Fanfare 6
*****
An excellent and memorable debut album of piano music by Schumann and Sibelius.

SCHUMANN Kinderszenen, op. 15. Fantasie in C, op. 17. SIBELIUS Selections from 10 Pieces, op. 24: Nos. 1, 8, and 9. Impromptu, op. 5/5.  Daniel Munk-Nielsen, pn.  OUR 8.226938 (65:30) (44-1 kHz, 16-bit)
Recently a presentation I was called upon to give caused me to think about A.A. Milne’s classic Winnie-the-Pooh stories, and that, in turn, led me to recall not just when I first read them as a child but when I read them aloud to my own young child. It was on that latter occasion that I suddenly realized that these stories were not just for children but that they packed an unforeseen emotional wallop for adults who suddenly realize, particularly towards the end, that this is not just about the innocence of childhood but about the loss of innocence and the ineffable sadness mixed with pride of seeing one’s child gradually put aside childish things and begin the slow process of maturing toward adulthood.
I mention this because the best performances of Schumann’s Kinderszenen also exhibit that dichotomy. This is not, mind you, the much ballyhooed duality of Florestan and Eusebius, but something quite different. Schumann was still a young man when he composed this set of pieces, so perhaps his connection to his childhood was still strong enough for him to combine the two viewpoints Playing these pieces therefore forces an artist to have one foot in each mindset. A performance of Kinderszenen that focuses too much on the child aspect will miss the overlay of the adult’s nostalgia and regret, while one that wallows too much in the latter misses out on the elements of childish exuberance and innocence.
There are a lot of very fine artists who don’t get it. I count among them such great Schumann interpreters (in other works, not Kinderszenen) as Martha Argerich, who is entirely too brash, and Radu Lupu and Angela Hewitt, each of whom (and especially – to my chagrin, as I greatly admire him as a pianist – Lupu) is a bit like a bull in a china shop in this music. Then there are those who totally “get it,” and among them I number Vladimir Horowitz, Nelson Freire, Maria Joao Pires, and (perhaps primus inter pares) Ivan Moravec.
The young Danish pianist Daniel Munk-Nielsen is also one who “gets it.” This is a lovely, well-thought-out performance that combines the innocence of, and delight in, childhood with the more mature recognition of its ephemeral nature. Nicely done!
At, perhaps, the other end of the Schumann spectrum is the virtuoso showpiece he dedicated to Liszt (in the same year that Liszt dedicated to him the monumental B minor Sonata), the Fantasie in C, Op. 17. Apart from the technical difficulties, which (particularly at the close of the second movement) are quite substantial, the major challenge for the performer is finding and projecting musical coherence in what could, without lots of care and feeding, devolve (especially in the first movement) into a disjointed sequence of dramatic but aimless episodes. There is, however, considerable interconnectedness and subtle contrapuntal relations, and Munk-Nielsen sails through this music, with swagger and introspection where needed, in a finely grained performance.
I was, however, brought up a bit short by something unexpected at the very end of the piece. The pianist begins the final movement, marked “Langsam getragen,” at a slower tempo (more Langsam than most people carry it), but it’s all well planned out. Overall the movement is wonderfully paced, with a perceptible, albeit gradual, building of tension so that the second set of climactic chords in C major (around m. 115) is just that little bit more intense than the first in F major (around m. 64). But the surprise at the end, while convincing in its own way, is something I’m not completely sure I like. Munk-Nielsen takes the direction appearing about 15 bars before the end – “Nach und nach bewegter und Schneller” – arguably so literally (except, perhaps, for the “nach und nach” part) that he quickly turns the throttle up all the way from 35 mph to 75 mph before crashing into the ritard at that magnificent singing climax of the high A resolving down to the G in the soprano voice a couple of bars before the “Adagio” direction at the end. Those not steeped in this piece will probably not be jarred by it, and I certainly don’t want my expression of surprise to be misconstrued as any seriously negative criticism. It’s just different, and anyone, like me, who has played this music and heard it played countless times since teenaged years, will probably be surprised as well. That may not be a bad thing: It’s good to shake things up now and then. Indeed, the suddenness of that acceleration shook me out of my complacent reverie as a listener, and perhaps that’s what Schumann had in mind. Who knows? If nothing else, it juxtaposed “fire and silence” enough to give the title of the album a whole new meaning.
The short Sibelius pieces are early works by that composer, written well before his towering orchestral masterpieces. While they don’t necessarily constitute natural discmates to the Schumann, they are solidly within the romantic piano tradition, even if not as naturally “pianistic.” (Don’t get me wrong: They are not “un-pianistic” in the way of Schoenberg’s and some of Stravinsky’s piano writing; there are just sporadically awkward moments that make one realize that this music, which has not fared well outside of the composer’s native Finland, does not sit quite as naturally on the instrument as Grieg’s piano music does or as Sibelius’s beloved violin music sits on the violin). Perhaps they were included in the programme as a tip of the hat to the Sibelius Academy, where Munk-Nielsen has studied.
In any event, these four short Sibelius tracks are pleasant, unpretentious pieces that do not aspire to be anything more than salon music. With only four points of comparison, it’s not possible to say whether Munk-Nielsen is as persuasive an advocate for this music as Leif Ove Andsnes, but for those (myself included) who have heard but a tiny fraction of the Finnish master’s piano oeuvre, these are a nice introduction to some undiscovered terrain.
This disc is one of several OUR Recordings issuances that I’ve reviewed over the past couple of years, and I want to acknowledge that fairly new label’s signal achievement of pairing artists not well known outside of Scandinavia and pairing them with interesting repertoire. The current offering is but the latest example that I’ve encountered. Bravo, OUR! This is a pleasure to listen to and, as readers might already have guessed, highly recommended. Keith R. Fisher