Nonesuch's 1987 recording of this opera, produced when the work was new, was revelatory. Though clearly a piece of mimimalism, it did not rely only on endless repetition; indeed, Adams' musical language was varied enough to make Nixon in China a fascinating opera despite very little action and a somewhat unrevealing text by Alice Goodman. The Nixons and the events of the 1972 visit came across as oddly shallow. It's clear now that that was the point: Nixon's first-act rant, "News has a kind of mystery", is much the key to the opera.

It also seems wittier and more purposefully ironic now, with Kissinger's villainy almost overshadowed by his ladykilling; Pat Nixon's innocence almost charming (we've seen worse since); Madame Mao's berserk aria even more pointedly wacky and funny; and the contrast between Chou En-lai's philosophizing and Richard Nixon's simplemindedness clearer than ever. During the toasts in the third scene of the first act, Chou's toast, an eloquent paean to the future ("Our children race downhill unflustered into peace..."), is accompanied by even arpeggios; when Nixon's clichés take over ("a vote of thanks to one and all who made this possible"), we're jarred into paying attention to his mundanity by disconnected, disparate tones. It's masterly.

Each scene in the first act still strikes me as a few minutes too long, but Act 2, particularly with the spectacular and varied music for the surreal opera performance, is riveting. The frustrating last act is oblique in its dramatic thrust (it features personal reflections from all of the characters except, tellingly, Kissinger), but it is food for thought even if it is a dramatic anti-climax. It's a strange, quiet way to end an opera--but take it for what it is.

This new recording, taken from a live performance at Denver's Ellie Caulkins Opera House in June, 2008, is brilliant. It is sonically way ahead of the Nonesuch (which was recorded at a very low level), thus making it possible to understand almost every word, and Marin Alsop's tempos are slightly slower than Edo de Waart's, which also helps comprehension. She leads the score with grand sweep and understanding, and her Colorado forces bring out its colors vividly; moreover, she inspires her cast to sing as if they're having a great time with this no-longer-new but still odd opera.

Robert Orth's Nixon has just the right amount of self-parody that "playing" Nixon requires--the distance between 1987 and now is very long and we can sense ironies from our vantage point that we were blind to then. Maria Kanyova's Pat also seems more sympathetic while remaining as publicly simple as she always was, and Kanyova's voice and diction are splendid. Marc Heller handles Mao's high tessitura, sometimes bordering on madness, with great character and flavor. Chen-Ye Yuan's Chou is beautifully sung and he captures both the character's joylessness and intelligence. Thomas Hammons (also on the Nonesuch recording) uses his dark, growling bass to show us everything we need to know about the cynical Kissinger, and Tracy Dahl, as Madame Mao, is pretty frightening, even while delivering her Queen of the Night-like aria.

There's not much to decide between this set and the Nonesuch, which is still available. As mentioned, this new one is sonically superior (and cheaper), but otherwise it's pretty much a tie. Naxos, like Nonesuch, supplies a libretto; Nonesuch's booklet has superb essays and a better synopsis.

This is a stunning recording of Mahler's Ninth, surely one of the luckiest pieces on disc. Broadly speaking, Alan Gilbert's conception resembles Kurt Masur's New York Philharmonic recording in that his first movement is a bit swifter than usual, and the finale a touch slower (26 minutes each). This works very well: it gives the opening additional flow and a real "quick movement" drama, even though the basic tempo never sounds rushed. Gilbert characterizes every moment superbly: the bell-like solos for harp, the snarling stopped horns, and the soft percussion. The big climax before the final collapse is marvelously shaped, a huge ritard followed by a terrifying plunge over the cliff.

The finale, by contrast, surges onward majestically but inexorably, rising to another volcanic climax, while the islands of stillness in between statements of the main theme are beautifully sculpted, with particularly sensitive attention to dynamics. Much of the extra time that the movement takes gets spent in the coda, very slow and very soft, the music's final disintegration minutely controlled and all the more affecting as a result.

Gilbert's view of the two inner movements is refreshing: they are both, in their different ways, swift and exciting. The three dances in the second movement are well-differentiated, the drunken waltz reaching particularly giddy heights. Gilbert doesn't shirk the vulgarity that Mahler builds into the music, but he doesn't exaggerate it either. The Rondo: Burleske is one of the most exciting performances on disc, the relentless accelerations after the slower central interlude driving the music mercilessly forward to its maniacal conclusion. Kudos to the excellent players of the RSPO, who stay with Gilbert every step of the way.

Indeed the playing throughout really is exceptional. The horns, strings, and solo winds are all excellent. Only the first trumpet disappoints slightly, not on account of the playing as such, but simply because of a relative lack of prominence at a couple of points (thankfully not at the climaxes). Superb sonics make this the Mahler Ninth of choice if you want SACD surround-sound, and getting the whole 82 minutes of music on a single disc makes this a bargain too. Mahler collectors surely will want to hear this recording right away, but less specialized collectors also should give it serious consideration as a prime choice among available Ninths.

In 1994 Jeremy Backhouse and his Vasari Singers recorded Herbert Howells' Requiem and Frank Martin's Mass for a British label called United. The packaging touted its special "Sensaura" engineering--a recording system that "makes use of the natural hearing cues that we all use in everyday life to determine the direction, height, and distance of sound sources." Here is that same recording, and whatever "Sensaura" was, it still sounds pretty terrific 10 years later in its new incarnation on Signum. The performances aren't too shabby either, equalling my long-standing reference version of the Howells by the superb Corydon Singers. Backhouse understands the importance of pacing in the Requiem, giving properly measured reflection to the two critical Requiem aeternam movements--and the choir follows his lead, perfectly maintaining the tension with impressively seamless legato and expertly executed harmonic transitions. In the slow, meditative passages, we hear some of Howells' more intimate expressions (because of its deeply personal provenance, he withheld the work's publication for nearly 50 years) informed by soprano voices sensuously, sensitively floating their line above the rest of the choir's warm-colored harmonies. Similarly, the work's more emphatic parts are delivered meaningfully, and the result is a very satisfying and moving rendition of this all-too-rarely-heard masterpiece.

By no means a lesser work, Martin's Mass (which he also withheld from performance for 40 years) receives the same care and respect for its underlying personal/spiritual symbolism as the Howells, its dynamic power and quiet intimacy fully realized by this first-class ensemble. And placed between the two big works, Howells' memorial to John F. Kennedy, the motet Take him, earth, for cherishing, proves an ideal and memorable program filler. If you missed this the first time around--consider yourself lucky to have a second chance.