Handel's oratorio Israel in Egypt, HWV 54, bombed at its first performance in 1739 and was heavily revised by Handel. The revisions go even further here, in what is marked as an adaptation by Apollo's Fire director Jeannette Sorrell. She makes wholesale cuts, removing numerous arias, consolidating others, and leaving only a few recitatives. Sorrell retains, however, the three-part structure of Handel's first attempt (the librettist was probably Charles Jennens of Messiah), consisting of the "Lamentations by the Israelites for the Death of Joseph," "Exodus," and "Moses' Song." She also keeps the chorus-heavy quality of Handel's originals. The nearly three-hour oratorio usually heard is sliced to just over 74 minutes. All this might seem an unwarranted intrusion, but Handel himself obviously struggled with the material of this oratorio, which isn't one of his more commonly heard works. And lo, Sorrell's reworking succeeds solidly, creating convincing dramatic arcs where they previously existed only in outline. The ten plagues are shortened considerably but make more of an impact in their abbreviated form. The greatest strength here is the choral writing, in many places the equal of anything in Messiah. Apollo's Fire is a rather underrated choral-orchestral group from the U.S. Midwest that offers a satisfyingly good-sized choir with clear text articulation and a fine sense of expressing what they are singing about. A strong offering that will be appreciated by Handel lovers during the 2023 holiday season and beyond.© James Manheim /TiVo

"Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice" (‘Old marvellous land of nursery tales’): These few words describe the irresistible and striking interpretation of Ravel's Shéhérazade, now of a bygone era. The timbral lows and highs radiate from Egyptian soprano Fatma Said’s voice. Her exemplary diction shines. Each word is intelligible and each sound exists to colour the word, emphasising its meaning. Nobody would have thought that the singer’s extremely versatile musicality – reminiscent of Regine Crespin’s vibrant performances – would find an even greater versatility in the orchestral version, with Malcolm Martineau’s beautifully timbred and precise piano occasionally slowing things down.The program completely immerses itself in Spain, with Rafael Aguirre’s subtle guitar substituting itself for Martineau’s piano. Other facets of Fatma Said’s voice are her musical agility and ethereal spirit, which are revealed in the two Falla pieces. The Canción de Marinela by José Serrano, where her voice thickens, will remain an unforgettable moment of sweet sensuality. It's easy to start dreaming of Said exploring some other roles in zarzuelas, for which she would be divine! The three songs by Federico García Lorca, excerpts of the 13 Canciones españolas antiguas, are rather modest and of a noble elegance, even in the carnal arabesques of Nana de Sevilla. This is the perfect transition for the ‘Arabic’ songs that Fatma Said chooses next.She introduces, for example, a pretty melody from Egyptian composer Gamal Abdel-Rahim (1924-1988), before flying off into the gorgeous Adieux de l’hôtesse arabe by Bizet where Burcu Karadağ's nev (a sort of reed flute) improvises in counterpoint alongside the vocals. The last four pieces return to the Egyptian and Lebanese standards, in a jazzy and nostalgic atmosphere. This is a captivating album with overwhelming emotion! © Pierre-Yves Lascar/Qobuz

Just in time for the coronation of King Charles III comes this release, featuring music written for the coronations of George II in 1727 and of George I before him. The Handel works, written for the 1727 event, are the pure public Handel, with imposing choral-orchestral chords interspersed with straightforward but not simple episodes of counterpoint. They are meant to be crowd-pleasers, and indeed, they are; they're hard to ruin. What is on offer here from the RIAS-Kammerchor Berlin and the Akademie für alte Musik Berlin under conductor Justin Doyle are elegant but undersized performances characteristic of the Continental historical performance movement. Reports from Handel's time indicated an orchestra of 160; here are but 20 players. The choir, at 36 singers, is closer to Handel's 40, and this veteran group delivers a rich, satisfying sound with a rounded tone from the smaller solo group (not indicated in the score but often performed as it is here). The anthem The Lord Is a Sun and Shield is not by Handel but by William Croft, and one will be struck by how close it is to Handel stylistically. The overture to Handel's Occasional Oratorio, HWV 62, serves as an overture to the whole program, and there is a typically odd Chaconne by John Blow as an interlude. These are less-splendid but highly enjoyable performances for reliving the coronation atmosphere.© James Manheim /TiVo

Among the many facets of Archie Shepp's distinguished career, it is notable that since his solo debut in 1964, he has been gigging and recording at a near-constant pace. For an 83-year-old saxophone player specializing in provocative and boundary-challenging improvisation, this is impressive enough, but that Shepp's creative, intellectual, and political fire has in 50-plus years remained undimmed, well, that is remarkable indeed. Throughout those years, Shepp has always been an enthusiastic collaborator, working extensively with Cecil Taylor and Don Cherry, as well as more occasional meetings with the likes of Mal Waldron, Max Roach, and Horace Parlan, and cross-genre explorations with Frank Zappa, Material, and others. He is a player whose confidence in his style and musical language allows him to not only share a spotlight, but also to seek out co-conspirators to broaden his sonic palette. In the 21st century, Shepp's recording pace has not slowed, but his interest in collaborations seems to have accelerated; more than half of his releases over the last two decades have seen him partnered up. This album, the latest such release, finds him working with Jason Moran, whose modernist, New York-centric take on post-bop has made him one of the most critically acclaimed jazz pianists of the last 20 years. Moran's musical vocabulary is as broad and deep as Shepp's, and the two also clearly share an intellectual and ideological affinity when it comes to creative and cultural work. So it is both somewhat surprising and completely on-brand that on their debut duet album, the two aim straight for the songbook, taking on a clutch of standards that have often been handled competently, if not interestingly, in lesser hands. With these two, pieces like "Lush Life" easily unshackle themselves from decades of overplay and sound reinvigorated. The easy, restrained interplay between the enormous tone of Shepp's saxophone and Moran's melodic and exploratory piano finds the two charting their own courses through these pieces, and when Shepp starts singing on "Go Down Moses" and "Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child," an entirely new dimension is added. It would have been quite easy for Shepp and Moran to romp through well-trod pieces like "Round Midnight" with gleeful abandon, but instead, they take a more focused and politically interrogatory approach to the material, resulting in an intelligent, emotional, evocative,and, yes, another remarkable addition to Shepp's voluminous discography. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Over the past decade, Natalia Lafourcade appears to have found her groove, alternating between new albums of original material and projects that allow her to investigate other avenues; in particular, the rich heritage of Mexican and Latin American song. In this respect, Musas may initially seem like a sequel to Mujer Divina, her 2012 tribute to Agustín Lara, but a closer analysis exposes several telling differences between records. With Mujer Divina, Lafourcade was translating Lara's work into her pop idiom in the company of several Latin rock and pop stars. Musas, on the other hand, is neither dedicated to a single composer nor a duets album. Most of all, instead of bringing old songs to the present, Lafourcade herself is now traveling back in time to fully immerse in traditional sounds and genres. Finally, rather than celebrate a famous past composer, this project was born from Lafourcade's desire to work with Los Macorinos, the exquisite guitar duo formed by Juan Carlos Allende and Miguel Peña, who famously used to accompany Chavela Vargas, among many others artists. Even if Musas features several other notable collaborators (Gustavo Guerrero, Martín Bruhn, Ximena Sariñana, Juan Manuel Torreblanca, Héctor Castillo, David Aguilar, and Cheche Alara, not to mention a duet with the great Omara Portuondo), los Macorinos remain the heart and soul of this record, together of course with Lafourcade's voice: she has rarely sung better. As for the repertoire, Lafourcade tackles songs by Lara (again!) and Roberto Cantoral, but also extends her vision beyond Mexico to cover Frank Domínguez (Cuba), Violeta Parra (Chile), and Simón Díaz (Venezuela), gently navigating across 50 years or more of Latin American folk music. Unsurprisingly, Musas is a delight from start to finish. Lost in the album's elegance and breeziness, however, the casual listener may miss what is truly impressive about this work. Lafourcade is not merely revisiting the Great Latin American Songbook here: she is measuring herself against it. Musas includes five Lafourcade originals written in the same spirit as the songs by the celebrated composers mentioned above, and -- unless one cheats by looking at the credits -- it is virtually impossible to tell them apart from their noble predecessors. Self-penned opener "Tú Si Sabes Quererme," a son jarocho made in 2016 and graced by a sublime performance by Lafourcade and the always-impeccable los Macorinos, is easily the most beautiful song on this lovely record and an automatic contender for Latin track of the year. It gets better: apparently a second volume from these sessions is already in the mastering stage.© Mariano Prunes /TiVo

When listening to this album, one is struck immediately by the unique sound. The powerful, resonating nyatiti (a stringed instrument similar to the lyre) and Ogada's reflective, subdued vocals are unlike anything you've ever heard. They're also almost the only things you will hear on this disc, the only embellishment being the occasional light percussion or wind instrument. Ogada sings in his native Kenyan tongue, of the beliefs and traditions of his people. "Go far, see the world, but don't forget where you come from," he intones in the song "Chiro," a sentiment he has obviously taken to heart. There are no pounding rhythms on this record, nothing you can dance to, but it is memorable nonetheless, and makes a strong case for the beauty of restraint. © Steve McMullen /TiVo

Recordings of Offenbach's 1868 operetta La Périchole, here performed in an 1873 revision, have been rather uncommon. True, it doesn't contain any of the big Offenbach hits, and its Peruvian setting, with a variety of Spanish dances and chinoiserie standing in for whatever music might have been heard in colonial Peru, seems increasingly preposterous as time goes on. However, verisimilitude has never been a requirement in operetta, and this story of the titular street singer (who was an actual historical individual) pursued by a sleazy colonial administrator hits a lot of the bases. Anglophone listeners will note that Arthur Sullivan surely knew this music inside and out, and replicated the combination of limpid songs for the heroine and quite a few sharp narrative choruses. This production, recorded live in 2018 at the Festival Radio France Occitanie in Montpellier, is nothing fancy, but that is its charm. La Périchole is nicely sung by a mezzo-soprano with the delightful name of Aude Extrémo, who resists the temptation to ham it up (sample her drunk scene, "Ah, quel diner je viens de faire") and inhabits the role well. The large cast is consistent, and conductor Marc Minkowski and Les Musiciens du Louvre, far from their Baroque origins, keep things moving in a lively way. One gets the sense that Offenbach would have been fully satisfied, and the recording is a must for any operetta fan.© TiVo

Joan Manuel Serrat's final release of the 1960s, Dedicado a Antonio Machado, Poeta was recorded in honor of Spanish poet Antonio Machado, whose texts make up the bulk of the album's lyrics. Singing in Spanish earned Serrat some heavy criticism from his Catalan fans, but the album nevertheless became popular in Spain and Latin America, essentially setting the stage for the international breakthrough that arrived in the wake of 1971's Mediterráneo.© Andrew Leahey /TiVo