Everyone knows the tragic context surrounding the making of this album. It is almost more famous than the content of the album itself. Having lived in the Marquesas Islands for years, Brel was already very sick when he started thinking of an opus, which will be conceived as “the last”. Once the text had been written, he took off to Paris where he entrusts the arrangements to his lifetime accomplice, François Rauber. As for rehearsals, they took place on rue de Verneuil at Juliette, Gréco’s home. The singer who wrote Ne me quitte pas knows he’s doomed when he creates Les Marquises, so it’s not really surprising to hear him talk about death and old age, like in the magnificent La Ville s’endormait and Vieillir, an overexcited tango where he hammers that “la mort, cela n’est rien” (Death is nothing). Jojo also reaches new heights of emotion, as a love letter to a deceased friend, in which Brel is only accompanied by a solo guitar. But this morbid context doesn’t make this album a formulaic spiritual quest, or even a succession of bleak tunes. Therefore, Brel puts Man above God in Le bon dieu, a humanist waltz that isn’t 1000-count but, on the contrary, serenely slow and benevolent. Marcel Azzola’s accordion works wonders here. The same serenity is displayed in Les Marquises and in Voir un ami pleurer (which owes a lot to Gérard Jouannest’s sensitive piano). The poet wishes to get away from the morbid fatality that gnaws at him, which can also be felt in the politically engaged texts, such as this hagiography of Jaurès, or Les Flamingants, a violent charge against Flemish nationalism. The testimonial aspect of this album is thus relative, and in that probably lies all of its strength. And of course, Jacques Brel’s biting and legendary humor couldn’t be missing. Let’s cite Les Remparts de Varsovie, an incredibly potent satirical sketch. Despite being sick, Brel hadn’t lost an ounce of his energy or irony, as evidenced by Le Lion, a mad fable which doesn’t know if it’s samba or circus music. Let’s note that the present release contains five bonus titles, among which La Cathédrale, one of the most radiant waltzes composed by Jacques Brel. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

Paddy McAloon had not yet found the key to the elegant compositions that made Prefab Sprout distinctive when it came time to record their debut, Swoon. He certainly tries hard to make his sophisticated contemporary pop sound distinctive, but the problem is that he does too many things at once -- the lyrics are overstuffed, and the music has too many chord changes and weird juxtapositions, as he tries to put white-funk beats to carefully crafted melodies. A few moments work, such as "Couldn't Bear to Be Special," but Swoon is primarily of interest as a historical item, since it only suggests the promise the band later filled.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

As of the fall of 2004, the only significant Jacques Brel title in print in the U.S. was Verve Records' 16-track 1988 compilation Master Serie (although, of course, many imports were available to Americans through mail order). That suggested the time was right to bring out a new collection, and DRG has licensed the 40-track, two-CD 2003 Universal International album Infiniment ("Infinitely") for domestic release. In France, and among Brel aficionados, it is the subject of some controversy because of the inclusion of five previously unreleased songs -- "La Cathédrale (The Cathedral)," "L'Amour Est Mort (Love Is Dead)," "Mai 40 (May 1940)," "Avec Élégance (With Elegance)," and "Sans Exigences (Without Emergencies)." The five were recorded at the sessions for Brel's final album, Brel, in September/October 1977, but not included on it. Eddie Barclayof Barclay Records was once quoted as saying of them, "Jacques didn't want them to come out and so they won't be released." Yet, here they are, with an ambiguous disclaimer by Brel's musical collaborators François Rauber and Gérard Jouannest: "The following titles ('With Elegance,' 'Without Emergencies,' & 'Love Is Dead') are unfinished songs which Jacques Brel and we, ourselves, would like to do over. The reason for which has not been divulged." It may be that they mention only those three of the five tracks because the musical backing for them is particularly sparse, usually only a keyboard instrument or two far in the background. For the average American listener who knows Brel from "If You Go Away," "Seasons in the Sun," and the musical revue Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, however, the effect of the inclusion of the unreleased songs may have more to do with sequencing than content. The new material is right up front on the first disc, just after Brel's version of "La Quête (The Quest)" (aka "The Impossible Dream" from Man of la Mancha), and the effect is to reverse the usual running order of a compilation, beginning with the artist's later material, when his singing is deeper and more mannered, rather than his earlier recordings. Also, it means that an American won't hear a familiar melody until the 12th track of CD one when "Quand On N'A Que L'Amour" (translated here as "When We Have Only Love," but more commonly known as "If We Only Have Love"), one of Brel's biggest hits, begins. After that, as Thelma Blitz's liner notes put it, the rest of CD one and all of CD two "are a crème de la crème 'best of' covering the span of his career." DRG has helpfully provided literal translations of the French lyrics, which non-French-speaking Americans familiar only with the Rod McKuen and Mort Shuman/Eric Blau adaptations will find illuminating, since they demonstrate that those English lyrics range from accurate equivalents of Brel's meaning to fairly broad revisions. Of course, Brel's own interpretations of his songs remain definitive, and in these sonically improved recordings he comes across with all his dramatic, compelling power intact.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Though he more regularly records as Helios, Keith Kenniff's work under the Goldmund moniker has contributed to the quieter side of the Type label over recent years, and his second album under the name continues this streak in winning, quietly beautiful fashion. Relying on piano that places itself between Harold Budd's ambient experiments and a harsher, post-glitch inventiveness that keeps it from being too smooth in the end, The Malady of Elegance ultimately ends up being good late-night listening, but not for sweet dreams. Opening song "Image-Autumn-Womb," with its sudden high notes and a feeling of shuddering strangeness in the arrangement, sets and strikes this balance, and if much of the album tends towards the contemplative, it's not in a simply pretty fashion. Other strong songs include "John Harrington," with its gentle melodic flourishes, and the dramatic conclusion to "Evelyn," which also wraps up the album on a strong, powerful note. © Ned Raggett /TiVo

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Given Kristin Chenoweth's status as one of the great Broadway stars of the 21st century, it's a little surprising that she hadn't recorded an album of popular standards until 2016's The Art of Elegance. Teaming with producer Steve Tyrell, Chenoweth tackles 12 chestnuts from the Great American Song Book, adding the Tyrell original "You're My Saving Grace" as the album's coda. Lightly swinging and immaculately mannered The Art of Elegance is indeed elegant, an album crafted for the cocktail hour or perhaps a romantic evening that wraps up before the 10 o'clock hour. That's its charm: Chenoweth keeps her power in reserve, gliding through these familiar melodic phrases with ease, and she's matched by Tyrell, who prefers to keep his arrangements crisp and warmly nostalgic. Such soft aesthetics may mean that The Art of Elegance doesn't grab attention, but it wasn't designed to, either. It's meant as a valentine to a bygone era -- whether that's the time when these songs were originally written, or when they were revived in the mid-20th century is a matter of debate, one that doesn't need to be settled because this is a lovely little record by any measure. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo