The famous images of Dame Myra Hess defying German bombs during World War II to organize National Gallery concerts or play in the shelters during the raids have become iconic for a time when music making really seemed a matter of life or death. But as integral a part of her time as she was, Hess also managed to distance herself from its penchant for extravagant, juicy, romantic style; she actually anticipated something of the "objective" stance to come from keyboard artists in the future. Her Schumann Carnaval--which has the earliest provenance (1938) on the set and was one of her own favorite recordings--sings its clarified beauties through the distractions of tape hiss with a marvelously clear-headed vision. Hess's limpidity of approach sketches a "Eusebius" and "Florestan" that are not frantic contrasts but surprisingly close in spirit, while Schumann's Bachian lineage is always in evidence (and just listen to her counterpoint in the two Scarlatti gems). Not quite so compelling are the sometimes too sober and controlled 1954 Symphonic Etudes, but a real treasure here is the highly regarded second recording Hess made of the Schumann Concerto (1952) under Rudolf Schwarz: exquisitely mellow and imbued with poetry. Hess was also a commanding Beethoven interpreter, with special insights into the late sonatas. The autumnal breath she weaves into the Opus 109, with its spectacularly executed trills in the quickening of the variations, makes this one of the lasting accounts. The set concludes with Hess's signature arrangement of the chorale from Bach's Cantata 147: sure, steadfast, of moving dignity. --Thomas May