I might have given Ashkenazy three stars, but I couldn't bear rating one of my favorite pianists merely "mediocre." After all, a lot of this is a matter of taste. And, when it comes to Beethoven's piano sonatas, I prefer the more thoughtful and weightier approach of Alfred Brendel. Ashkenazy certainly has awesome technique, which makes a big difference in the later sonatas (particularly the "Hammerklavier") where the Russian virtuoso is at his best. However, in the earlier works, Ashkenazy sort of breezes over much of the poetry and humor, and there isn't much for the brain to ponder or the heart to feel. He's certainly pleasant to the ears, although on certain works (the "Pathetique" for instance) the piano seems strangely tuned, so that Ashkenazy pounds the keys in a bone-splitting way that is most unpleasant. These icicles of sound can send a shot of pain right down the spine. Ashkenazy is so successful playing Beethoven's concertos and all of Chopin, I'm at a loss as to how his piano would sound so frigid and spikey on this set. Perhaps it was the recording. At any rate, I suggest that you buy a single disc sampler of Ashkenazy's Beethoven sonatas before you invest in this complete set. Otherwise, go for Brendel or the young Barenboim.

Sinatra couldn't wait to break free from Capitol Records in 1960, but his contract required three more albums. So the incomparable Nelson Riddle wrote twelve marvelous charts for twelve fabulous standards. Half of these songs Sinatra had already recorded with George Siravo for his 1950 Columbia album "Sing and Dance with Frank Sinatra." But just as the album "Nice 'N Easy" (another Riddle collaboration) gave Sinatra a chance to revisit the ballads he had first recorded with Axel Stordahl at Columbia, this album would show off just how far Frank had come in the swinging department. It was a dream collection of songs, including classics from Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, and Rodgers & Hart. But when Sinatra came to the studio, he told Riddle to speed up the tempos-- sometimes making them twice as fast! Apparently, Frank was so anxious to get this album out of the way, he sang these at a pace that would beat the horses at Bing's racetrack. Riddle was not happy. However, the choice might have been a winner. For Sinatra's non-chalance, his shoot-from-the-hip (with the emphasis on "hip") approach, actually makes these songs all that more enjoyable. Sure, there isn't the final polish of the earlier Capitol "concept" albums-- but Riddle's jazzy arrangements, and Sinatra's cool delivery make this album a gasser. So, if you want to hear a really swinging disc, you won't be disappointed with this release (though I haven't heard the latest remastered version).

The colors of Sinatra's album covers often reflect the mood of the albums themselves: "Where Are You?" is an autumnal brown, "Come Fly With Me" is sky blue, "Only The Lonely" is black, very black, and this album-- quite possibly my favorite-- is a kind of purple, blue and teal. There's Sinatra, with the necessary hat and cigarette, standing by his old friend, the lonely lamppost. And so the cover art leads us into the music itself: not as dark as the later saloon albums, but a kind of blue, a mood indigo. Even Sinatra's voice is not as dark as on later albums. In 1955 he still had some of the lightness that characterized his earlier recordings, although the pain of Ava and a thousand lonely nights is very evident in his smoke-filled vocals. These are exquisitely crafted songs-- some of the best Sinatra ever recorded. And Nelson Riddle's jazzy, small ensemble arrangements are compositional masterpieces in themselves, particularly the exotic melody that accompanies Cole Porter's "What Is This Thing Called Love." What a packed album! Sixteen songs. It's quite a journey. I recommend that you "turn down the lights and sink in [your] chair," though the Surgeon General doesn't recommend "watching the smoke rings rise in the air." Stock up on your Kleenex for the heart-wrenching "I Get Along Without You Very Well." But, for the most part, prepare for an album that's not gloomy so much as reflective, almost childlike. "Glad To Be Unhappy" and the title song are kind of like children's songs, with a simple yet profound quality hinted behind every word. I can't describe every song, and even if I did, my words wouldn't do them justice. I will say that Sinatra co-wrote "This Love of Mine," and did a darn good job! But just buy the album, and have a life-changing experience in the middle of the night.

EMI has released two versions of "Cosi Fan Tutte" in its "Great Recordings of the Century" series, and both feature Walter Legge as the producer, the Philharmonia Orchestra as the orchestra, and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf as Fiordiligi. There are many other differences: Karajan conducts the mono recording, Bohm conducts the stereo, and Karajan's set omits many recitatives, while Bohm's is more complete. I prefer Karajan's. His version is more energetic and elegant, whereas Bohm's is a bit staid. Karajan actually didn't care for this work, but you'd never know it from his conducting. This leading interpreter of Strauss gives us a lush, creamy account, with brisk tempos and plenty of humor. Leopold Simoneau is the most gorgeous Ferrando on record, and Nan Merriman is more youthful than any (including Christa Ludwig) as Dorabella. Sesto Bruscantini brings a rare subtle lightness to the role of Don Alfonso, and Lisa Otto is an hilarious Despina. Rolando Panerai easily surpasses Bohm's Guiseppe Taddei as Guigelmo. This is a joyful, spirited interpretation-- principle horn Dennis Brain and the other unsurpassed winds of the Philharmonia sound wonderful, and the entire proceedings exhibit a spontaneity and personality we simply don't hear anymore. Even so, some might be more comfortable going with Colin Davis's fabulous account in the "Complete Mozart Edition." For a real treat, try Karajan.

I hate to use the term "American Classic." That's so Harvard, or PBS. But it's hard not to use it when describing this album. It seems to say so much more than our ears immediately grasp, as if it tapped into the spirit of our times. This album suggests a smoke-filled saloon, an empty glass of whiskey, yet it takes us from the tired, industrial city into the country, where the willows weep, and the wind sighs, and the sea embraces. In other words, it's Nature sympathizing. In the gray, urban settings-- "some small cafe," "it's a lonesome old town"-- we still believe that we are part of Nature, and this belief seems to soothe a broken heart. Sinatra is a sort of Everyman, expressing the pain of a city's dashed hopes, leading us to the edge of nihilism, but not quite. And Nelson Riddle paints the scene-- the wail of a sad horn, the low groan of a bassoon, and the almost spooky trembling of strings. The Van Heusen and Cahn title song is an intricate, almost European poem about loneliness-- more complex than any other song they wrote. "Angel Eyes" is the quintessential saloon song-- Sinatra talking to the happy folks in the bar, then disappearing. "What's New" is a conversation, devestating in its simplicity. Frank transforms Benny Goodman's "Good-Bye" into the ultimate expression of those two worst words in any relationship. "Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry" has an almost child-like irony. "Spring Is Here" ("I hear") is a bitter, Billie Holiday type of irony. And "One For My Baby," with Bill Miller at piano, is the greatest Sinatra saloon song, the most fitting conclusion to an album that seems as natural as a walk down an empty sidewalk, and as artistic as a Strauss tone poem. The two bonus tracks should not be played at the time you listen to the album, but they are great songs-- the cozy "Sleep Warm" and the just-piano-to-full-orchestra crescendo of "Where Or When." Come to think of it, this album should not be played often. It is terribly depressing, reaching into the dark depths, and at times leaning over the edge of the abyss. No wonder it is called Sinatra's best album.

How many wives did Sinatra have? How many people did he punch? Was he a member of the Mafia? These, and the stupid questions about Marilyn, the Kennedys, and Sinatra's toupee, won't be answered in this book. Here we have what really matters: the music. The song was Sinatra, indeed. In these fascinating pages, we learn that Sinatra was a committed, respected artist, a man who would rather hang out with musicians than presidents, sex queens, and mobsters. The best feature of this book? Will Friedwald's writing style, which is often humorous, never heavy, and always informative. Every great artist needs a great critic, and Sinatra has his in Friedwald. For one thing, the author went to stunning lengths to obtain interviews with the people who worked by Sinatra's side. I often feel like I'm in the studio with them. We learn about Sinatra's fabulous arrangers-- the angelic Stordahl, the unassuming Riddle, the clowning May. We learn about Sinatra's formative years with Harry James and Tommy Dorsey (unfortunately, the chapter on the Dorsey years seems to be a reprint of Friedwald's essay in the RCA box set of the same name). Friedwald understands what made Sinatra great, but pulls no punches when it comes to dissing bad songs. We get more insights into Frank's musical career than we ever thought imaginable. And it's all done without a hint of stuffiness or pretension. Why did Sinatra record the goofy "Watertown"? How did the 1956 Riddle/Porter classic "I've Got You Under My Skin" come about? And what the heck was going on in those "Duets" albums? To learn this, and thousands of other things, buy the greatest book about Sinatra ever written.

Pour the wine, dim the lights, and put on this classic album from 1961. The only problem-- as the reviewer below noted-- is the omission of two fabulous bonus tracks that were included on the previous CD release. "Don't Take Your Love From Me" is one of the best songs Frank ever recorded, and it's a shame that Reprise left it (and "As You Desire Me") off the album in the first place. Well-- let's focus on the good stuff. First, we have Sinatra's first collaboration with the fine arranger Don Costa. Costa was maybe the most versatile of Sinatra's arrangers (although the great Riddle might deserve that title), and his pseudo-rock charts for "My Way" and hippy guitar charts for "Cycles" sort of give him a bad name. The fact is, Costa was right up there with Riddle and Stordahl when it came to scoring a ballad. These songs simply drip with beauty. Take the unique version of "Stardust"-- a haunting Costa melody leads us to the opening verse, then fades out, leaving the rest of this oft-recorded classic unsung! The "drip, drip, drop" and "tick, tick, tock" of Cole Porter's "Night and Day" are treated with unadorned sensitivity by Costa, as Sinatra gives what might be the definitive version of the one song he "owned" more than any other. "Misty" is not the flimsy sap we usually hear. Sinatra and Costa are elegant and masculine-- even when the Chairman is a "kitten up a tree." I love "Come Rain or Come Shine," especially the way Costa makes it swing a bit, and makes the brass blare behind Sinatra's soaring voice. What a voice! Frank must have been laying off the whiskey and smokes, because his voice is ravishingly smooth on this album. Compare his "It Might As Well Be Spring" with the version he recorded a few years later with Riddle: he's actually "spinning, spinning daydreams" like strands of shimmering silk. Perry Como had his own way with "Prisoner of Love," but Frank's is-- no surprise-- more cool. And while Nat King Cole ruled "That's All," since Sinatra is my favorite singer, I have to give him the crown on this one as well. "All Or Nothing At All" was one of the first songs Frank recorded, back in 1939 with Harry James. Columbia re-released it in 1942 and it went to #1. Frank later recorded it with a jazz organ in 1966. But with Don Costa, Sinatra gets back to his "swooning" roots. What a majestic, overwhelming performance! He even hits the big high note at the end (bringing tears to my eyes). Finally, we get "Yesterdays." A good party question is: Which song is better, McCartney's "Yesterday" or Kern's "Yesterdays." I don't have an answer, but I must say Sinatra makes a great case for this classic's superiority. So here we have ten of the most romantic songs Sinatra ever recorded (on an album anyway, and "Nice 'N Easy" runs a close second). A lot of people ask which album they should play when they're on a date (or at the end of one). Well, this is it. Buy it and, as Frank use to say, make a little hey hey.

Some budget two disc sets are good on the wallet but bad on the ears. This was the case on DG's set of Karajan's 1978 Brahms cycle. But here we have a real winner: all three of Tchaikovsky's best symphonies gathered on two discs. Whereas Karajan's creamy, shimmering textures did not work so well on the Brahms, with Tchaikovsky they work wonders. These are quite simply the best versions I've heard. Karajan understands better than any the essential quality of Tchaikovsky's music: Romantic excess. Climaxes bloom with gigantic beauty. Sad notes weep profusely. Ageless melodies drip from the Berlin Philharmonic's strings like globes of nectar . . . perhaps I'm getting carried away! But that's exactly what Karajan does-- he carries us away on an ocean of sparkling sound. The only drawback to this set is the split between the second and third movements of the Fifth. But that certainly should not prevent anyone from buying this fabulous release.

Sir Neville Marriner has always excelled in Mozart's symphonic works. When he turned to Mozart'z operas, the results were more mixed-- not because Marriner's conducting came up short, but due to uneven casting. However, Marriner's "Magic Flute" is definitely the strongest of the series. The Penguin Guide lists it as their first recommendation. I'd put Bohm and Klemperer before it, but Marriner, in his own way, is just as satisfying. For one thing, he takes a leaner, more comic approach to the work. The Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields has a lighter, fresher sound than Bohm's Berlin Philharmonic, or Klemperer's Philharmonia Orchestra. Unfortunately, Philips decided to use actors for the spoken parts, whereas the singers speak them for Bohm, and they are entirely omitted on Klemperer. Therefore, I recommend the highlights disc, which gives you most of the best music. Francisco Araiza is probably the best Tamino of the past twenty years, though not on the same level as Fritz Wunderlich for Bohm. Samuel Ramey's ringing bass voice is delightful in the role of Sarastro-- I rank him with the best. Olaf Bar is no Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (on Bohm), and he almost sounds too serious-- but he's much better than Melbye for Colin Davis. What a joy to hear Kiri te Kanawa as Pamina! She's more mature than the role might require, but Kiri never has lost her gorgeous voice. Cheryl Studer is a satisfying Queen of the Night, although Lucia Popp gets top honors. All in all, this is a highly enjoyable disc. The Overture is crisp and brisk, and Marriner's smile seems to cast a glow over the whole work. It's a nice change from the symbolically heavy interpretations we often hear, even if the Finale could afford to put on a few pounds! I'd say this is the safest recommendation for someone just coming to this work, or Mozartian opera in general. Give it to a your young nephew for Christmas!

If you're a fan of Vladimir Ashkenazy, you'll probably enjoy this set. He has recorded Beethoven's five piano concertos three times. Zubin Mehta and the Vienna Philharmonic backed him up on the second set, and Ashkenazy himself conducted from the keyboard on the last. But on his first attempt, Ashkenazy paired up with the legendary Georg Solti and my favorite orchestra, the Chicago Symphony. This partnership has been called an odd mix by some. I find it highly enjoyable. Here is a very clean, yet powerful set-- cleaner than Barenboim with Klemperer, more powerful than Kempff or any of Brendel's three cycles. The sheer beauty of Ashkenazy's touch is enough to keep me enthralled, but Solti's gripping tempos and the CSO's gorgeous playing make this my first choice by a long shot. Unlike many cycles, this one is topped off by a gloriously successful "Emperor." That concerto tends to sprawl out a bit in some versions, and one can feel bogged down by the intricate interplay of orchestra and soloist. Not so with this team. Ashkenazy's secure, icy tone soars over the proceedings, while Solti keeps the orchestra pushing forward. Some may feel it is too taut and not all that lyrical, but this is the "other" Beethoven, the dazzling virtuoso conquering the keyboard like a Napoleonic hero. If you get pure physical pleasure from music, you'll also love this amazingly exciting set.