All of these factors are further enhanced by performances featuring a soloist who is a consummate "ornamentalist," playing two extraordinary instruments. Both built by Keith Hill, one is modeled after a two-manual harpsichord from the renowned mid-eighteenth century Parisian builder Francois Blanchet. The other is a real rarity because it's a recreation of a lute-harpsichord, none of which have survived to the present day. With gut rather than metal strings, Hill made it as per documentation dating from 1768 describing one built for Johann Sebastian Bach.

Published in 1689, D'Anglebert's Pièces de Clavecin included the suites presented here, plus nineteen transcriptions from Lully operas (see the newsletter of 11 July 2007) and other unnamed sources. The first and fourth suites are in major keys and played on the lute-harpsichord. Highlights from the first include an allemande, which is a superb example of the brisé, or broken arpeggiated style of keyboard writing inspired by lute music. Then there's a chaconne rondeau that's quite regal in bearing, and a plucky concluding menuet, which sparkles with iridescent ornamentation.

The fourth suite is the shortest with a joie de vivre that sets it apart from the rest. It includes a catchy gigue and a festive chaconne rondeau where campanella effects mimic the tolling of bells. The concluding Tombeau de Chambonnières is a moving tribute to the composer's teacher, the great French harpsichordist Jacques Champion de Chambonnières (1601-1672).

The middle suites are played on the Blanchet-inspired instrument, and what a wonderful sounding harpsichord it is. Just listen to the beautifully rounded tone of the prelude and percussively infectious courantes in the second suite. The final passacaille is a showpiece for many of those ornaments that are a D'Angelbert trademark. Incidentally, those interested in them will find further details in the highly informative album notes, or the 1689 publication mentioned above, which includes particulars about their notation and execution.

The third suite is the longest, lasting about three-quarters of an hour. Here the composer regales us with a twelve-minute Folies d'Espagne which is a mesmerizing, ingenious set of twenty-two variations on the familiar fifteenth century Portuguese dance tune La Folia.

A specialist in keyboard works of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Elizabeth Farr's performances leave what little competition there is in the dust. Besides sheer technical ability, she has that exceptional sense of rhythm and phrasing that is so vital to these keyboard works. In the hands of lesser artists, highly ornamented music like this can become stilted or even awkward sounding. But that's certainly not the case with Farr whose digital dexterity and unfailing sense of timing insure smooth traversals of all these suites.

Demonstration quality sound makes this delectable baroque offering all the more appealing. Spread over a relatively broad soundstage, both instruments come across with a clarity and lifelike detail that are exceptional. Audiophiles and harpsichord enthusiasts alike will be totally captivated by this album. And those liking the dulcet tones of the lute-harpsichord should investigate an earlier Naxos release (8570470-71) with Ms. Farr playing the lute music of J.S. Bach on it.

Although I’m not familiar with bavouzet’s earlier Etudes edition on Canyon Classics, his Chandos remake may well be the best I’ve heard. Mitsuko Uchida’s steely precision, Florent Boffard’s luscious tone, plus Ju-Ying Song’s poise and clarity all roll into one and beyond in Bavouzet’s respectful yet imaginative hands. As you follow the intelligently contoured left-hand counterlines of “Pour les tierces” you almost don’t notice the fluency and easy evenness of Bavouzet’s right hand, in “Pour les huit doigts” and “Pour les degrés chromatiques” he favours melodic inflection and linear motion over Aimard’s and Uchida’s smoother, scintillating surfaces. The difficult leaps of “Pour les accords” have rarely sounded less like technical feats and more like music, and “Pour les arpèges composés” rivals Horowitz’s 1965 reading for harmonic pointing and sexiness.

Bavouzet precedes this etude with a full-bodied, emotionally generous performace of its recently rediscovered earlier version, Etude retrouvée. I can guarantee readers that this attractively engineered release will reveal more and more details to savour with each rehearing. If you haven’t yet ordered it, what are you waiting for?

Bergliot is a melodrama--that is, music accompanied by dialogue--and for that reason it never will be one of Grieg's more popular pieces. Still, it's very enjoyable, full of colorful effects, and the text (about a Viking woman's desire to avenge the death of her husband and son) is very dramatic. It's certainly worth getting to know, and it really does make the perfect companion to the complete Peer Gynt score, which after all has its share of speech against music as well. At Naxos' very reasonable price, this set becomes self-recommending. Texts and translations are available on the Naxos website.

For those familiar with Amici Cantus’s original set, this successor is very different. First, YL divide up the works between the main body and their 10-man offshoot, the Talla Vocal Ensemble – the latter, incidentally, are superb in the two TS Eliot Preludes (1956, rev 1967). Second, Ondine’s recording is richer, with more presence, matched by singing of greater urgency and vividness. Third, YL and Talla’s interpretations have more impetus and power, as in the half-hour-long A Book of Life (1972), which is split between poems – including texts by Rilke, Rimbaud, Goethe Emily Dickinson and Whitman – in five languages.

The Greater textural palette attained through using two differently sized choirs is more akin to that found in some early-music recordings. Perhaps there’s a loss of intimacy and a certain dreamy quality compared to Amici Cantus – for instance in the Psalms (1968-71) or some of the folksongs arrangements. But this is a small price to pay for the gains elsewhere, which for collectors of Rautavaara will chiefly be the quartets of songs to poems by Aleksis Kivi (arr 2005) or from the opera Rasputin (arr 2006), not otherwise issued.

Tchaikovsky's original version of Romeo and Juliet is substantially shorter than the more familiar revised score (about seven minutes in this performance) largely on account of the totally different introduction and briefer coda. The battle music is the same, but the development section and final climax are completely different, and Friar Lawrence is missing (and I personally couldn't care less). I actually like the original introduction better than the later one, but from the start of the battle onward Tchaikovsky's second thoughts are uniformly superior. This is clearly the best recording of the 1869 original to date: it's taut and exciting, and Jurowski lets the cymbals, bass drum, and timpani go nuts at all the right places. Here, then, is a terrific disc to fill out your already more-or-less complete Tchaikovsky collection.