Simon Keenlyside has the instrument, the technique, and the intelligence required of great lieder singers. His burnished baritone is large, but he can deploy it with tenderness, as well as power, and he has the flexibility to bring a broad array of colors to the songs' varied moods. This is especially impressive in Schumann's Dichterliebe, where the songs have an emotional arc with an implied narrative, and Keenlyside captures the mercurial shifts with passion and integrity. Even in a song as brief as "Ich grolle nicht," the subtlety of the lover's evolving feelings come across honestly and with precision.

Hardy Rittner seemed on top of his game both technically and interpretively in his first volume of Brahms' early piano works, but for some reason he seems less assured and less interpretively attuned to Brahms' music in this, his second volume. Performing the north German composer's C major and F minor sonatas, Rittner does not bring out of the piano the massive sonorities the music's out-sized chords require. This may be due in part to his choice of instrument. On the first volume, Rittner performed on a rich-toned 1851 Johann Baptist Streicher piano, but here he's playing an 1850 Bösendorfer lacking both depth and resonance.

A remarkably intimate recording of Schumann's Cello Concerto in A minor, this performance by Anne Gastinel and the Orchestre Philharmonique de Liège, directed by Louis Langrée, may be a little too forward for the average listener's comfort. Direct Stream Digital engineering places Gastinel front and center – almost in one's living room – and the orchestra is not far behind. Such "living presence" may be an audiophile's delight, but others may find the proximity disconcerting, especially because Gastinel's bowing seems overly resinous up close. However, this is the only complaint worth making about this disc, for Gastinel is wonderfully expressive and the orchestra is extraordinarily balanced and clear in its timbres, no mean achievement in Schumann's problematic, thick orchestration. The remaining performances are less forwardly recorded and sound pleasant and natural, with a fresh spontaneity that feels more like a recital than a studio session.

Nicolò Paganini’s Quartets for Strings and Guitar are among his finest chamber compositions. The First Guitar Quartet was a wedding gift from Paganini to his younger sister; and both this and the Second Quartet share neo-classical poise with warmly expressive romantic lyricism. The Ninth Quartet features sweet and melancholy moods containing some of Paganini’s most disarmingly simple melodies, and as the composer himself stated, ‘a very fanciful minuet and a moving trio’.

With the Latvian Festival Orchestra Riga directed by Karsten Januschke, German bass Andreas Bauer Kanabas unleashes passions of love, treason and despair in a well-chosen programme of arias. At the point of deception, the soul not only experiences the greatest disappointment, but also clarity and truthfulness. Andreas Bauer Kanabas traces these moments of deep longing and melancholy with interpretations that are rooted in great emotional power.

Dvorák’s Violin Concerto has been undergoing a renaissance of sorts on disc, one that it entirely deserves. Its critics (starting with Joachim and Brahms) dismissed it for not adopting the usual sonata-form first movement structure, instead welding the truncated opening to the gorgeous slow movement. But really, how many violin concertos are there where you can really say that the best, most characterful and highly developed movement is the finale? And what could possibly be bad about that? Clearly Fischer and Suwanai understand where the music’s going: the performance gathers steam as it proceeds, and really cuts loose in that marvelous last movement. Suwani displays a characteristically polished technique and fine intonational ear (lending a lovely purity of utterance to the slow movement), but she’s not afraid to indulge in some “down and dirty” gypsy fiddling in the finale, or in the two Sarasate items that open the program.

This disc is an important one as regards the performance of Bruckner’s symphonies. Norrington tends to be renowned for fast speeds: here he is eight minutes quicker than the only other current recording, Eliahu Inbal’s, of this original (1873) version of the symphony. This is a cogently argued account using the orchestral forces of the Vienna Philharmonic of the 1870s. Forty-five gut string instruments are used, with leather-covered timpani, distinctively different sounding wind and brass, forward-facing cellos and basses and a platform layout which highlights cross-stage dialogue between related instruments.

This version of The Queen of Spades was originally recorded in 1974 and made available as a special import; it was then generally released by Philips in 1988. Reviewing it at the time, AB gave a level account of its strengths, but had little difficulty in preferring the Tchakarov set when it was issued in 1990. Deleted by Philips, the Ermler performance has now been restored to the Melodiya catalogue. I cannot see anyone dissenting from AB's view: certainly I do not, except perhaps to regard him as being over-generous in his account of Atlantov's Herman in calling it ''loud and unsubtle''. Stronger words would also be appropriate, especially when Atlantov is compared with the sensitive Wieslaw Ochman on the Tchakarov set. Valentina Levko is a good Countess in what is a well-established Russian tradition of responses to the role: AB thought the old lady's reminiscences not so pointedly delivered as by some other singers, and I would add that she would certainly have acquired a better French accent during her long sojourn as the Venus of Paris.

A programme spanning the variety and sheer emotional range of Stanford’s Anglican choral music (with a notable contribution from Owain Park in the Fantasia and Toccata for organ). You are unlikely to hear quite so stirring a rendition of ‘St Patrick’s Breastplate’ for some time to come…

With Stephen Hough's Mendelssohn we enter a new dimension. The soft, stylish arpeggios that open the first work here, the Capriccio brillant, announce something special. But this is just a preparation for the First Concerto. Here again, 'stylish' is the word. One can sense the background – especially the operatic background against which these works were composed. The first solo doesn't simply storm away, fortissimo; one hears distinct emotional traits: the imperious, thundering octaves, the agitated semiquavers, the pleading appoggiaturas.

The essence of Camille Saint-Saëns' music comes through perhaps most clearly in his music for solo instrument and orchestra, which exemplifies his elegant combination of melody and conservatory-generated virtuosity. The two cello concertos are here, plus a pair of crowd-pleasing short works for piano and orchestra, and the evergreen Carnival of the Animals, with pianists Louis Lortie and Hélène Mercier joining forces along with a collection of instruments that includes the often-omitted glass harmonica. There are all kinds of attractions here: the gently humorous and not over-broad Carnival, the songful cello playing of Truls Mørk, and the little-known piano-and-orchestra scene Africa, Op. 89, with its lightly Tunisian flavor (sample this final track). But really, the central thread connecting them all is the conducting of Neeme Järvi and the light, graceful work of the Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra; French music is the nearly 80-year-old Järvi's most congenial environment, and in this recording, perhaps his last devoted to Saint-Saëns, he has never been better.