The aesthetics of this intriguing disc are interesting: in what sense can the recreations of a jazz pianist’s recorded improvisations be described as ‘classics’? Art Tatum’s versions were not intended for dissemination through publication, unlike the music of Joplin and Ives, both of whom cohabit Naxos’s series. But does that mean ipso facto that Tatum’s song treatments cannot be described as ‘classics’, especially given the iconic status of his recordings? Again, can Tatum’s ‘improvisations’ really be defined as such? Many (but not all) were carefully prepared and worked up over time before being recorded; his live appearances duplicated these shellac-enshrined ‘spontaneous thoughts’ to the extent of becoming musical routines. Tatum’s takes have been laboriously notated bar by bar from his recordings by various anoraks. It is these (uncredited) scores from which, we must assume, Mayer plays: he is certainly not improvising, and offers no clue to the sources in his otherwise revealing booklet.

One has, as I know from bitter experience, to be an exceptionally fluent score reader to get anywhere near these pieces. But to then assimilate Tatum’s unique style is another thing altogether – the speed, accuracy, rhythmic drive, fluency and insouciance displayed on his recordings remain a nonpareil more than half a century later. Miraculously, Mayer almost succeeds in his impersonation. Listen to Get Happy, Hallelujah, the sophisticated harmonic treatment of Lover, come back to me, and the whirlwind cascades of I know that you know and you could be listening to the great man himself, albeit without the reassuring warmth of Tatum’s sound. Yet, inevitably, there is something missing. Mayer is a classical pianist and, intentionally or not, his technique and touch make many of these quasi-transcriptions sound like studies by Kapustin. Frequently thrilling, impressive, genuinely enthralling but ultimately detached. Turn to Tatum in Tea for Two, Humoresque, Elegie and the incredible Tiger Rag and you find yourself, unbidden, smiling with pleasure at the outrageous wonder of it all. That’s the difference.