Complete recordings of great works such as Bach’s sonatas, his “Well-Tempered Clavier,” or Chopin’s “24 Preludes” occupy a unique place within the history of musical recording. It’s in their entirety that they are most unique and powerful, whereas in the purity of their repertoire, individual pieces are generally regarded as being largely heterogeneous. These timeless compositions transcend their authors and are given new life with each interpretation, and such is the case with Bach’s “Goldberg Variations.” Published in 1741, as the fourth and last part of his Clavier-Übung, the “Goldberg Variations” still remain, almost 300 years later, amongst the baroque master’s most important works, not only for the history of musical composition and recording in general (Glenn Gould, Trevor Pinnock, Rosalyn Tureck, and many others come to mind), but also for Víkingur Ólafsson in particular. “I’ve been dreaming of recording this work for 25 years,” says the Icelandic pianist, thus confirming that these studies are more a life’s work than a whim.Beginning with a melody that’s simple in appearance, the work is spread over a total of 30 variations, becoming a masterpiece of complexity. Determined, at surface level, by a rigid formal framework, the material itself nevertheless demands a “sort of interpretive improvisation”. Ólafsson recognises this paradox and makes it his own not by interpreting the different variations with technical precision and a strict loyalty to the metronome, but rather by following cyclical impulses and organic interpretation. At the same time, he evolves with the work and transcends it, whether in the creativity of the fugues or the complexity of the different canons, which influence one another, rely on one another, and, finally, like a parabola, return to the first melody and the beginning of all that had transpired previously -  like the ebb and flow of the Icelandic ocean, whose waves we know will always return to shore, but whose calm or strength we can never be sure of. © Lena Germann/Qobuz

Denis Villeneuve and Hans Zimmer (Interstellar, Gladiator…) reunite for the second installment of Dune, the film adaptation of Frank Herbert’s science fiction novels. In this sequel, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) unites with Chani (Zendaya) and the Fremen to lead a revolt against those who destroyed his family. Haunted by dark premonitions, he finds himself confronted with a difficult choice between the love of his life and the fate of the universe. Zimmer’s troubling score echoes these menacing intuitions, full of metallic textures that intertwine with the textures of the human voice, leading to sonorities that are both familiar and strange at once. We also hear the first film’s famous gimmick, the guttural voice of the Bene Gesserit, contributing to the project’s profoundly spiritual quality. Overall, the soundtrack to Dune: Part Two is more meditative than that of the first film, as is evidenced by the choice of the duduk, the Armenian woodwind instrument that most notably haunts the opening piece (“Beginnings Are Such Delicate Times”). Loyal to the great tradition of Hollywood film music, Hans Zimmer graces us with a love song that’s full of tenderness. Those who love the enchanting Zimmer of Terrence Malik’s The Thin Red Line will certainly appreciate this soundtrack to one of 2024’s most anticipated films. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

Ludwig Göransson's at times celestial, sometimes mechanical, sometimes melancholy, and often unsettling synthesizer-injected orchestral score for Christopher Nolan's Atomic Age biopic Oppenheimer is inescapable in a film that, at least as one point, has nothing short of the Earth's atmosphere on the line. Clocking in at 94 minutes in all (though it should be noted that the movie's runtime is 180), the score's more urgent moments include the booming "Manhattan Project," with its pulsing metallic tones, echoey piano, and ascending and descending string progressions; the relentless sixteenth-note violin attack of "Fusion"; and, later, the marching "Kitty Comes to Testify," as the film turns from science epic toward political thriller. While much of the score is repetitive -- in a deliberate, minimalist way, not in a recycled sense -- more attention-grabbing, experimental moments include the ominous, percussive "Atmospheric Ignition" and the throbbing, noise- and effects-based "Ground Zero." There are rousing orchestral passages here, too, such as the early-arriving "Can You Hear the Music," a track reportedly modeled after Stravinsky that introduces a hexatonic scale that forms the basis of the main character's leitmotif. (That cue was also a technical feat to record, with its 21 tempo changes in less than two minutes.) The score also includes traditionally suspenseful ("The Trial") and sentimental moments ("A Lowly Shoe Salesman"), among others. If anything, Göransson can be accused of overindulging on such an ambitious project, well before he could be said to be mailing it in. Academy voters approved: Oppenheimer won Göransson his second Oscar for Best Original Score (after Black Panther), to add to his Grammy and Golden Globe for the film.© Marcy Donelson /TiVo

Writing the music for a film that takes place in ancient times or—as in the case with Dune—in a distant and fictional civilisation, is often an opportunity for a composer to ask the question: what would the music of their people sound like? Hans Zimmer (Interstellar, Gladiator...) thought that the human voice would be the common denominator of these far-flung peoples. This is why one of the musical hallmarks of Dune is a guttural vocal line that punctuates several scenes in the film (Gom Jabbar). In addition to its dramatic interest (it personifies the "Voice of Command"), it also contributes to the spiritual aspect that Zimmer wanted to give to Denis Villeneuve's images: "We agreed that the music would need to have a spirituality to it...a sanctified quality...that would elevate the soul and have the effect that only sacred music can", said the filmmaker. To refine this idea, the composer used two types of strings: oriental timbres and synthesizers. This combination is also an effective way of conveying the strangeness of this fascinating and dangerous desert. Finally, the music is an essential part of the immersive spectacle in this new adaptation of Frank Herbert's SF novel series. This is made possible by, among other things, Dolby Atmos technology, which gives the listener the feeling of being enveloped by the music. This allows for more depth and flexibility in placing the various instruments and voices in the sound-space. Once again, Zimmerian emotion is combined with an insatiable curiosity for technological advances. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

After summing up his maverick tendencies on Scary Monsters, David Bowie aimed for the mainstream with Let's Dance. Hiring Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers as a co-producer, Bowie created a stylish, synthesized post-disco dance music that was equally informed by classic soul and the emerging new romantic subgenre of new wave, which was ironically heavily inspired by Bowie himself. Let's Dance comes tearing out of the gate, propulsed by the skittering "Modern Love," the seductively menacing "China Girl," and the brittle funk of the title track. All three songs became international hits, and for good reason -- they're catchy, accessible pop songs that have just enough of an alien edge to make them distinctive. However, that careful balance is quickly thrown off by a succession of pleasant but unremarkable plastic soul workouts. "Cat People" and a cover of Metro's "Criminal World" are relatively strong songs, but the remainder of the album indicates that Bowie was entering a songwriting slump. However, the three hits were enough to make the album a massive hit, and their power hasn't diminished over the years, even if the rest of the record sounds like an artifact.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

While Glenn Gould's 1955 debut recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations has attained legendary status, there are many devoted fans who rank the 1981 recording just as highly, even though it offers a dramatically different interpretation. This album was made shortly before the pianist's premature death at age 50, so it is significant for being his last recording; indeed, the opening measures of the Aria are carved on Gould's headstone, in final recognition of the work's importance to him, so these two recordings may be regarded as bookends to the pianist's extraordinary career. Gould's tempos are slower and more measured in the 1981 performance, and the observance of some repeats here also differs from the earlier version. On the whole, the 1981 performance is reflective and carefully considered, in contrast with the technical brilliance and impulsive energy of the first. Gould's background humming is common to both Goldbergs, and even though the technology existed at the time of this recording to remove it, Gould kept it in, for fear of losing the piano's full sound. This eccentricity may be off-putting to some listeners, but there are so many fine points in Gould's playing that it must be overlooked to appreciate the true value of his playing and his understanding of Bach, which is original by any standard. Columbia's reproduction is crisp and clear, in keeping with Gould's wishes.© TiVo

After performing his second-to-last selection, "White Light/White Heat," a tune by Lou Reed, the songwriter who most influenced Ziggy Stardust, David Bowie's enduring and indelible persona, Bowie dropped this little nugget on his fans (and bandmates): "Not only is it the last show of the tour, but it's the last show that we'll ever do. Thank you." He then went into a magnificent version of "Rock & Roll Suicide," a song that gives a glimpse of where Bowie could have gone, not to suicide, but to the style of rock & roll that a long-term band can provide. Had Bowie kept the Spiders from Mars together, unique flashes like the version of "Let's Spend the Night Together" or the striking "All the Young Dudes" would have continued, a tight little rock & roll band providing a balance that dissipated when the artist branched out on his own. The other unnerving thing about this double-LP soundtrack of a concert taped in 1973 and finally released in 1982 is that there are bootlegs which have more to offer sonically. The thin recording is shameful: don't expect Pink Floyd's Delicate Sound of Thunder or even the Rolling Stones' wonderfully sludgy "Get Your Ya Ya's Out." The remix of this only official live album from the Ziggy Stardust shows is dreadful. Ziggy Stardust: The Motion Picture doesn't have the electric excitement of the Live in Santa Monica '72 boot, and that's the fault of the remix by Mike Moran, Bruce Tergeson, Tony Visconti, and Bowie. Another bootleg, David Bowie with the Spiders from Mars, London, July 3, 1973, is the exact same Ziggy performance, but it comes across better, much better. According to Pimm Jal de la Parra's book David Bowie: The Concert Tapes, the bootleg was issued from the ABC TV 1974 broadcast. The bootleg also has "Jean Genie and "Love Me Do," which feature Jeff Beck on guitar, Beck's performances being absent from the official RCA soundtrack release. The shame of it all is that this double disc was released after David Live and Stage, and while the upside is it makes for a rare, three double-live sets from one performer, the downside is that the best of those three albums has the worst mix on official record. Also, had RCA released the October 1, 1972 Boston Music Hall show -- which was brilliant, despite Bowie having a cold that night -- or this July 3, 1973 London Hammersmith Odeon program back in the day, it could have had an enormous effect on Bowie's career. At that point in time, the fans wanted more Ziggy, and the timing of this release only shows how important it is to get the material out while it's hot. Just ask Peter Frampton, Bob Seger, and the J. Geils Band, who solidified their audiences with double-live sets at crucial points in their careers. Nonetheless, everything here is essential David Bowie; it is a great performance, and you definitely need it for your Bowie collection. The only thing better would be Lou Reed himself finally releasing the September 1973 first gig of his Rock 'n' Roll Animal Band, which was, as they say, the real thing.© Joe Viglione /TiVo

What do you mean, “Six evolutions”? It’s an intriguing title, almost esoteric… The cellist Yo-Yo Ma, who needs no introduction after a worldwide career of some fifty years, pens here his third (and ultimate, according to him) recording of Bach’s Solo Cello Suites. The first, while he was in his twenties, gave rise to enthusiasm, the second—in his forties—gave rise to emotion, so what will this final vision give rise to, now that he is in his late sixties? Serenity and joy, probably, and the completion of a triple discographic evolution. That being said, we still cannot explain the “Six evolutions”, and you will have to dive into a small corner of the accompanying booklet to find an indication, giving little more information, it is true, since it comes with no clarification: 1) Nature is at play, 2) Journey toward the light, 3) Celebration, 4) Construction/Development, 5) The struggle for hope, and 6) Epiphany. Well… Whatever it be, and despite what he said—and the amazing quality of this interpretation—let’s meet in 2038 to find out if he doesn’t decide to give a new interpretation in his eighties! © SM/Qobuz

Borrowing heavily from Marc Bolan's glam rock and the future shock of A Clockwork Orange, David Bowie reached back to the heavy rock of The Man Who Sold the World for The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Constructed as a loose concept album about an androgynous alien rock star named Ziggy Stardust, the story falls apart quickly, yet Bowie's fractured, paranoid lyrics are evocative of a decadent, decaying future, and the music echoes an apocalyptic, nuclear dread. Fleshing out the off-kilter metallic mix with fatter guitars, genuine pop songs, string sections, keyboards, and a cinematic flourish, Ziggy Stardust is a glitzy array of riffs, hooks, melodrama, and style and the logical culmination of glam. Mick Ronson plays with a maverick flair that invigorates rockers like "Suffragette City," "Moonage Daydream," and "Hang Onto Yourself," while "Lady Stardust," "Five Years," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" have a grand sense of staged drama previously unheard of in rock & roll. And that self-conscious sense of theater is part of the reason why Ziggy Stardust sounds so foreign. Bowie succeeds not in spite of his pretensions but because of them, and Ziggy Stardust -- familiar in structure, but alien in performance -- is the first time his vision and execution met in such a grand, sweeping fashion.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Borrowing heavily from Marc Bolan's glam rock and the future shock of A Clockwork Orange, David Bowie reached back to the heavy rock of The Man Who Sold the World for The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Constructed as a loose concept album about an androgynous alien rock star named Ziggy Stardust, the story falls apart quickly, yet Bowie's fractured, paranoid lyrics are evocative of a decadent, decaying future, and the music echoes an apocalyptic, nuclear dread. Fleshing out the off-kilter metallic mix with fatter guitars, genuine pop songs, string sections, keyboards, and a cinematic flourish, Ziggy Stardust is a glitzy array of riffs, hooks, melodrama, and style and the logical culmination of glam. Mick Ronson plays with a maverick flair that invigorates rockers like "Suffragette City," "Moonage Daydream," and "Hang Onto Yourself," while "Lady Stardust," "Five Years," and "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" have a grand sense of staged drama previously unheard of in rock & roll. And that self-conscious sense of theater is part of the reason why Ziggy Stardust sounds so foreign. Bowie succeeds not in spite of his pretensions but because of them, and Ziggy Stardust -- familiar in structure, but alien in performance -- is the first time his vision and execution met in such a grand, sweeping fashion.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The German poet Goethe said, and is duly quoted in the booklet here, that a string quartet is "a spirited conversation among four reasonable people." That is not what Bach's Art of Fugue is, but string quartets seem impelled to keep performing the work, and audiences buy the move; the rarefied air of the string quartet seems to fit with Bach's contrapuntal mysteries somehow. This release by the Cuarteto Casals made classical best-seller charts in the late spring of 2023. It is one of the better string quartet attempts, both hewing to and departing from the work's Baroque character. First violinist Abel Tomás Realp mostly cultivates a glassy sound with little vibrato, as if his line were being played on an organ, but the other players allow themselves to be more expressive. The general approach is deliberate, and the members speak at length in the interview-style booklet about the necessity for deep contemplation in approaching the work. It is almost as if the group is seeking to clarify its contrapuntal intricacies. The music broadens out in the four canons, which are placed at the end right before the final fugue. That is given a little conclusion rather than being left hanging, as in Bach's unfinished manuscript, and it leads into the chorale Vor deinen Thron tret' ich, BWV 668, which Bach himself might have intended. The sound from Spain's Cardona monastery fits with the goals of the performance, which is to add a new layer of mystery to this perennially troublesome work.© James Manheim /TiVo

A student of the last student of Ysaÿe, American violinist Hilary Hahn has played Bach's solo violin music since she was nine, and inaugurated her recording career seven years later with a recording of half the cycle of six, in 1997. That recording rightly won acclaim with its flawless technique and Apollonian lines straight out of the best of the French violin school. Uniquely, she has returned to complete the set 21 years later, and the results are marvelous. It's sometimes hard to pin down the ways in which Hahn's style has changed, but it has to do with a kind of inner relaxation, with a willingness to let the meter vary a bit and pick it up again in the longer line. The flawless tone is still there, but it's not so much an end in itself. It's not an accident that some of the graphics picture Hahn smiling, nor that her quite relevant notes to the album detail the long creative process that went into making it. Sample anywhere, but you could try the very beginning, the first movement of the Sonata for solo violin No. 1 in G minor, BWV 1001, where Hahn takes just a bit of time, draws you in, and lets the rest of the movement flow from there. Decca's engineers do excellent work in a Bard College auditorium that one might not have picked as a venue for this. A superb release from one of the preeminent violinists of our time.© TiVo

After the double album of the Violin and Harpsichord Sonatas with Kristian Bezuidenhout, here is the next instalment in a Bach recording adventure that began nine years ago with a set of the Sonatas and Partitas. Isabelle Faust, Bernhard Forck and his partners at the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin have explored a multitude of other works by Bach: harpsichord concertos, trio sonatas for organ, instrumental movements from sacred cantatas etc. All are revealed here as direct or indirect relatives of the three monumental Concertos BWV 1041-43. This fascinating achievement is a timely reminder that the master of The Well-Tempered Clavier was also a virtuoso violinist! © harmonia mundi

After the freakish hard rock of The Man Who Sold the World, David Bowie returned to singer/songwriter territory on Hunky Dory. Not only did the album boast more folky songs ("Song for Bob Dylan," "The Bewlay Brothers"), but he again flirted with Anthony Newley-esque dancehall music ("Kooks," "Fill Your Heart"), seemingly leaving heavy metal behind. As a result, Hunky Dory is a kaleidoscopic array of pop styles, tied together only by Bowie's sense of vision: a sweeping, cinematic mélange of high and low art, ambiguous sexuality, kitsch, and class. Mick Ronson's guitar is pushed to the back, leaving Rick Wakeman's cabaret piano to dominate the sound of the album. The subdued support accentuates the depth of Bowie's material, whether it's the revamped Tin Pan Alley of "Changes," the Neil Young homage "Quicksand," the soaring "Life on Mars?," the rolling, vaguely homosexual anthem "Oh! You Pretty Things," or the dark acoustic rocker "Andy Warhol." On the surface, such a wide range of styles and sounds would make an album incoherent, but Bowie's improved songwriting and determined sense of style instead made Hunky Dory a touchstone for reinterpreting pop's traditions into fresh, postmodern pop music.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Bach's Die Kunst der Fuge ("The Art of the Fugue") has been played on the piano and in various ensemble transcriptions, including some for the anachronistic string quartet. Harpsichord versions began to appear in the third quarter of the 20th century as players from the Netherlands, especially, began to explore the instrument's history and capabilities. Early music lovers of the day may recall Gustav Leonhardt's version of the work, released on the Musical Heritage Society label and eagerly awaited in that imprint's monthly mailings. It was scholarly, rather severe, and quite engrossing. This version by keyboardist Christophe Rousset follows Leonhardt in several respects. The fugue sections (called "contrapunctus") are all grouped together, followed by the canons, and there is no effort to reduce the work's forbidding abstract quality. Annotator Gaëtan Naulleau quotes musicologist Charles Rosen to the effect that The Art of the Fugue is "above all, a work to be played for oneself, to be felt under one's fingers as much as listened to." Rousset omits the final unfinished triple fugue, although most performers nowadays try to find a place for it in some way, and he adds a second harpsichordist, Korneel Bernolet, on the two mirror fugues. Rousset's Art of the Fugue is intense and inward, and a rather over-resonant hall at the Hôtel de l'Industrie in Paris is not quite the right place for it. Yet, in some ways, Rousset's reading is friendlier than Leonhardt's and even offers a bit of flair. He plays an unusual instrument, a harpsichord from 1750 held in an unnamed collection. This was (at least supposedly), of course, exactly the year in which Bach worked on this swan song, and the instrument has a muscular sound and gives one the feeling that Bach would have found it ideal. It is powerful, a bit rounded, and in tune with the epic nature of the work without losing its interiority. This is a major statement on The Art of the Fugue, rooted in the past but not really like any other version.© James Manheim /TiVo

It is the Quebec director Denis Villeneuve who bears the heavy responsibility of tackling the sequel of Blade Runner, the science-fiction movie directed by Ridley Scott in 1982, with Harrison Ford in the role of Rick Deckard, a former cop hunting Replicants. For its music, it was first the Icelander Jóhann Jóhannsson, a regular of Villeneuve’s movies (Sicario, Arrival…), that had the just as heavy responsibility to take over from Vangelis, the composer of the soundtrack of the first movie. Finally, the director wanted to get closer in spirit to the Greek composer: he fired Jóhannsson and replaced him with Hans Zimmer, whose ability to musically dress science-fiction needs no further proof. Remember his soundtracks for Christopher Nolan (Inception and Interstellar). For this sequel, Zimmer (helped by Benjamin Wallfish) navigates the synthetic and freezing waters of the first Blade Runner soundtrack. You just have to listen to the introductory track (2049) or to Mesa to notice the striking resemblance with the layers both heavy and harrowing from Vangelis’ score. The rest of the soundtrack is stuffed with atmospheric tracks of the same ilk, designed with extreme care and great efficiency, as always with Zimmer. It’s worth noting the presence of two of Elvis Presley’s sweet songs (among which we find the hit Can’t Stop Falling In Love) and another from Frank Sinatra, which are completely at odds with the whole thing. Maybe we’ll someday have access to the movie’s rejected music, the one composed by Jóhannsson? In the meantime, it constitutes a Grail popular with collectors, as often happens in Hollywood movie score history (see the rejected soundtrack for Troy by Gabriel Yared or the one for Robin and Marian by Michel Legrand). © NM/Qobuz