Even in these circumspect times‚ the ambitious ‘Tesori di Napoli’ series continues unearthing works whose merit is one thing‚ but whose significance for future generations is a fascinating sideshow. Niccolò Jommelli‚ if not exactly a household name‚ was an established Neopolitan mid18th century ‘master’ whose reputation was founded on operatic successes in several major centres – enough to secure him a fine eulogy from Dr Burney in 1770. For the uninitiated (and knowing only the odd cantata and vespers settings‚ I count myself such)‚ the fluid tonal progression of the recitatives in Jommelli’s comic ‘intermezzo’‚ Don Trastullo‚ has da PonteMozart resonating with illuminating prescience.

For roughly half a decade, from 1968 through 1975, the Band was one of the most popular and influential rock groups in the world, their music embraced by critics (and, to a somewhat lesser degree, the public) as seriously as the music of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Their albums were analyzed and reviewed as intensely as any records by their one-time employer and sometime mentor Bob Dylan. Although the Band retired from touring after The Last Waltz and disbanded several years later, their legacy thrived for decades, perpetuated by the bandmates' respective solo careers as well as the enduring strength of the Band's catalog…

Someone once said there are two ways of listening to music - with your body and with your mind. When you're hit by the groove, you're listening with your body, compelling you to dance. Engaging with the music in this way is quite different to how you'd respond to, say, Nick Drake or Billie Holiday, where the music seems to deny a physical response.
All of which is a roundabout way of trying to explain what this eternally hip Belgian pianist's album is all about. Opening with a four-to-the-floor drum and bass riff, 'Silver (Who Stole the Groove?)' uses a sample taken from the classic Blue Note album Doin' the Thing (at the Village Gate) by Horace Silver. It becomes a repeated motif as Bert Joris's trumpet, Moulin's Fender Rhodes piano and Christa Jérome's voice weave textures around the hypnotic beat…

In a debut consisting of covers, nobody could accuse Vanilla Fudge of bad taste in their repertoire; with stoned-out, slowed-down versions of such then-recent classics as "Ticket to Ride," "Eleanor Rigby," and "People Get Ready," they were setting the bar rather high for themselves. Even the one suspect choice – Sonny Bono's "Bang Bang" – turns out to be rivaled only by Mott the Hoople's version of "Laugh at Me" in putting Bono's songwriting in the kindest possible light. Most of the tracks here share the common structure of a disjointed warm-up jam, a Hammond-heavy dirge of harmonized vocals at the center, and a final flat-out jam. Still, some succeed better than others: "You Keep Me Hanging On" has a wonderfully hammered-out drum part, and "She's Not There" boasts some truly groovy organ jams. While the pattern can sound repetitive today, each song still works as a time capsule of American psychedelia.

Vocalist Chris Thompson's last album with Manfred Mann's Earth Band is dressed up in Mann's beautiful keyboards. Angel Station has some key moments – "You Angel You," a Bob Dylan tune that sounds nothing like Dylan, and not the way their Top Ten version of "Quinn the Eskimo"/"The Mighty Quinn" was reinvented. "You Angel You" has a strong hook with topnotch Anthony Moore production work, and it melts into the title track of Harriet Schock's landmark Hollywood Town album, the source of Helen Reddy's "Ain't No Way to Treat a Lady." The Manfred Mann version is interesting, and explores the possibilities of the composition, though Schock's version is perfect country-pop and hard to top. It is nice to see a rock band with such good taste.

Size Isn't Everything is the twentieth studio album by the Bee Gees, released in the UK on 13 September 1993, and the US on 2 November of the same year. The brothers abandoned the contemporary dance feel of the previous album High Civilization and went for what they would describe as "A return to our sound before Saturday Night Fever".

While Luigi Dallapiccola is most remembered for his serial compositions, listeners may be surprised to find that much of his output is quite approachable and highly enjoyable. Dallapiccola occasionally wrote openly tonal works in a neo-Classical vein, and several of his milder twelve-tone pieces lean toward tonality in their triad-based rows and beautifully crafted themes. This 2004 release presents some of Dallapiccola's most accessible music, warmly performed by Gianandrea Noseda and the BBC Philharmonic, and richly recorded by Chandos.