For its fifth Handa Opera on Sydney Harbour, Opera Australia chose Puccini’s Turandot, set in a fantasy China. Spectacle is a pre-requisite for the stunningly located outdoor event, and Chinese-American director Chen Shi-Zheng delivers striking visual effects without resorting to tacky glitz, while his martial-arts inspired choreography enhances the clear story-telling. Dan Potra’s design is dominated by two set pieces: a giant, fire-breathing dragon and a towering, spiky pagoda, from where the frosty-hearted Princess Turandot looks down on the execution of the suitors who fail to solve her riddles. Scott Zielinski’s imaginative lighting add lashings of colour. Serbian dramatic soprano Dragana Radakovic is an impressive, imperious Turandot with a powerhouse voice, which has a steely glint. As Calaf, Italian tenor Riccardo Massi is a commanding presence. At six foot four he is every inch the romantic hero, giving a passionate, lyrical portrayal, matched by rich, bronzed vocals. Hyeseoung Kwon is very moving as the slave girl Liù. The chorus is also outstanding, while the Australian Opera and Ballet Orchestra gives a good account of the gorgeous score under Brian Castles-Onion. Fine camera work makes the most of the spectacular location, while close-ups of the performers add to the experience.

Van Zweden's Wagner cycle goes from strength to strength.

Here is a disc with the air of luxury about it. To start, what a luxury to hear the voices of Robert King’s Consort by themselves. As part of a vocal and instrumental mix, they are never less than alluring, but there is something particularly luxurious about hearing them a cappella for an entire disc. The choice of programme is also generous and first-rate: we are presented with British works from this century and last, chosen around a broad theme of remembrance, and for the most part in pairs, sharing the same or similar texts. This allows listeners to enjoy familiar favourites as well as ‘classics in waiting’. Amongst the well-known are William Harris’s setting of Bring us, O Lord God and Herbert Howells’ Take Him, Earth for Cherishing. Apart from their crystalline clarity and their impeccable ensemble, the singers deliver superbly expressive singing that takes these already famous pieces to a new level. The same artistry is also at the service of accomplished, more recent settings of these same texts. James MacMillan’s Bring Us, O Lord God brings an edgier but no less ecstatic feel to the text, while John Tavener’s Take Him, Earth for Cherishing uses only the…

Masaaki Suzuki has done a great deal for the cause of Bach over many years, but his way with Mozart is no less persuasive. Not only does he imbue the “great” but unfinished C Minor Mass with equal measures of grandeur, exuberance and other-worldliness, but he is one of those rare conductors (Boulez was another) who can impart to the listener great textural clarity plus an unclouded sense of the musical architecture. From the opening, rather old-fashioned Kyrie, Suzuki carefully paces the unfolding drama, allowing each part to play its role. The opening chorus of the Gloria (with its none-too-subtle references to Handel’s greatest hit) is joyfully dispatched, as are the succeeding solo opportunities. Sopranos Carolyn Sampson and Olivia Vermuelen are well matched in the Domine Deus; both having an excellent sense of phrasing. Sampson negotiates the justly famous Et Incarantus Est of the Credo with grace and ease. Suzuki’s careful attention to detail ensures beautifully shaped singing and playing throughout and a clear sense of how each part contributes to the whole. This is particularly true of the majestic brass in the Sanctus and the vocal intricacies at the end of the Gloria. To finish on a lighter note,…

Renée Fleming is no stranger to crossover. America’s favourite soprano has dabbled in rock music (2010’s Dark Hope), jazz (2005’s Haunted Heart), even duetted with Michael Bolton. But, until now, these have remained off-duty projects, separate from her official operatic identity. But in Distant Light she brings two worlds together, combining covers of Björk songs with music by Barber and Anders Hillborg in a recording that might just offer a vision of things to come in the classical music business. This feels like a coherent and convincing recital programme, tipping naturally from Barber’s hazy vision of pre-lapsarian America into Hillborg’s luminous sonic landscapes before casting off the classical anchor and drifting out into Björk’s broad lakes of sound and texture, beautifully reimagined in Hans Ek’s arrangements. Fleming still has one of the loveliest voices in the business, and that blooming tone is celebrated not only in the Barber but in Hillborg’s settings of poems by Mark Strand, former US Poet Laureate, which eschew the composer’s signature massive soundscapes for gentler, more intricate textures (lovingly performed here by Oramo and the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic). If the tone feels more manufactured in the three Björk tracks, it’s not unpleasantly so. Together they…

The Old Testament’s “ripping yarn” about the prophet, Elijah was perfectly suited to the oratorio form in more ways than one. Apart from teeming with dramatic situations that begged for large and colourful musical treatment, the prophet’s vanquishing of the forces of evil and his subsequent glorification (being taken up into heaven in a whirlwind, no less) were perfectly attuned to prevailing Protestant sensibilities of the Victorian middle classes who enthusiastically hailed Mendelssohn’s work a masterpiece. While Thomas Hengelbrock’s version is not on the same scale as Paul McCreesh’s monumental 2012 account, it does benefit from the excellent singing and playing of the Balthasar-Neumann Ensemble. In particular, the choir sings with unfailingly incisive rhythm and excellent German diction. Amongst the soloists the undoubted star is the young Hungarian bass, Michael Nagy, whose accomplished portrayal of Elijah balances the requisite qualities of patriarchal strength and human vulnerability. Some may find Hengelbrock’s tempos a touch fast and a little unyielding at cadences and other points of harmonic interest. Both the heroic story and its musical realisation suggest the need for some flexibility. There is a sense that this version has sacrificed a little of the work’s grandeur and pathos on the altar…

For his first album devoted entirely to works sung in German, French star countertenor Philippe Jaroussky has chosen four religious cantatas by two old friends.

Philip Glass produces a great deal of music. His works unfold through the repetition of rhythmic figures, and by juxtaposing straightforward tonal chords (major and especially minor) that frequently have no traditional harmonic association with each other. It’s a recognisable sound, quite distinct from the music of his Minimalist colleagues Steve Reich and John Adams, particularly in their most recent works. Of the three, Glass has the broadest following because of the films he has scored, and operas like Akhnaten and Einstein on the Beach which helped define the zeitgeist of the 1980s. This new 2-disc set brings a selection of Glass’s music for solo piano. There have been previous such compilations and a pianist named Nicolas Horvath has been recording a complete series that reached its fifth volume last year. Levingston gives us the Etudes Nos 1, 2, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 16 and 17; The Illusionist Suite (based on the music for a film); Dreaming Awake, described as “a deeply enigmatic, metaphysical study in sonority”; Metamorphosis No 2 (derived from Kafka’s story), and a piece inspired by an Allan Ginsburg poem, Wichita Vortex Sutra, during which the poem is recited by actor Ethan Hawke. I do…

English pianist Jonathan Plowright continues to stake his claim for recording the modern benchmark set of Brahms piano works with this fourth volume in BIS’s superlative series. This despite stiff competition from Irishman Barry Douglas, who has already completed his six-volume set for Chandos and the redoubtable Paul Lewis who coupled the Four Ballades with his recent five-star reading of the First Piano Concerto. The difference in approach between Plowright and Douglas is no better demonstrated than in the third Intermezzo from the Piano Pieces Op. 119. It’s marked grazioso e giocoso and Plowright dispatches it with infectious high spirits in 1’15’’ while Douglas chooses more grace than jocularity with a generous 1’51’’. Plowright bookends this latest programme with the first and second sets of the 30 Paganini Variations. Played straight through they are tedious for listener and performer alike, but Plowright’s solution is a fine one. He plays the other works – the Ballades, Rhapsodies and Piano Pieces Op. 119 – in their original groupings whereas the adventurous Douglas seasons a set of Cappricios with a single Ballade or Intermezzo. So, very different approaches from two very different performers. Ultimately the choice will be yours. If you can afford…

Barenboim’s new piano is a concert grand made by the Belgian instrument maker Chris Maene to the pianist’s specifications. It differs from the usual Steinway D in several crucial respects, one being the use of parallel rather than crossover strings. So far this Maene piano is the only one of its kind, and Barenboim has “fallen in love with it”. I hear less tonal homogeneity across the registers, less “blend” as the pianist puts it. The bass produces great warmth, shown off in Liszt’s arrangement of the March from Wagner’s Parsifal. The tone of the upper registers resembles a Classical period fortepiano (“hollow” is too strong a word), which makes it eminently suitable for Scarlatti. I’ve not heard Barenboim in Scarlatti before; he approaches these three sonatas in an unruffled but characterful way. Like the Fazioli piano, which it also resembles in the treble, the Maene seems incapable of producing a smooth, singing legato – rather a drawback in Chopin’s Ballade No 1 and Liszt’s Funérailles – and we are used to more upper-level brightness in Beethoven’s 32 Variations and Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz. The latter is neither diabolic nor exciting, although the tone colours are attractive. Big fortes can be…

After a hand injury in 2005, Kyung Wha Chung stepped away from the concert platform and turned to teaching. More than a decade later, this is her triumphant return to recording. Although Chung had recorded Partita No 2 and Sonata No 3 back in 1975, this disc is the complete Bach Sonatas and Partitas. They’re the solo violin Everest, since the player is completely exposed, without the reassuring safety net of an accompanist. At the same time, Bach demands the player navigate a thicket of interlocking lines of music. Tricky! This is quite a different recording to most recent performances of these pieces. By now, there’s a fairly firmly ingrained tendency towards historically informed performances of Bach’s music, but here Chung neatly sidesteps the issue. It’s not that she ignores the HIP movement (on the contrary – tempos are fleet here, and vibrato is kept on the subtle side), but more that minor quibbles about stylistic approaches are exchanged for an intensely passionate performance. Chung describes this disc as a project that has been with her for 60 years, calling it “recording Unaccompanied Bach”, and it seems like those capital letters are important. This is a very personal reading of…

If you’ve worn out your copy of Georges Cziffra playing Liszt’s Transcendental Studies – and why wouldn’t you, because he da man – and are in the market for a newer model, should you direct your hard-earned cash towards Daniil Trifonov on Deutsche Grammophon or Kirill Gerstein on Myrios? Both are newly released and attracting praise like superlatives are about to outlawed by presidential executive order. Like everything Trifonov touches, his Transcendental Studies are proudly personal statements and wilfully so on occasion – witness, for example, the roof-rocking intensity of the fourth study, Mazeppa, where the volatile harmony is allowed to churn up the structure, and the ‘recitativo’ section of the coda plays out as something approaching a mad-scene. Gerstein – who plays the definitive 1852 version of Liszt’s Twelve Etudes – sits more obviously in a tradition that stretches back to Cziffra. Much has been written about how Gerstein’s background in jazz lends his performance an improvisational, power-to-the-moment flow. But despite his studies on the jazz course at Berklee and mentoring by jazz vibraphone guru Gary Burton, I’m not sure I hear it like that. At every turn, Gerstein peels the minutiae’s minutiae out from Liszt’s notation. The spread…