The opening Toccata, for example, is based on the opera's Overture, which is barely alluded to; what sticks in the mind is a lively Hassidic wedding tune. The March movement, based on "Non piu andrai", hints at Prokofiev, and the final Tarantella reminds this listener of ragtime and the musical accompaniments to a Charlie Chaplin short as much as it does to "Se vuol bailare". But such eclecticism is what helps to make the piece so laden with surprises and listening excitement.

Schoenfield exploits the harmonic and timbral possibilities of the instrumental combinations such as the unison clarinet/cello in the opening Toccata, and varies the instrumental spotlight to focus on the clarinet cadenza in the Intermezzo, followed by brief solos by the cello and piano. So if Mozart's hard to discern here, Schoenfield's individual voice is welcome compensation.

Peccadilloes refers to Rossini's title for his late piano pieces, Sins of My Old Age, and the melodies of each of its six movements are inspired by, as Schoenfield writes in the disc's notes, "what is generally considered bad taste or inferior culture." He advises listening with "the same sort of guilt and pleasure that accompany one while eating a large chocolate sundae." But Peccadilleos is a lot more than that--it's a virtuoso piano work that pays homage to great composers and musicians such as Ravel, Gershwin, and the Harlem stride pianists of the 1920s. James Tucco shines here, playing with technicolor sheen in the Gershwinesque Allemande, whose melody parodies the music of old Hollywood romantic comedies, while conveying the excitement of the galloping rhythms and high spirits of the final movement, Boogie.

If you had the chance to hear Tamberg's 1976 opera Cyrano de Bergerac (and if you didn't, get it--it's on CPO), then you already know that he has a wonderful feeling for the theater, and for writing dramatic music. The ballet Joanna Tentata is based on the same source that gave us Penderecki's opera The Devils of Loudon. Now let's face it, stories about demonic possession in a convent have lots of juicy potential, as well as a long history on the stage, going back through Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel to Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable. Tamberg's ballet suite instantly establishes the story's haunted setting (church bells leading to a big, dissonant instrumental pileup), but the music at the same time celebrates and positively reeks of the dance. And once again we can only applaud Tamberg's willingness (and ability) to write a good tune.

Missing from the Hyperion disc but included among the 11 selections here is the rarely recorded "little tree", a sparkling, brightly sonorous setting with piano of e.e. cummings' sweetly childlike Christmas poem that contains a couple of musical quotes from what could be the song Gesu Bambino (or perhaps the Sussex carol?) and ends with spectacular multiple bursts of dazzling Whitacre-esque harmony. Also found here but not on the Hyperion recording (which incidentally features more selections altogether--14) are Little Birds, a setting of a poem by Octavio Paz--also with piano and containing some striking, non-sung vocal sounds!, and the wild and fascinating (also rarely recorded) Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine, an imaginative scenario with text by C.A. Silvestri.

The rest of the disc is filled with first-rate performances of Whitacre's most popular works, from A Boy and a Girl and Water Night to Lux aurumque and Sleep. Although not mentioned in the notes, the music for this last piece originally was written to the famous Robert Frost poem, Stopping by woods on a snowy evening, but had to be radically revised when the Frost Estate inexplicably refused to grant permission for a musical setting (in spite of numerous existing ones!). Whitacre and his poetic collaborator ingeniously solved the problem (although the Frost poem still fits neatly into the musical framework) and in the process created one of the composer's best-loved and most evocative works.

And speaking of liner notes, they focus almost exclusively on trying to explain Whitacre's compositional style, discussing in a somewhat technical fashion intervals and harmonic relationships, polychords, subdominants, mediant triads, etc. While some listeners will certainly appreciate this analytical detail, I believe most would have preferred to simply have the texts (which are not included!) and some information on the origin of the pieces and the relationships between the music and the poetry. Not having the texts at hand for a program of vocal or choral music is a significant drawback and detracts from full enjoyment of the listening experience.

Stylistically, Graffiti is one of Lindberg's most tonally oriented pieces, not just because he uses modal harmony to give the music a certain primal, even barbaric splendor, but also (I like to hope) because he has realized that more than 30 minutes of continuous music benefits from having strong tonal underpinnings. And even the most virtuosic singers (the Helsinki Chamber Choir is certainly that) benefit from having traditional melodies and harmonies to assist in projecting the text. In short, Graffiti is as intelligent as it is beautiful, appealing, and exciting, and its less obviously modernist style certainly does not represent a retrenchment on Lindberg's part, but rather an adaptation of his personal idiom to the music's expressive demands.

Vasily Petrenko digs deep into the Symphonic Dances right from the initial outburst. He seems to have figured out the first movement's puzzling "non allegro" marking particularly well, finding a bracing tempo that doesn't compromise rhythmic accent. The second-movement waltz features an amazing range of tempo within a phrase, but Petrenko never sounds mannered or loses the pulse. The finale blazes, particularly in the closing pages, while the moody central interlude never sags. Through it all the orchestra plays magnificently: velvet strings, clean and clear winds, powerful brass, and crisp percussion.

While Ehnes may not readily embrace the "superstar" emblem, he is as deserving of that status as anyone, and not because his publicist and record company have declared it. He is simply a phenomenal violinist and extraordinary musician who, from the first bars of Caprice No. 1 commands your attention and never lets it wander through the next 75 or so minutes.

Unlike some violinists whose aim is simply to call attention to their dazzling technique and charismatic musicianship (which Ehnes has in spades!), as you listen to Ehnes, there's never a hint of exploitation--he's all business, all about the fire and passion in Paganini's outrageously extroverted signatures. And his technique is so smooth, so natural, you are not distracted by noticing such mundane, human impairments as physical effort, nor do you fail to appreciate his gifts for tonal allure and sheer dramatic flair--Paganini's technical obstacles are, well, just not obstacles at all. And that's just how it should be in these works, a tribute to the composer's uninhibited style and unfettered understanding of what the violin--and a skilled violinist--can do.