six Friends. Carolyn Enger, piano. Naxos. $9.99.

Robert Dusek: Piano Music. Bryan Pezzone, piano. Ravello. $16.99.

Yves Ramette: Works for Solo Piano. Eric Himy, piano. Navona. $16.99.

Richard Lavenda: Chamber Music. Ravello. $12.99.

Mark Winges: Chamber Music for Viola. Ravello. $12.99.

The Larksong Trio: Homeward Bound. Peggo Hortsmann Hodes, soprano; Jennifer Yeaton-Parri, flute; Calvin Herst, piano. Big Round Records. $12.99.

Dvořák and Janáček: Music for Men’s Voices. Cantus. Cantus Sings. $17.99.

     Recordings featuring the piano have always been exceptionally plentiful, but the profusion of CDs offering a variety of piano music has never been greater than it is today. Alkan’s enormously difficult, frequently quirky piano music is a source of continuing delight and is thankfully getting far more of its due nowadays than it used to. Vincenzo Maltempo has the big technique and rock-solid rhythmic focus that these works require, and his new Piano Classics disc is therefore a source of considerable pleasure even though the works on it have all been recorded by others in the past – some of them frequently. Le Festin d’Ésope, the last of the dozen pieces in Alkan’s 12 études dans tous les tons mineurs, is a longtime favorite of pianists, a marvelous display piece with considerable subtlety to balance its virtuoso requirements; and Maltempo handles it with aplomb, as he also does the very extended and dramatic Ouverture from the same set – which is quite a “study,” given that it lasts 15 minutes! The smaller Sonatine also gets fine treatment here, while the three highly expressive pieces of Op. 15 (Aime-moi, Le vent and Morte) show just how far Alkan pushed all the bounds he encountered, even those of what would seem to be salon music but became, in Alkan’s hands as both composer and pianist, something far grander, deeper and more unsettling.

     Ned Rorem is far less known for piano works – he is primarily a vocal composer and has said that all his music is conceived vocally, whether it ends up that way or not. Carolyn Enger’s new CD on Naxos shows the result in a very large number of miniatures (33 in all) that Rorem composed over nearly three decades. Piano Album I (1978-2001) contains more than two dozen small-scale works in which Rorem, like Alkan, may be said to push the bounds of salon music – although in truth, these little pieces all have some underlying seriousness of purpose despite their brevity. They are not etudes, exactly, nor are they impressionistic works, but lie somewhere between those two forms and come across in a sonic medium quite recognizable as Rorem’s. Six Friends also contains short works – five written in 2006 and one in 2007 – that Rorem created as gifts for friends and colleagues. Brief and unprepossessing, they are nevertheless closely related to some of Rorem’s larger pieces, both vocal and instrumental, and will be of particular interest to anyone looking for the less-academic, more-expressive side of the composer. Never maudlin but always heartfelt, the pieces are unconnected to each other but share a pleasantly evocative sensibility and a knowing, atmospheric approach to piano writing.

     Robert Dusek’s piano music on a new Ravello CD is a sonic journey of a different kind. The disc begins with Prelude and ends with Postlude, and in between features four works of highly variable length and character: Nightscape (Piano Sonata No. 2), Intermezzo, Awakenings (Piano Sonata No. 3), and Autumn Sky for piano four hands. Dusek’s music is on the stark side, moving from stasis to propulsive writing rather abruptly, and the connections on this CD are in the disc’s structure rather than within the works themselves; the whole production gets a (+++) rating. The one-minute Intermezzo is placed where it is on the disc simply to separate the two sonatas, of which No. 3 – in a single extended movement – is both grander and more grandiose. The impressionistic, but still very modern-sounding, Autumn Sky is the most immediately appealing work here, appearing in three separate parts labeled “After the Rain,” “Cloud Chaser” and “Light” – although listeners will not necessary connect the music with its descriptive labels. Bryan Pezzone plays all the works with skill and sensitivity enough to satisfy anyone who finds Dusek’s music congenial.

     There are also six solo-piano pieces on Navona’s (+++) CD of works by Yves Ramette, a long-lived French composer (1921-2012) whose style, while not especially original, underwent some notable refinements over the decades – as this disc clearly indicates. Eric Himy sensitively plays two pieces from 1943-44 – Quatre Esquisses and Introduction & Scherzo – and then leaps several decades to Variations sur un Thème Original (1983-85), Trois Études (1988-89), Les Elfes (1996-97) and Berceuse (2004). Trois Études has some of the expansiveness of Alkan without the all-consuming virtuosity or overall cleverness, and shares with Rorem three dedications to specific people. Quatre Esquisses includes four short movements nicely assembled as miniatures, of which the first (“Dans les modes anciens”) is the most interesting. The 10 variations in Variations sur un Thème Original are all well-handled – Ramette had some skill as a miniaturist – and the remaining pieces, also short, are suitably expressive and well-constructed, although none is especially redolent of a highly distinctive style.

     The personal-friends motif is present as well in Richard Lavenda’s music on a (+++) Ravello CD in which the piano is just one of the featured instruments. It appears in works called Rhapsody (at the center, stillness) and Heat of the Moment, in the former work with viola and in the latter with viola and clarinet. Lavenda is attracted to the depth and subtlety of sound of which mellower instruments such as clarinet and viola are capable, and also enjoys creating sound pictures from instruments not usually heard together. Thus, Chiaroscuro is for alto flute, bassoon, vibraphone and double bass – a curious assemblage that is interesting rather than highly involving. Rhapsody Tropes, on the other hand, is a solo work for tenor saxophone, and Lavenda handles the instrument with considerable sensitivity. The fifth work on this CD is String Quintet: thoughts fly, for two violins, viola and two cellos, and although it goes on somewhat too long for its thematic content, it is another instance in which Lavenda shows his liking for more-sonorous instrumental sounds.

     The warmth of the viola clearly attracts Mark Winges as well: the instrument appears prominently in all five pieces on a new (+++) Ravello CD. These works are a touch too clever for their own good, with Winges relying a little too heavily on unusual and offbeat titles to tell the audience what moods and emotions he is trying to convey. He in fact likes to find different ways to put across the same emotions: Night-Voiced (2011) is both the first and last piece on the disc, in the first instance with violist Ellen Ruth Rose and Winges himself on organ, in the second with Rose and Karen Rosenak on piano. The titles of the other works here, and of their individual movements, pretty much speak for themselves in terms of what Winges hopes to convey: Reciprocal Tapestries (2004) for viola, cello and piano includes “Flighty – aggressively bustling,” “Wary – gliding, ghostly,” and “Plodding – questing dreamily,” for example, while San Francisco Stopover (2006) for viola, cello and guitar, contains “Here (marginally buoyant),” “& (leisurely),” and “There (aggressively unhurried).” The cuteness is a bit overdone, especially since it does not always reflect the character of the music. The most interesting work here is Diverted Vignettes (2012), a seven-movement piece for solo viola in which Winges thoroughly explores the instrument’s range and the effects of which it is capable. Again, though, the titles within the piece are a bit much: “Children of a Pale Blue Hope,” “Melted Red, Frozen Black,” “A Small Galaxy on the Corner” and others. But the music is interesting enough on its own to make the title excesses less than important.

     There is nothing excessive in the Larksong Trio’s new (+++) CD for Big Round Records – the rather unusual vocal-and-instrumental ensemble (soprano with flute and piano) offers a fairly straightforward crossover disc whose contents range from Aaron Copland’s arrangements of “Simple Gifts” and two other songs to William Fletcher’s arrangements of New Old American Songs such as “Oh, Dear, What Can the Matter Be?” There is room here for a little Simon & Garfunkel (“Scarborough Fair/Canticle”), a touch of Ireland (three folksong arrangements by John Corigliano), and a couple of love songs (including an arrangement of the Lennon-McCartney “In My Life”). Everything is pleasant enough, nicely sung and nicely played, somewhat on the superficial side, and enjoyable without ever becoming really enthralling.

     The language is quite different and the sound much more striking in the (++++) CD from the nine-member male vocal ensemble Cantus, on the group’s own label, featuring rarely heard works by Dvořák and Janáček. Although Janáček is known as a vocal composer because of his operas, Dvořák is not – despite his operas. So this disc is something of a revelation – and especially so because most of the works on it were specifically written for male voices rather than transcribed for them. This is simply not a form of vocal writing heard very often in recitals or concert halls nowadays, or on recordings. Yet it can be quite striking, and often beautiful, in the hands of composers influenced by the folk heritage of their country without being slavishly devoted to it. There are short pieces here: from Janáček, Veni, Sancte Spiritus, a nicely set Ave Maria, and a song called True Love; from Dvořák, Song of a Czech. Most of the CD, though, is taken up with multi-song cycles that give the two composers the opportunity to showcase the male voices both individually and in ensemble. These offerings include Dvořák’s Choral Songs for Male Voices, Three Male Choruses with Piano (with pianists Timothy Cheek and Sonja Kaye Thompson), and Five Male Choruses, and Janáček’s Four Male Partsongs and Three Male Choruses. The singers handle the Czech language very well, with pronunciation that seems to have been carefully coached to sound as natural as possible. And although the subjects of the songs are scarcely anything unexpected – love, parting, grief, promises and similar matters – the vocal writing is assured and quite interesting, and the disc provides an unusual opportunity to hear music that will never rival the operas of Janáček or the symphonies of Dvořák in popularity, but that shows a side of both composers with which listeners who like their other works will surely enjoy becoming more familiar.

(++++) EXPLORATIONS IN AUDIO AND VIDEO

Holst: Orchestral Works, Volume 3—First Choral Symphony; The Mystic Trumpeter. Susan Gritton, soprano; BBC Symphony Chorus and Orchestra conducted by Sir Andrew Davis. Chandos. $19.99 (SACD).

Enescu: Symphony No. 2; Chamber Symphony for 12 Instruments. Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Hannu Lintu. Ondine. $16.99.

Enescu: Symphony No. 3; Ouverture de Concert sur des Thèmes dans le Caractère Populaire Roumain. Tampere Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra conducted by Hannu Lintu. Ondine. $16.99.

Brahms: Clarinet Quintet—Viola version; Bridge: Lament for Two Violas; Robert Mann: Dreamtime for Solo Viola. David Aaron Carpenter, viola; Members of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra (Bernhard Hartog and Rüdiger Liebermann, violins; Walter Küssner, viola; Stephan Koncz, cello). Ondine. $16.99.

Johann Strauss Sr. Edition, Volume 24. Slovak Sinfonietta Žilina conducted by Christian Pollack. Marco Polo. $16.99.

Ives: Three Places in New England; Sibelius: Symphony No. 4; Wagner: Dawn and Siegfried’s Rhine Journey from “Götterdammerung.” Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas. ICA Classics DVD. $24.99.

Weber: Der Freischütz—as film opera “Hunter’s Bride” by Jens Neubert. Arthaus Musik DVD. $24.99.

Glenn Gould: The Russian Journey—a film by Yosif Feyginberg. C Major DVD. $24.99.

Andris Nelsons: Genius on Fire—a film by Astrid Bscher. Orfeo DVD. $39.99.

     What provides the better experience of a visit to unfamiliar musical territory – audio releases on CD or SACD, or video releases on DVD? The expected answer is “it depends,” and of course it does – on a variety of factors, including not only the repertoire but also one’s own predilections for the auditory or visual medium. Nevertheless, it becomes clear from a variety of recent releases in the two formats that the media not only have their own strengths and weaknesses but also provide inherently different experiences, beyond the obvious one of DVDs being pictorial and CDs and SACDs offering sound alone.

     The third volume of Chandos’ excellent Holst series and the second entry in Ondine’s Enescu cycle both offer little-known works that feature vocal elements as well as orchestral ones. Holst’s First Choral Symphony (1923-24), for soprano, chorus and orchestra, contains some material reminiscent of Mahler’s Third in its use of images of Pan and nature awakening, and some that harks back to Handel’s L’Allegro, Il Penseroso ed il Moderato in its contemplative and contrasting sections, but everything is filtered through Holst’s unique sensibilities to produce a work that is as much mysticism as pastoral celebration. And The Mystic Trumpeter (1904/1912), a scena for soprano and orchestra, celebrates music itself while also striving toward greater meaning – an approach typical of Holst, who even in his best-known work, The Planets, moved beyond fact and into mystic realms. As in the prior two releases of this series, these BBC Symphony performances led by Sir Andrew Davis are exemplary and highly involving even though the music itself takes some getting used to: Holst had a very unusual way of handling the sonic environment of an orchestra, and his works simply do not sound like those of other composers. Indeed, the chance to immerse oneself in Holst’s sound world argues strongly that this SACD presentation is in just the right medium and would gain little – even possibly losing something – if visual elements were added.

     The situation with Ondine’s Enescu discs is similar. None of the works here, the Chamber Symphony, Second or Third Symphony or Ouverture de Concert sur des Thèmes dans le Caractère Populaire Roumain, is heard often in concert halls or on recordings. But all should be – particularly the Third Symphony. The Tampere Philharmonic plays Enescu’s music sensitively and with considerable involvement under Hannu Lintu, and the Third Symphony’s pictorial (although never explicitly designated) depiction of Earth, Hell and Heaven – the whole huge range of experience amplified by use of piano, organ and wordless chorus in the finale – is reminiscent of Holst’s constant stretching beyond the bounds of music itself. Enescu’s handling of the orchestra is entirely different, however, and the Third Symphony provides color, solemnity and grand scale throughout. Although not especially long – 46 minutes in Lintu’s performance – it feels broader and more expansive than its duration indicates, and is a deeply involving work that stands in vivid contrast to the Ouverture that opens the CD. The Second Symphony is also highly impressive: longer than its successor but not programmatic and less tightly knit, it is thematically interesting and formally very well crafted. And it stands in fascinating contrast to the Chamber Symphony, written more than three decades later – in 1954, the penultimate year of the composer’s life. Here Enescu shows great ability in handling sparser instrumentation and a more-streamlined approach to symphonic form, in a work whose scale is somewhat reminiscent of that of Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony even though the effect of Enescu’s work is quite different. And again, immersion in all this intriguing music is the key to appreciating it: visuals would be more likely to distract from the experience than to add to it.

     It is not the seriousness or lightness of music that will make it better in an aural or visual medium. The three viola-focused works that David Aaron Carpenter plays with tremendous beauty and skill on another Ondine release are all quite serious and all quite lovely, with the highlight definitely being the very rarely heard viola version of Brahms’ late Clarinet Quintet. Although the composer’s Clarinet Sonatas, Op. 120, were specifically written for either that instrument or viola – and are heard both ways with nearly equal frequency – the Clarinet Quintet is virtually unknown when featuring a viola solo along with the viola within the string quartet. Indeed, hearing how Carpenter’s viola both stands out against the ensemble and blends within it is a major pleasure of this warm and winning performance – and a form of enjoyment that is far more effective when heard than it would be if seen, since visual elements would tend to draw the eye and thus pull the brain away from the manifest beauties here. The shorter works on this disc, by Frank Bridge (1879-1941) and Robert Mann (born 1920 – a founding member of the Juilliard Quartet and its first violinist for half a century), both show sure command of the instrument and a firm understanding of its ability to evoke emotions that feel a good deal deeper than those of the violin despite the fact that the viola is tuned a mere fifth lower. There would surely be some visual enjoyment to watching Carpenter perform these pieces, especially Mann’s, but it is doubtful that a pictorial approach would add a lot to the experience here.

     Nor would a DVD of the 24^th disc in Marco Polo’s wonderful Johann Strauss Sr. edition bring anything to the music that Christian Pollack does not already offer with his marvelously knowing, upbeat and enthusiastic performances with the Slovak Sinfonietta Žilina, which as usual plays these works as if it has been doing so forever. This series is now nearing its end, with this disc presenting music dating to as late as June 1849, a mere three months before the composer’s death. As in previous releases, what comes through here most clearly is the excellence of construction of Strauss Sr.’s music in all the popular forms in which he composed. The CD includes only two waltzes, both of them very fine: Landes-Farben (Schwarz-Roth-Gold) and Des Wanderers Lebewohl, a particularly extended work. There are three marches here: Brünner National-Garde-Marsch, Triumph-Marsch and Manövir-Marsch. And there are four delightful polkas: Piefke und Pufke-Polka, Damen-Souvenir-Polka, Alice-Polka, and Frederica-Polka. The remaining two works are Huldigungs-Quadrille and Louisen-Quadrille, the quadrille form being one that Strauss favored throughout his career even though it is somewhat repetitious and was waning in popularity by 1849. Pollack explores both the ebullience of this music and its delicacy, and while it might be interesting to see him gesturing to the orchestra and watching the musicians respond, it is far from necessary – the CD stands on its own, without visuals, very well indeed.

     A good example of what visuals add, or fail to add, to musical performances is the ICA Classics release of Boston Symphony performances by Michael Tilson Thomas from the year 1970. These recordings date to less than a year after Thomas’ appointment as assistant conductor in Boston, and the Sibelius and Wagner works are new to Thomas’ discography as well as his videography. The DVD captures the look as well as the sound of the Boston Symphony 40-plus years ago, and gives listeners/viewers the chance to hear half an hour of interviews with the conductor – some material recorded in 1970, the rest in 2013. Therefore, what we have here is a chance to see Thomas’ podium manner as it was decades in the past, hear his very fine interpretations of works by three very different composers, listen to one of the top American orchestras at what may have been the pinnacle of its sonic splendor, and learn through interview segments how Thomas felt – and feels today – about musical matters. Given the fact that two of the works here are otherwise unavailable in Thomas’ readings and the interesting element of having Thomas interviews from 1970 and 2013 juxtaposed, this DVD offers a strong argument for a visual presentation of the music. But the argument is founded on ancillary elements, not on the music itself: these interpretations, which are very fine indeed, would shine just as brightly on CD as they do on DVD. So the success of the video release is really predicated on matters beyond the music at its core.

     Even more successful in visual terms – for which it was designed from the beginning – is the Jens Neubert film Hunter’s Bride, which is an expansion and striking visual interpretation of Weber’s Der Freischütz. Featuring Juliane Banse as Agathe, Michael Volle as Kaspar and Michael König as Max, the film uses stunning photography to complement Weber’s highly effective, highly dramatic score. The Rundfunkchor Berlin under Simon Halsey and London Symphony Orchestra under Daniel Harding provide the high quality for which they are known, and the fact that this is a two-hour-plus film opera from the beginning rather than a filmed opera in which cameras are trained on a stage makes the production entirely appropriate for visualization and, indeed, unimaginable in any other form. Opera itself, of course, is a visual medium – the original multimedia product, combining music, song, acting, staging, dance, lighting and more. So operas translate particularly well to DVD and can sometimes seem pale in CD form unless the discs are based on concert rather than fully staged performances. In the case of Hunter’s Bride, the concept of a film has been there from the start, and Weber’s Der Freischütz is really a jumping-off point for Neubert’s visual imagination, which fits the story extremely well and provides a strong sense of Napoleonic times as well as the timeless feeling of a fairy tale. This DVD is in many ways an ideal example of what a visualization of classical music can be: not simply a good concert performance with video added, but a work conceived from the start for a visual medium and carried through in that medium to excellent effect.

     More often, though, classical-music-based DVDs are along the lines of Glenn Gould: The Russian Journey and Andris Nelsons: Genius on Fire, both of which are worthy endeavors deserving of (+++) ratings, but neither of which is particularly compelling in either musical or visual terms. The Gould DVD is yet another in a long series of “bio-pics” about the famous (and notorious) Canadian pianist (1932-1982). Here, Yosif Feyginberg has assembled material relating to Gould’s 1957 tour of the Soviet Union: Gould was the first North American musician to perform behind the Iron Curtain. The film draws on a variety of long-classified documents and on the reminiscences of other musicians, including Vladimir Ashkenazy and Mstislav Rostropovich, to tell the story of Gould’s performances in Moscow and Leningrad (and a lecture-recital in the latter city). This makes for an interesting historical document and a way to revisit a long-ago time in geopolitics as well as music; and the film is well put together and moves nicely during its short running time (56 minutes). It will, however, be of more interest to scholars and historians than to musicians and music lovers. And the Astrid Bscher film about conductor Andris Nelsons will appeal more to fans of travelogues and of the young Latvian conductor (born 1978) than to music lovers in general. It is quite early in Nelsons’ career for someone to make a biographical film about him; indeed, he is not yet universally considered a conductor of the first rank. Yes, he is doing a fine job with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and is due soon to become the Boston Symphony’s music director, but he has yet to garner the sort of international reputation that would justify the movie title Genius on Fire. Bscher, who followed Nelsons for two years, certainly does show him moving around a lot and conducting in many places, but there is nothing in the music-making here to justify the “genius” label or even to indicate why this rising conducting star should be treated as if he already shines in the highest firmament. The film is well made, but it smacks too much of hagiography and hero worship to be of general interest. Like Glenn Gould: The Russian Journey and many other classical-music-based DVDs, Andris Nelsons: Genius on Fire is a specialty item for fans with specific interests and predispositions, not a production that has enough inherent musical value to appeal to a large cross-section of listeners or viewers.