Jean-Philippe Rameau, Charles-Valentin Alkan, Maurice Ravel: three centuries of French music meet face-to-face to pass the baton in this record that is so admirably interpreted by the young Bruce Liu. For his first studio album Waves (Deutsche Grammophon), the Chinese pianist and winner of the 2021 Chopin Piano Competition at 24 years old, undertakes the delicate mission of constructing and presenting a vast panel of sonoric textures and approaches, unique to each composer and their time. With the valued assistance of technician Michel Brandjes, Liu has managed to erect a monument of subtlety and variations that carefully house the pieces that he interprets. As he himself explains in the liner notes: Rameau’s writing (“Gavotte et six doubles,” “Les Sauvages”) lends itself to a sound that abounds in bursts of rage and passion, contrasting with the misty impressionism of Ravel and his “Miroirs.” Somewhere between the two, “Barcarolle” and “Festin d’Esope” serve as the bridge that certain Romantics sought between baroque music and their own. Bruce Liu revels in the flexibility of his playing, which is precise and adapts to older and more recent repertoire alike. His interpretation of Ravel’s “Miroirs” is particularly admirable for its skillful use of sonoric layers and its sense of time – and, notably, of silence – and brings to mind another beautiful version - that of Pierre-Laurent Aimard, also released on Deutsche Grammophon. © Pierre Lamy/Qobuz

There are certainly contemporary guitarists who can match Sean Shibe for technical facility, but very few can match him for an ability to entrance an audience with a single stroke or strum. He has recorded Spanish music in the past in strikingly unusual ways, but this is his first album of South American works. It is splendid. There is a "bonus track" included on the physical album and, in some online versions, a recording of Villa-Lobos' Prelude No. 3 in A minor (Homage to Bach); recordings with this are recommended, for it makes an arresting beginning. Shibe proceeds to the three-movement La Catedral of the underrated Agustín Barrios (here, Agustín Barrios Mangoré), whose mysterious, mystical style fits Shibe beautifully. The album title, Profesión, comes from a poem, Profesión de Fé ("Profession of Faith"), by Barrios, reproduced in the booklet. The 12 Studies of Villa-Lobos are dispatched with a suitably commanding style, and when they seemingly reach an absolute peak of intensity with the final one, Shibe deftly steps into new territory with Alberto Ginastera's Guitar Sonata, Op. 47. That, too, is a somewhat underrated work; it is Ginastera's only composition for guitar, despite the popularity of the instrument in Argentina, and it deftly fuses the folk and modernist strands of his musical character. It makes an elegant finale to an album that fascinates from beginning to end. An added attraction is the double set of notes by Shibe and Hugh Morris, delving into the history of the repertory. The church sound, one feels, is not quite right, and yet producer Matthew Swan does succeed in capturing Shibe's larger-than-life quality. This release made classical best-seller charts in the holiday season of 2023; it will be around long after that season is over.© James Manheim /TiVo

What a pleasure it is to return to Riccardo Chailly, at the head of the Filarmonica della Scala, with a collection on Rota (1911-1979) and more particularly his songs written for the great films of Fellini such as Amarcord, Huit et Demi, and La Dolce Vita! Before him, another Riccardo, Muti, had dedicated, in the 1990s, two albums with Sony Classical to the film scores of the Italian composer – with one collection on his non-cinematographic corpus. Whether Rota’s music was for cinema or the concert hall was of little importance as he rolled out, to the likes of Bernard Herrmann in the United States, a style that was true to himself where one feels his genius and prowess for evoking ambiance mixed with an incredible dexterity for the most diverse genres, as can be heard in Suite taken here from La Dolce Vita. The beginning (O Venezia, Venaga, Venusia) of the following Il Casanova di Federico Fellini, in which the chiming of the pendulum evokes the tragic destiny of the character and the harmonization of somber colors creates a sea-like atmosphere, remains without a doubt one of the most striking tracks on the album. This ambiance returns in the final part, this time all the more mind-blowing (The Dancing Doll). Often influences from the East, of Chostakovitch and Khachaturian (Il Duca di Württenberg), can be heard along with more meridian styles inherited from Italian symphonists from the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. A passionate album not to be missed. © Pierre-Yves Lascar/Qobuz

Backed by the Sun King despite a lukewarm audience reception at first, Lully's Atys (1676) went on to become one of the composer's most successful operas, with revivals at French court theaters as late as 1753. In modern times, however, it is a considerably rarer item due to the massive forces and time required. Christophe Rousset was in the pit as harpsichordist when conductor William Christie gave the first modern revival of the work in the late '80s. That experience marks this 2024 release, which made classical best-seller lists at the beginning of that year. That is not common for a hefty five-act Baroque opera, but even a bit of sampling will confirm why it happened: Rousset, from the keyboard, brings tremendous energy to the opera. He pushes the tempo in the numerous dances and entrance numbers, and the musicians of Les Talens Lyriques and the singers of the Choeur du Chambre de Namur, all of whom have worked closely with Rousset in the past, keep right up. The singers in the solo roles are all fine; haut-contre Reinoud Van Mechelen in the title role and Ambroisine Bré as the goddess Cybèle, who sets the tragic plot in motion, are standouts. The sound from the increasingly engineering-expert Château de Versailles label is exceptionally clear in complex textures, and the sensuous cover art (representing, it is true, not the Roman mythological figure of Atys but Hippomène and Atalante) is a bonus. In the end, this is Rousset's Atys, and that is a very good thing.© James Manheim /TiVo

In a world of "singles," pursued even by classical music labels nowadays, here is a whole album that makes up a single, sublime musical utterance. Reflet is a follow-up, similarly concerned with light effects, to soprano Sandrine Piau's German-language Clair-Obscur of a few years back. The German songs might have been a bigger stretch for Piau than the French material here, but Reflet has possibly an even more sublime coherence. One feels that every note is almost foreordained as the program opens with classic orchestral songs from Berlioz, Henri Duparc, and the less common Charles Koechlin, proceeding into darker, more mysterious realms with Ravel's Trois poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé, and ending with the youthful ebullience of Britten's Quatre chansons françaises. An illustration of how carefully calibrated everything is here comes with two Debussy pieces, Clair de lune and "Pour remercier la pluie" (from the Six Épigraphes Antiques), arranged for orchestra from other media. These serve as entr'actes between the sections of Piau's program, and they should by all rights have been annoying: aren't there enough genuine orchestral pieces that could have filled the bill? But just listen. These fit into the patterns that run through the whole album, and they make perfect sense, just like everything else. Piau's voice is delicate, soaring, and richly beautiful; one of the miracles of the current scene is its durability and versatility. Her support from conductor Jean-François Verdier, leading the Victor Hugo Orchestra, is confidently smooth, never intruding on the spell Piau weaves. A magnificent orchestral song recital that made classical best-seller lists in early 2024.© James Manheim /TiVo

Christophe Rousset and his Les Talens Lyriques continue their exploration of the operas of Jean-Baptiste Lully for the Aparte label with 1675's Thésée ("Theseus"), the composer's third "tragédie en musique" with librettist by Philippe Quinault. Commissioned by King Louis XIV, the libretto recounts some early-life exploits of the titular character from Ovid's Metamorphoses. It was immensely popular for more than a century before finding itself in less demand than later, more compact versions of Quinault's text, which were set by composers such as Handel (Teseo, 1712). What is there for a king and his court not to like when the Prologue declares the king a god and sings the praises of king and kingdom? Rousset has his Les Talens Lyriques in fine form, and the ensemble plays crisply and concisely throughout. Rousset, conducting from the harpsichord, keeps the action moving in this colossal and dramatic work. The soloists, especially mezzo-soprano Karine Deshayes as Médée ("Medea") and tenor Mathias Vidal as the titular Thésée, display clear expertise in the realm of early French opera. This work is a major vehicle for mezzos in the role of the jealous sorceress Médée, and Deshayes is splendid. The Prologue has some awkward, almost hesitant singing from the chorus, but as the work progresses, the Chœur de chambre de Namur becomes stronger and, in the end, proves to be an asset to the whole (consider their turn as the inhabitants of the underworld with Deshayes on "Sortez, ombres, sortez de la nuit éternelle" from Act Two). This is a worthy addition of a lesser-known opera to the growing Lully collection from Les Talens Lyriques.© Keith Finke /TiVo

This is a Barbiere "di qualità, di qualità": in fact, of very great quality indeed, from Deutsche Grammophon. Recorded in London in the summer of 1971, it is one of the first meetings of Claudio Abbado and the London Symphony Orchestra. It is also the first of Alberto Zedda's philological editions of Rossini's works, whose scores have been covered over by inherited errors for over a century. Getting rid of the additions which have, quite wrongly, become traditional, means restoring certain interruptions and the fine instrumentation of the period; and above all, singing and playing without exaggerations, thanks to an innate sense for the theatre. It's a spot of spring cleaning which has restored the youth of the 24-year-old composer's masterpiece. Bravo, signor barbiere, ma bravo! It is a dream record, with singers who are well-versed in the repertoire. Everyone is right where they need to be, from Teresa Berganza's wiley and cheeky Rosina, to the refined and hard-working Figaro played by Hermann Prey, via Luigi Alva's frivolous Count and the utterly ridiculous Basilio played by the outrageous Paolo Montarsolo. We're amused by their antics, as we admire the well-oiled and unstoppable machine of Rossini's theatre, under the unceasingly inventive and thrilling baton of Claudio Abbado. © François Hudry/Qobuz

Lianne La Havas' previous LP, Blood, almost topped the album chart in the U.K. and was up for a Grammy in the U.S. The singer/songwriter was dissatisfied -- not with its reception but with compromises that left her feeling that it wasn't a pure expression of herself. To name two of them, she had no hand in writing one of the songs, and it was chosen as the second single. Almost five years to the day Blood was released, La Havas offered this corrective move made with her inner circle -- her band and longtime creative partner Matt Hales -- and a few relative newcomers of her choosing, such as co-producer Beni Giles. Although it was written over the course of a few years, the set covers the trajectory of one relationship and was recorded in concentrated fashion, and it consequently plays out like a complete statement made by a self-contained crew. What's more, La Havas' lithe voice forms a tighter bond with the lyrics, and her gently ringing guitar rarely leaves her hands. The sequencing is nonlinear. It starts around the end, with La Havas waving goodbye and singing of rebirth, and abruptly flashes back to the peak with the rapturous and finely woven "Green Papaya." Down the line, there are moments of persuasion, trepidation, and hard-fought self-realization, from a prime Hi Records-style ballad ("Paper Thin"), to a nuanced hip-hop soul collaboration with Nick Hakim ("Please Don't Make Me Cry"), to a wholly illuminated finale ("Sour Flower"). La Havas makes it all flow and mesh by revisiting each moment like it's the present, using apt metaphors related to plant life and seasonal cycles, and most importantly, by not overselling a single emotion. She and her support don't really work up a sweat. When they almost break one, as on the intimate rustic disco of "Read My Mind" and the vibrating soul-MPB fusion of "Seven Times," they do so with a fluency that recalls Maxwell's BLACKsummers'night and blackSUMMERS'night, like they rehearsed to perfection and cut mostly live. Another highlight of relative intensity is an update of Radiohead's "Weird Fishes." While it might seem contradictory of La Havas to record a cover and place it in the middle of an album self-titled to stress total control, the song has long been in her set list. She seizes it with a more dynamic arrangement and a robust rhythmic overhaul that evokes OK Computer more than In Rainbows. The increasing sense of relief and joy in her voice as she repeats "Hit the bottom and escape" sounds as personal as anything she wrote.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Praised for his meticulous fidelity to the composer's intentions, as well as for his rich tonal palette and the warmth of his expressions, Jean-Efflam Bavouzet has won many admirers for his five albums of the complete solo piano music of Claude Debussy. These recordings were produced by Chandos between 2007 and 2009, and they have now been gathered into a handsome box set; each disc is presented with its own cardboard sleeve and the original liner notes that accompanied each release. The roster of artists who have recorded Debussy's keyboard music is a long and distinguished one, though Bavouzet is easily ranked in the upper echelons, equal in stature among such luminaries as Jean-Yves Thibaudet, Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli, Krystian Zimerman, Maurizio Pollini, Angela Hewitt, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, and Pascal Rogé. Experienced listeners will already have favorite recordings of the Préludes, Images, Estampes, and Études, as well as the perennially popular Suite bergamasque, Children's Corner, and other picturesque pieces. However, many will be won over by the consistency of Bavouzet's playing, and newcomers will find that his disciplined yet gorgeous readings are a great way to begin appreciating these charming classics. Chandos provides excellent sound that gives the piano a clear presence yet takes nothing away from Bavouzet's atmospheric colors or the radiant acoustics. Highly recommended.© TiVo

The title "Unlocked" for this album by the historical performance group La Serenissima and director/violinist Adrian Chandler refers to the making of the album as the musicians emerged from pandemic-time lockdowns. However, it also might indicate the status of composer Giuseppe Antonio Brescianello, whose music has been little explored even though he was among the first composers to write symphonies (here, "sinphonie") in Germany. Brescianello was certainly a transitional figure. It is likely that he encountered the music of Vivaldi in Venice before moving to Germany to work as a valet for the Electress of Bavaria (who paved his way to lucrative court positions). The works here, mostly taken from the composer's Op. 1 publication of Concerti & Sinphonie, resemble Vivaldi's in general sound, but the consistent harmonic rhythm of the Baroque is starting to break up, and in the violin concertos, especially there is a new kind of expressiveness. Chandler is quite effective in these, catching the small details that an audience of the time would have found new. In the final Ouverture for strings and continuo in A major, Brescianello seems a bit constrained by the French Baroque dance forms, but this sets off the innovations that were present in the concertos and symphonies. The second of a pair of albums devoted to Brescianello by La Serenissima, this may be of most interest to those fascinated by the pre-Classical era, but it is listenable in a Vivaldian vein for anyone.© James Manheim /TiVo

Since the 2015-2016 season, Giovanni Antonini has been the "principal guest conductor" of the Basel Chamber Orchestra (Kammerorchester Basel, recreated in 1984 in the spirit of the first Basler Kammerorchester which was founded by the patron and Swiss conductor Paul Sacher). He is working with them on important discographic projects, such as the complete Beethoven symphonies (Sony Classical) which are proving to be a great success with the press; and the "Haydn 2032" project, which is set to comprise the complete hundred and seven symphonies by Joseph Haydn, to mark the latter’s 300th birthday. The first fruit of this vast complete collection, that is, this album, was created by Antonini's historic Italian ensemble and described as a work of "passion" (but how could it be otherwise with a personality as joyful and innovative as Haydn?). The record gets off to a flying start with the Symphony n° 39 in G minor, subtitled "Tempesta di mare" on a 1779 manuscript and which, curiously, no publisher has yet taken up. Although it does not break out of its formal framework, it is a work stirred by tempestuous winds which are scarcely calmed by an Andante that seems to arise out of nowhere. The Finale is all filled with Vivaldian cascades, painting a portrait of natural cataclysm, or of the agitation of a soul struggling with the first jolts of Romanticism. A childhood memory of Giovanni Antonini who had discovered Haydn through his Symphony No. 1, this final piece at the end of this first album was broadly influenced by the style of the Mannheim school which was then flourishing in Europe. The harmonic proximity of the Symphony n° 49 in F Minor "The Passion" to the ballet-pantomime Don Juan or the Feast of Stone which Gluck had composed a few years earlier led Giovanni Antonini to include Gluck in this first volume, a dream opportunity for the conductor to show how Haydn changed the fate of the symphony by introducing a dramatic touch tinged with irony. Antonini sees in the two composers the same turn of mind and a shared use of techniques, who nevertheless bring together very different aspects of life in their music. © François Hudry/Qobuz

It's a neat trick that Air began their albums with a trip to the moon via Moon Safari and returned to it with Le Voyage Dans La Lune, the expanded version of the duo's score to Georges Méliès' 1912 sci-fi classic. It's a perfect project for Air; Jean-Benoit Dunckel and Nicolas Godin's sound has always had a spacey quality, and film music has been a vital component of their work. Le Voyage Dans La Lune presents an interesting challenge for Air in that most of their other scores and soundtracks have been for films with more modern settings (even the '70s kitsch they subverted and romanticized in their Virgin Suicides soundtrack). While Dunckel and Godin don't attempt to make this music sound like it was recorded on wax cylinder, many of the cues have a stateliness that suggest a much earlier time. Similarly, Air nod to the traditions of sci-fi scores while making them their own: "Who Am I Now?" borrows the discordant strings often used to convey space madness, and the imposing timpani that runs through the entire album evokes Strauss' "Thus Sprach Zarathustra," which was further immortalized by 2001: A Space Odyssey. And while Le Voyage Dans La Lune is a silent film, allowing the duo to be a bit showier than they could be on a score for a talkie, Air's choices feel more thoughtful and organic to the movie than, say, Giorgio Moroder's '80s score for another silent science fiction classic, Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Godin and Dunckel make sure their voyage to the moon evokes both meanings of the word "trip": there's a wonderful sense of movement throughout the score, of rockets thrusting and of the explorers bouncing, tumbling, and stumbling on the moon; meanwhile, the fizzy, percolating "Cosmic Trip," which mentions "enormous mushrooms," implies the more psychedelic undertones of this Art Nouveau fantasy. As expected of Air, there's elegance to the whimsy, particularly on the lovely "Moon Fever" and "Seven Stars," where Beach House's Victoria Legrand's voice sounds as deep and serene as an endless night sky. However, Le Voyage Dans La Lune also has a surprisingly aggressive side, with bombastic prog rock outbursts like "Parade" and "Sonic Armada," which mixes a martial beat with a groovy, insistent keyboard line and a bassline as bouncy as marching on the moon to become one of Air's most memorable instrumentals in some time. These tracks hark back to the duo's own 10,000 Hz Legend and reflect not only the conquering bent of the lunar explorers, but how this turn-of-the-century trippiness ultimately inspired many of the progressive rock bands of the '60s and '70s. That Air can pack so much history into this music without its feeling contrived is impressive, but it's just another facet of the care that went into the entire Le Voyage Dans La Lune project. This is a treat not just for Air fans, but aficionados of film music and science fiction, too.© Heather Phares /TiVo

It is hard to figure out what pianist Emmanuel Despax had in mind for the concept of this album. Its various titles offer three ideas: Après un rêve comes from the title of a Fauré song Despax transcribes for his program opener, plus there is "Belle Époque: Nights at the Piano." None of these is of much use; few pieces other than the Fauré are particularly dreamy, and the largest piece, Poulenc's Soirées de Nazelles, is from the nervous 1930s and nowhere near the Belle Époque in time or mood. As for "Nights at the Piano," that fits the Poulenc nicely but not the concluding Gaspard de la Nuit of Ravel, which is an imposing virtuoso concert work carrying none of the connotations of "Nights at the Piano." Really, Despax excels in none of these three ways but rather in a fourth: he hits on an intriguing mix of familiar standards and unusual works. Among the latter group are the Soirées de Nazelles, which Poulenc disclaimed and, perhaps for that reason, have been seldom heard. They are delightful pieces that bear titles describing qualities, like the numbers of a Baroque French suite, but actually seem to have been devised by Poulenc to describe members of a group of his friends, like Elgar's Enigma Variations. The result is a work that distills the hint of improvisation that pervades some of Poulenc's keyboard music and songs, and Despax gives it the right lively, spontaneous feel. The Nocturne, Op. 165, of Cécile Chaminade and the keyboard version of Henri Duparc's Aux étoiles are also nice finds. As for the more heavily trodden works, Debussy's Clair de lune is pleasantly moody, although no one would select this album for the rote Gaspard de la Nuit or the rather un-macabre Danse Macabre, Op. 40, of Saint-Saëns. For Poulenc lovers, however, this is an important find. © James Manheim /TiVo

The 100th anniversary of Gabriel Fauré's death in 1924 has brought various worthwhile releases, some of them delving into lesser-known repertory that is most welcome. Fauré mastered the art of handling the solo cello arguably better than any other composer, writing its lines into dense counterpoint that blooms unexpectedly into melody, and two top chamber musicians do his complete cello works justice here. The program is compelling, with the two cello sonatas, thorny and dense, framing shorter works that are limpid but not simple. The Elegy in C minor, Op. 24, is heard often enough, but some of the others, like the Sicilienne, Op. 78, or the flitting Papillon, Op. 77, are delightful finds. The performers are equal to the considerable technical demands of the cello sonatas, even the incredibly gnarly first movement of the Cello Sonata No. 2 in G minor, Op. 117, and they draw nice contrasts with the just slightly more relaxed slow movements. The sound from the Salle de L'esplanade at the Metz Arsenal is another draw on an unusually satisfying chamber music release.© James Manheim /TiVo