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A conductor, arranger and musicologist, John Wilson is also a leading specialist in musical theatre, which he successfully directs in the UK. In 2018, he re-formed the Sinfonia of London, a studio orchestra that was in its prime back in the 1950s and recorded music for famous films such as Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo with a score by Bernard Herrmann. Today, as ever, the Sinfonia of London is comprised of the best instrumentalists in the British capital.Exceptionally meticulous, John Wilson always stays close to the source of the works he directs, as can be seen in the ballet Ma Mère l’Oye and the greatly received Boléro by Maurice Ravel (which sounds superb with the incessantly slow tempo that gives it an almost menacing grandeur). His take on these two works form part of a contemporary edition, and the final result is subtle and full of finesse.Wilson’s meticulousness is particularly suited to Ravel’s music, conducted here with plenty of flourish and grace whilst still maintaining that je-ne-sais-quoi that the French composer is known for. The incredibly talented musicians that form the Sinfonia of London allow the conductor to explore even the most minute of nuances. The sensuality of the music can sometimes be a little strange, perhaps even convoluted at times, but it all feels so typical of Ravel. A special mention also goes to the sound technicians at the Chandos label who do an incredible job of reproducing every tiny detail. This collection demonstrates just how nuanced music can be. © François Hudry/Qobuz

Recording Ravel's music on period instruments is the kind of thing that might raise a smile... until you realise just how much the production of instruments has changed in less than a hundred years: it's the return of catgut strings, skin drum heads, the French basson (and not the German system bassoon which is used across all the world's orchestras today), shaper tips, trumpets and trombones of French manufacture. At the head of his orchestra Les Siècles, François-Xavier Roth gives a new, orthodox, historically-informed version of Ma Mère l’oye (complete ballet), the Tombeau de Couperin and Shéhérazade, the long-neglected "ouverture de féérie" [Fairy Overture] which is pure Ravel. This return to the roots is clearly easier and more straightforwardly authentic for this period of music history, because, unlike earlier works, we possess recordings which date back to the 1920s, and even earlier, which can tell us about the style, the colours, the phrasing and the tempo. But it isn't enough just to have all this historical information to hand to make something interesting. What makes this record thrilling is that all the musicians in the Siècles are excellent, and François-Xavier Roth is a talented artist himself, who knows this music inside out. At which point, his complete recording of Stravinsky's Firebird has already struck us with its quality. This rediscovery of Ravel resounds with clarity and finesse; it is a feast of well-defined timbres which cuts against the "beautiful sound" which prevails in orchestras around the world today. © François Hudry/Qobuz

The four Nations by François Couperin (also known as "Couperin the Great") consist of France, Spain, the Empire and Piedmont (Italy, therefore), though it would be rather futile to look for any truly national characteristics in each of the movements of these four suites. And all the more so due to the fact that many of the pieces had already been composed well before the collection’s publication in 1726, and they were simply renamed... Yes, throughout the thirty-six movements of the work we do hear the French style on the one hand and the more Italianising style on the other, but the many interpolations make it, in fact, a kind of mixed European collection. At most, Spain is entitled to a few rare and truly Iberian turns of phrase, even though they are only visible under a microscope. Christophe Rousset and his musical ensemble Les Talens Lyriques approach these "trios" with joy and respect, knowing that the term "trio" does not necessarily imply three musicians; in fact, the melodic parts are entrusted to two oboes, two flutes and two violins, both together and alternately, while the continuo is played by the bassoon, harpsichord, gamba and theorbo, again either together or in various combinations depending on the musical texture. In this way, the thirty-six movements demonstrate the immense musical richness of these various nations, with all the diversity and contrasts that Couperin has assigned to them. © SM/Qobuz

L'amour de loin (2000) is Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho's first opera, but the mastery of its memorably dramatic music demonstrates incontrovertibly that she is a born opera composer. The opera has had numerous international productions and in 2003 it received the Grawemeyer Award, the most prestigious international award for composition. Saariaho was inspired to write an opera after seeing the 1992 Salzburg Festival production of Messiaen's Saint François d'Assise, so it is not surprising that her first effort would be more concerned with introspection than with conventionally operatic drama. The French libretto, by Armin Maalouf, deals with twelfth century troubadour Jaufre Rudel, and the legend of his love for the Countess of Tripoli. Separated by thousands of miles, the two had an erotically charged but unconsummated relationship, which in the opera is sustained by messages carried between them by a Pilgrim. The poet finally makes the voyage to meet his love, only to die in her arms. For a work on such an intimate subject with such an understated dramatic profile, L'amour de loin feels like a very big opera. Saariaho is dealing with large emotions, and what it lacks in outward theatricality is more than made up for in the vividness and depth with which it probes the psychology of its characters. The orchestra and chorus are vehicles for making audible the lovers' states of mind, which are frequently roiling with conflict and anxiety, and the music is consequently turbulent, powerful, and often very loud. (It's closer in tone to Tristan and Isolde than to Pelléas et Mélisande, two tragedies of thwarted love that it resembles in some ways.) Saariaho's counterintuitive take on Maalouf's intensely inward libretto works brilliantly. The ravishing orchestral palette, deft blend of Medieval and contemporary musical traditions, and gorgeous choral and vocal writing make this is a work that seems destined to endure. Saariaho's text setting is exceptionally graceful and limber, and it's performed beautifully by the superlative singers on this recording. Mezzo-soprano Marie-Anne Todorovitch's shapely vocal interpretation invests the Pilgrim with so much nuanced individuality that the listener cannot help being drawn to the character. Her supple, infinitely colorful voice is responsive to the most subtle dramatic cues in the text and music; this is the kind of fully realized performance that opera composers dream of. The same can be said for soprano Ekaterina Lekhina and baritone Daniel Belcher as the lovers; the startling purity and focus of their voices, and the intensity and subtlety with which they inhabit their roles, make them absolutely compelling, both musically and dramatically. Kent Nagano leads Rundfunkchor Berlin and Deutsches Symphonie-Orchestra Berlin in a luminous reading of the richly variegated score. Harmonia Mundi's sound is pure, full, and warmly atmospheric. This outstanding performance of L'amour de loin should be of strong interest not only to fans of contemporary opera, but of new music in general, and to lovers of bel canto singing. Highly recommended. © TiVo

Couperin’s four Concerts royaux were published in 1722 as in a supplement to his third anthology of harpsichord pieces. They sound like a twilight tribute to Sun King’s reign. The score doesn’t mention any instrument but we know the musician envisaged them as ensemble pieces for a mixed consort of instruments. And that was how they were performed at the Sunday concerts at Versailles organized by Mme de Maintenon for Louis XIV between 1714 and 1715. Chamber music concerts were in fashion at the time so the four Suites were to be played by a bass instrument and several dessus, and not only by the solo harpsichord. Christophe Rousset and his soloists recorded with sense and sensibility this concentrate of French elegance and virtuosity! With Violinist Stéphanie-Marie Degand, Flutist Georges Barthel, Oboist Patrick Beaugiraud and Violist Atsushi Sakaï, the 18th-century-music lover and baroque conductor features a majestic version of these well-named royal Concerts! © Aparté Music

No-one could really say that Meyerbeer's Le Prophète boasts an ample discography: two recordings with Marilyn Horne, one in 1970 alongside Gedda, the other in 1976 with a different distributor — both directed by Harry Lewis, and both available on Qobuz of course — but apart from that, and a few isolated airs that can be dug up here or there, it is a total desert. What a tragedy! So let's raise a hearty cheer for this new recording from Giuliano Carella, who leads the Essen Philharmonic. And regardless of the oblivion that the score fell into in the late 19th century, it was an unlikely international hit in the decades after its first outing in 1849, gracing all the biggest stages of Europe (600 performances in Paris, 300 in Berlin, 180 in Vienna, 150 in London, etc.), North America, South America, Oceania, Russia... It was performed at state occasions; a thousand composers took the themes as the basis for their own fantasias, variations, paraphrases and whatever took their fancy. And then Wagner and Verdi flooded the market: and even if both bore a heavy debt to Meyerbeer, the work was eclipsed and never really resurfaced. And yet: what orchestral richness, what dramatic and lyrical imagination! For the coronation scene, the composer brought eighteen saxhorns onto the stage; endless timbales, percussion in every corner, and scene after scene, Meyerbeer invents shed loads of truly Berliozian orchestral effects: a deluge of special sound effects worthy of a Hollywood studio. Note also that the recording was made at a public concert. © SM/Qobuz

Recorded in the pretty old town of Haarlem in the Netherlands in May 1987, this album, dedicated to the Couperin dynasty (of Louis, François and Louis-Armand) is like a distillation of a whole life's worth of practice and reflections on the French music of the 17th century that Leonhardt so loved. In it, we find the great harpsichordist's sobriety, his way of deploying his immense erudition and his own Dutch heritage, which bring to the music an almost monastic inwardness. But for all his intimate knowledge of the music and the wisdom of his years, Gustav Leonhardt seems here to let himself go with joyful abandon, setting the keys alight with his liberty and refinement. The programme is like a meditation on solitude, from Louis Couperin's austere Suite in D Minor to Louis-Armand's gallant pieces, via the Preludes from L’Art de toucher le clavecin by the great François. The impressive calm of Dodo ou L’Amour au berceau, the graceful effervescence of L’Évaporée, the elegance of La Princesse de Chabeuil and the joyous final pirouette of L’Arlequine are all spirited flights that reaffirm the Dutch harpsichordist's pre-eminent position in the heart of the baroque musical movement. © François Hudry/Qobuz

"The harpsichord is perfect as to it compass, and brilliant in itself, but as it is impossible to swell out or diminish the volume of its sound, I shall always feel grateful to any who, by the exercise of infinite art supported by fine taste, contrive to render this instrument capable of expression", writes Couperin himself in the foreword to his 1713 Premier livre de pièces de clavecin. If we discount the ornamentations which litter the world, Couperin's music is not a "virtuoso" music, as Scarlatti's can be, for example. Sometimes taking on a descriptive style, or going in for imitation or portrait, it requires a singular sense of expression: that very "expression" that the composer talks about here. In Art de toucher le clavecin, Couperin offers us precious information on how to interpret and play his music in particular, and French music of the period in general; an artist who aims to respect Couperin's intentions will find indispensable lessons here. That being said, a fear of stepping outside the bounds set by the author, and a too-minute attention to every detail could rob the works of their vitality and fluency. "As there is a great distance from grammar to declamation, so there is an infinitely greater one between the tablature and good playing style." Or, in other words, freedom within limits! That is the attitude that Olivier Fortin brings to this fine range of works from the great Couperin, drawn from various of his Livres de clavecin and L’Art de toucher le clavecin. As for the instrument being played, it is a "real fake", made in 1984 by the manufacturer Martin Skowroneck based on a Hemsch (that is, 18th century French), but signed with the name of the Rouen artistan Nicholas Lefebvre, none of whose instruments survive to the present day, and which was built in 1755. Skowroneck's aim was to prove to Gustav Leonhardt that it was still possible to build a harpsichord that was perfectly identical to one of the old style, and it seems that Leonhardt was taken with his attempt. Even the material's ageing was completely artificial! But it is no less of a splendid instrument for all that, and moreover, splendidly recorded, which is not all that common in the harpsichord repertoire. © SM/Qobuz

Fifteen years after his Nouvelles Suites de Pièces de clavecin, Rameau once again turns his attention to an instrumental work, for what will be the last time, inspired by the new potential for chamber music glimpsed in the use of the concertante keyboard. The 1741 collection is the only new work he produced between 1740 and 1744, before returning to the musical theatre – to which he will dedicate the rest of his life. The most attractive aspect of the Pièces de clavecin en concerts, and the one which provides the most authentic reading of the work, is the multiplicity of possible combinations in performance between the instruments indicated in the score (harpsichord, violin/flute, viola da gamba/2nd violin), following the detailed instructions that Rameau provides for each of them in the various "Avis" in the preface of the printed edition. The author’s intention was undoubtedly for the harpsichord and its virtuosic protagonism to be the backbone of the Pièces; however, the possibilities of alternative timbric arrangements are specifically contemplated by Rameau for this work. What was a widespread ad libitum performance practice, today becomes an extremely inviting challenge for modern performers in terms of tonal reinvention of the pieces. Thus, with each new reading the music may be reinvented, making in turn every new listening experience a rediscovery and a revelation. © Challenge Classics