A la fin du règne de Louis XIV, le mystérieux Gaspard Le Roux compose pour le clavecin des suites d'une incroyable richesse qui peuvent être jouées à deux clavecins. C'est ce répertoire unique qui est aujourd'hui prétexte à une conversation musicale entre William Christie et Arthur Haas.

Antonin Reicha was a brilliant composer with a fascinating, inquiring mind. His wind quintets are well known, but his musical experiments included odd-numbered meters (there’s a delightful overture in 5/8 time on MDG), quarter tones, and massed timpani (a lesson not lost on one of his prize students, Hector Berlioz). The symphonies are more conservative in idiom, but brilliantly orchestrated, particularly for Reicha’s beloved woodwinds. Jan Caeyers and his Beethoven Academie play musically, and they are gorgeously recorded, but the overall effect is more correct than exciting.

Hadley Caliman recorded a few albums in the 1970s, then didn't record as a leader for several decades until after retiring from his teaching job, then came a series of CDs issued by Origin, of which this is the third. This reunion with fellow tenor saxophonist Pete Christlieb marks their first opportunity to play together since the mid-'60s, aside from one brief meeting in the 40-plus-year stretch leading up to this record date. Many two-tenor sax sessions end up being battles, but the two veterans are old friends who aren't trying to top one another and instead focus on inspiring each other's playing. The potent rhythm section includes pianist Bill Anschell, bassist Chuck Deardorf, and drummer John Bishop, all seasoned players who provide excellent support throughout the date. There's plenty of fire in the rousing workout of "Love for Sale." The very deliberate setting of "I Thought About You" features some of Caliman's most powerful solo work, while the two tenor men have a ball in the loping treatment of Freddie Hubbard's timeless jazz waltz "Up Jumped Spring." The bulk of the CD features strong original compositions. Caliman contributed the vibrant "Comencia," blending a slight Afro-Cuban flavor in a brisk bop vehicle, as well as the hypnotic "Gala," which proves to be the most dramatic performance of the session.

Recorded in June 1960, Swingin' on the Town was a bit of a retro affair at the time, since swing was no longer popular dance music, nor the cutting edge of jazz. Still, Eldridge was one of the best swing trumpeters of any era, and his music continued to deepen over the years; there was no reason for him not to play swing standards if he could still make them sound fresh. Throughout Swingin' on the Town, he does make it sound fresh. It helps that he's supported by bassist Benny Moten, pianist Ronnie Ball and drummer Eddie Locke, who keep things lively, but Eldridge is the focus here, and his performances are supple, swinging and charming. He doesn't do anything out of the ordinary, but he delivers the expected with grace. Not a major album in his catalog, but certainly an enjoyable one.

This double disc is a collaboration between Ryuichi Sakamoto and Christian Fennesz, with the former man taking a decidedly dominant role throughout. The concept behind the album is fairly straightforward: on each night of a 24-date tour, Sakamoto wrote and performed a piano piece in a different key. By tour's end, he'd explored every possible tonal variation within Western notation. He provided these short, jewel-like solo piano melodies to Fennesz, who laid them in soft beds of gently caressing electronics. The results are very pretty…

The Genius Sings the Blues began as a simple compilation. Comprised of a dozen songs Ray Charles made between 1952 and 1960, the collection was released in 1961 by Atlantic Records to counter the singer’s migration to rival ABC Paramount. What Atlantic originally underestimated is that the album contained many of Charles’ greatest works, all unified by their bluesy emotions and stirring arrangements. A classic of the soul and R&B canon, The Genius Sings the Blues is a snapshot of the evolution of timeless American music captured by the pianist’s indelible rhythmic pace, gospel roots, jazz backgrounds, and Southern-styled accents.
From the iconic cover art to the distinguished music within, everything about the thematic record is iconic…

Without question, this follow-up to Quicksilver Messenger Service's self-titled debut release is the most accurate in portraying the band on vinyl in the same light as the group's critically and enthusiastically acclaimed live performances. The album is essentially centered around the extended reworkings of Bo Diddley's "Who Do You Love?" and "Mona," as well as the lesser lauded - yet no less intense - contribution of Gary Duncan's (guitar/vocals) "Calvary." This album is the last to feature the original quartet incarnation of QMS. The collective efforts of John Cipollina (guitar/vocals), Greg Elmore (percussion), David Freiberg (bass/vocals), and the aforementioned Duncan retain the uncanny ability to perform with a psychedelic looseness of spirit, without becoming boring or in the least bit pretentious…

Young Team, Mogwai's first full-length album fulfills the promise of their early singles and EPs, offering a complex, intertwining set of crawling instrumentals, shimmering soundscapes, and shards of noise. Picking up where Ten Rapid left off, Mogwai use the sheer length of an album to their advantage, recording a series of songs that meld together – it's easy to forget where one song begins and the other ends. The record itself takes its time to begin, as the sound of chiming processed guitars and murmured sampled vocals floats to the surface. Throughout the album, the sound of the band keeps shifting, and it's not just through explosions of noise – Mogwai isn't merely jamming, they have a planned vision, subtly texturing their music with small, telling details. When the epic "Mogwai Fears Satan" draws the album to a close, it becomes clear that the band has expanded the horizons of post-rock, creating a record of sonic invention and emotional force that sounds unlike anything their guitar-based contemporaries have created.

Valentin Silvestrov composed Requiem for Larissa between 1997 and 1999 as a memorial to his wife, musicologist Larissa Bondarenko, who died in 1996. It is a big and unceasingly somber work, scored for chorus and orchestra. Understandably, this Requiem is to a degree reflective, incorporating musical themes drawn from older works that had special meaning to the couple. While Silvestrov's typically glacial tempos are in evidence here, some of the opening half of the piece has an angular spikiness that recalls serial techniques without actively engaging in them. Instrumentally, Requiem for Larissa is dark, atmospheric, and even a little cinematic; the choral parts are sparse and minimally applied. In the fourth-movement Largo, the voices take over and settle down into an ethereal texture that leavens the gloom somewhat, but by this time 25-and-a-half minutes have gone by and some listeners will have already tuned out owing to the toughness of the opening section.Requiem for Larissa is an intensely personal piece performed with respect and care by the Ukrainian National Chorus and Symphony Orchestra under conductor Vladimir Sirenko.

The CD features the original album, plus three extra tracks (stunning pre-overdub trio versions of Red & Fallen Angel and the full version of Providence).
King Crimson fell apart once more, seemingly for the last time, as David Cross walked away during the making of this album. It became Robert Fripp's last thoughts on this version of the band, a bit noiser overall but with some surprising sounds featured, mostly out of the group's past - Mel Collins' and Ian McDonald's saxes, Marc Charig's cornet, and Robin Miller's oboe, thus providing a glimpse of what the 1972-era King Crimson might've sounded like handling the later group's repertory (which nearly happened). Indeed, Charig's cornet gets just about the best showcase it ever had on a King Crimson album, and the truth is that few intact groups could have gotten an album as good as Red together…

Arguably a milestone for both director Sergio Leone and his musical cohort Ennio Morricone. After deconstructing the classic American western by way of The Good, the Bad & the Ugly and A Fistful of Dollars, Leone distilled his intentions with 1968's Once Upon a Time in the West. For his part, Morricone framed Leone's meditative camerawork and mythic narrative with a mix of hauntingly spacious pieces and reconfigured snatches of old-timey tunes. Just within the stretch of the first four pieces here, Morricone evokes the endless expanse of the West with a Copland-esque aria (the main title theme), weaves some twisted grit into the showdown theme with loads of guitar fuzz ("As a Judgment"), ingeniously combines whistling and a clippity-clop rhythm for a respite piece ("Farewell to Cheyenne")…