Though the reissue campaign that presented PJ Harvey's albums with their demos was extensive, it still didn't gather everything in her archives. She fills in those gaps with B-Sides, Demos & Rarities, a comprehensive set of harder-to-find and previously unreleased material that covers three decades of music. Kicking off with a handful of previously unreleased demos, the collection celebrates what makes each track special within Harvey's chronology. Short but fully realized versions of "Dry" and "Man-Size" reaffirm that by the time she hits the record button, she knows exactly what she's doing; the guitar and voice sketches of "Missed" and "Highway 61 Revisited" are as formidable as the finished takes; and the demo of the B-side "Me Jane" (yes, that's how thorough this set is) offers one of the Rid of Me era's catchiest songs in an even rawer state. B-Sides, Demos & Rarities reinforces just how vital Harvey's non-album tracks are to her creative trajectory. The uncanny carnival oompah of "Daddy," a "Man-Size" B-side, feels like one of the earliest forays into the eeriness that gave an extra thrill to To Bring You My Love, White Chalk, and much of Harvey's later work. She continues Is This Desire?'s experimentation on "The Bay," which contrasts songwriting befitting a classic folk ballad with pulsing keyboards and jazzy rhythms, and continues to try to make sense of the world's chaos on Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea-era material spanning the whispery Saturn return of "30" to "This Wicked Tongue," an updated expression of biblical sin, desire, and torment that delivers one of the set's most quintessentially PJ Harvey moments. Fittingly for such an anachronistic-sounding album, White Chalk's B-sides reach back to Harvey's earliest days: "Wait" and "Heaven" date back to 1989 and deliver sprightly, strummy folk-pop that's almost unrecognizable as her work. The set's previously unreleased music contains just as many revelations. One of its most notable previously missing puzzle pieces is the demo of Uh Huh Her's title track. A shockingly pure expression of rage, jealousy, and sorrow, it may have been too raw and revealing even for a PJ Harvey album, but it's a shame that it and the like-minded "Evol" didn't make the cut. Conversely, "Why'd You Go to Cleveland," a 1996 collaboration between Harvey and John Parish, and the 2012 demo "Homo Sappy Blues" are downright playful, proving the complete picture of her music includes something akin to fun. Highlights from the collection's 2010s material include "An Acre of Land," a lush ballad rooted in the British folk traditions that are just as essential to her music as punk or the blues, and the 2019 cover of Nick Cave's "Red Right Hand," which pays homage to a kindred spirit while transforming the song into something more desolate and plaintive. A must-listen for anyone following Harvey's archival series, B-Sides, Demos & Rarities serves as a fascinating parallel primer to her music and the multitudes within it.© Heather Phares /TiVo

Few will dispute George Friderick Handel being one of the most accomplished composers of the Classical era, but it should also be noted he possessed to an equal degree, a perhaps less-than-esteemed-but-vital gift in those pre-copyright days, the art of self-promotion. Even in the early stages of his career Handel was well-aware of his prodigious talent and sought to promote it to the utmost. It was that ambition which led the young composer in 1706 to Florence, at the behest of one of the Medicis, to assist in establishing the opera in that city. Handel later decamped for Rome where, his reputation preceding him, he quickly made the acquaintance of leading patrons of the arts among the nobility and upper echelons of the Catholic Church, leading to many commissions.One of those commissions came from Cardinal Carlo Colonna for the major work on this recording, a setting of the Psalm, 109 in the Vulgate, 110 in the King James, Dixit Dominus (The Lord said unto my Lord). Regardless of the composer’s young age of 22, it is the work of a mature master. Even more remarkable, Handel, though from a strict and observant Lutheran upbringing, was able to work with his Catholic patrons, setting a Latin text suitable for use in Catholic worship.There are many recordings of Handel’s Dixit Dominus and this is certainly one of the finest, with brilliant performances by soloists, orchestra, and chorus. Conductor Bart Van Reyn’s tempos are on the sprightly side, but never seem excessive or rushed. There is a wonderful freshness and sparkle to this reading, both in performance and the superb high-resolution sound. Particular praise must be made of the three soloists, whose virtuosity and sensitivity to the text are exemplary.A welcome bonus is a much lesser-known masterpiece by a much lesser-known composer, Giovanni Battista Ferrandini: his Marian cantata (mistakenly attributed until recently to Handel), Il pianto di Maria. In the excellent program notes, Aurélie Walschaert writes this lament differs from earlier ones modeled after the medieval text Stabat Mater, where a narrator describes the sorrows of Mary. Most of the text in this composition is in the first-person, with Mary herself describing the sorrows she is witnessing, thus deepening even further the emotion. A prize should go to mezzo-soprano Sophie Rennert, whose astonishingly empathetic delivery of the text will move any listener, whatever their religion. This is a must for every classical library.  © Anthony Fountain/Qobuz

Brought up in the French-Flamish tradition but fed with the milk of Renaissance Italian madrigalism since he was about eighteen years old, Jacques Arcadelt (1507-1568) left behind him many gems whose importance has been realized only recently. Let’s acclaim this magnificent album gathering the Chœur de Chambre de Namur, the ensemble Doulce Mémoire and the Cappella Mediterranea, to give us not the complete marigals, songs and motets by Arcadelt, of course, but a large selection of his most stupefying pieces. These are thus madrigals from his First and Fourth Books released during his Italian years around 1540, songs from the various Livres de Chansons (Books of Songs) released between 1550 and 1565 when he was living in Paris, and motets from various eras in his career—mostly Italian, a bit French too since he moved from court to court depending on the jobs, the political assassinations, the change in alliances and, generally, the implausible chaos between the various power players at the time. As a nod, we also hear an Ave Maria “according to Arcadelt”, in truth an imitation by Louis Dietsch, a composer from the 19th Century, and the comical Ave Maria d’Arcadelt … by Liszt, inspired by the Dietsch imitation, for solo organ, an exercise in returning to your ancient roots like people loved to imagine them during the Romantic era. We could even wonder if Saint-Saëns didn’t use the head of the main theme to recycle it into his ”Organ” Symphony, incidentally. © SM/Qobuz

Beware the pen of a critic. When in 1720 an arrangement of Domenico Scarlatti’s 1714 opera Amor d’un’Ombra e Gelosia d’un’aura arrived at the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, Charles Burney’s pen was gently damning. “Though there were many new pleasing passages and effects”, proclaimed London’s esteemed writer on all things musical, “those acquainted with the original and happy freaks of this composer in his harpsichord music, would be surprised at the sobriety and almost dullness of the songs”; and over the ensuing centuries, critical opinion has largely persisted with the line that Scarlatti’s best work is to be found not among his vocal or instrumental works, but instead among the 555 harpsichord sonatas he wrote for the Portuguese Queen of Spain, María Bárbara. Now though, here is a multi-genre Scarlatti programme from Bertrand Cuiller and his period instrument ensemble Le Caravansérail, its aim to enable the listener to reach his or her own conclusion as to Scarlatti’s wider worth. Although with repertoire and performances as fine as these, it’s perfectly clear which side Cuiller wants us to come down upon. Not least he opens with a piece of shameless wooing: the famous Sonata in G major, K. 144, but heard not on harpsichord but instead from harpist from Bérengère Sardin in a performance of melting warm fragility and hope-filled nobility. Then with that still ringing in your ears comes one of the few surviving examples of Scarlatti’s sacred music, the Stabat Mater in C minor with its rich, ten-voice texture supported by basso continuo accompaniment alone; and instantly your ears are locking on to that continuo section’s harp-reminiscent archlute, and thus becoming extra-alive to the accompaniment’s poeticism, even as the clear-toned voices unfurl over it and entwine around each other, themselves bringing definition and lucidity to even the score’s most lavishly contrapuntal vocal writing. Onwards and there’s a D minor instrumental feast: violinist Leila Schayegh’s sombre, expressive reading of the Sonata, K. 90, one of a few harpsichord sonatas that appears to present the option of choosing a solo instrument on the melodic line; then, following a nimbly urgent ensemble reading of Charles Avison’s “concerto grosso” transcription of another harpsichord sonata, Cuiller himself bringing gossamer-weight lyricism to Harpsichord Sonata, K. 213. As for the secular vocal works, the numbers from Amor d’un’Ombra e Gelosia d’un’aura more than hold their own here, thanks to soprano Emmanuelle de Negri and countertenor Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian’s committed performances, while an album highlight is the lilting melancholic expression brought by de Negri to ”Pur nel sonno almen tal’ora vien colei” from the Cantata “Pur nel sonno almen” – composed to a Metastasio poem that appears to have been given to Scarlatti by star countertenor Farinelli, and thus inevitably sounding like a composer inspired to give his best. In short, in the case of Cuiller versus Burney, it’s a win for Cuiller. Also, indeed, for Scarlatti. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz

Christian-Pierre La Marca’s Legacy offers a stunning exploration of the connections between Italian and Viennese classicism through some of the best cello pieces composed by Porpora, Haydn and Mozart. During the 18th century, the instrument began to emerge from the orchestra, moving away from its status as an accompaniment instrument to become a solo one in its own right. Surrounded by the wonderful musicians of the Concert de la Loge directed by Julien Chauvin, La Marca is in his element here. The baroque pitch and period instruments are fertile ground for him, and he’s free to lose himself in his full-bodied and tuneful playing.The musician’s affinity for the voice is no secret, and he’s particularly interested in transcribing vocal expression onto his instrument. The cellist maintains impeccable accuracy, notably in the transcription of ‘Danse des ombres heureuses’ by Gluck, a piece that has guided him since childhood. He forms the perfect duo with tenor Philippe Jaroussky in ‘Giusto Amor, tu che m’accendi’, taken from Porpora’s Gli orti Esperidi. The entire album maps out the heartfelt ties that bind La Marca to other performers: Jaroussky, Le Concert de la Loge, and even his brother, violist Adrien La Marca, who features on this interpretation of Mozart’s Sinfonia concertante. The recording is wrapped in an indescribable warmth, and it’s evident that the performers have thoroughly enjoyed working together. When stylistic artistry meets sheer joy, you know you’re in for a treat. © Pierre Lamy/Qobuz

The first Genesis Archive made sense. It covered the Peter Gabriel years, an era that was not only supremely creative for the band, but filled with rarities, forgotten tracks, outtakes, B-sides, BBC sessions, and live performances begging for a collection. It was a box set for fans and it filled its purpose splendidly. Its sequel, Genesis Archive 2: 1976-1992, attempts to fill the role for the Genesis Mach II, otherwise known as the Phil Collins years, but the problem is, the Collins era was completely different from Gabriel's. It wasn't just that the band became progressively more pop oriented during these 16 years -- besides, they never totally abandoned their prog roots -- but the late '70s and '80s simply were not conducive to the kind of rarities that made the first Archive valuable. They didn't need to do BBC sessions, they didn't do non-LP rarities live, and their B-sides were often devoted to extended mixes for the dance club or live cuts. If there were outtakes, they were often left in the can because they simply didn't meet quality-control standards. All of this is borne out by the three-disc Archive 2. Although there are some nice moments scattered throughout the record, it all winds up feeling rather unnecessary. None of the remixes are particularly interesting and the live tracks, while listenable, are never revelatory -- and those wind up forming the bulk of the set. There's some value in the outtakes, but most of them are historical curiosities; only a handful, such as the Abacab leftover "You Might Recall" and an early version of "Paperlate," are truly worthwhile. For anyone other than hardcore fans, this can easily be overlooked.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Despite being a live recording -- or, more accurately, one assembled from several concerts -- this 2005 CD of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana is almost as polished and well-produced as a studio recording. Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic are incredibly tight and coordinated with the choirs and vocal soloists, and everything holds together quite well, without embarrassing mishaps, sloppy playing, or extraneous audience noises; obviously, using the best takes from several tapes prevents this. Even better, the performance really goes at a sprint; if anyone has ever felt that Carmina needed a good, swift kick to retain interest, then this galloping rendition ought to satisfy, at least in terms of tempi. However, the sound covers a wide dynamic range and it is often terribly soft and remote in the most subdued movements; yet the rousers have more than enough power to be heard, so a lot of experimentation with levels is required. The percussion is featured prominently in the big numbers -- Rattle takes great pains to emphasize Orff's spectacular writing for the section -- so the volume setting also depends on how well one appreciates (or tolerates) loud cymbal crashes and pugnacious drumming. So this fine recording is worth a hearing, though it is somewhat labor intensive for home listening.© TiVo

Dean Martin's final sessions for Capitol Records before his switch to Frank Sinatra's Reprise label produced this curious LP, which sought to take advantage of the long-subsided craze for cha-cha music. It was Martin's second album under the baton of Nelson Riddle, who must also have been itching to join Reprise (as he did by 1963). In any case, both artists turned in competent but uninspired performances. Martin could sing as easily over charts filled with peppy horns and Latin percussion as he could over anything else, but the music did not especially move him, and the result was an odd coda to the Capitol years.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo