Choral

Giulini's annual performance of Verdi's requiem at the Royal Albert Hall through the 1950s and 1960s was a point of repeated pilgrimage. Here, in a brilliantly balanced, uniquely coloured and thrillingly executed performance, we get a remarkable glimpse of what all the fuss was about.

Rossini's Petite Messe is neither little, nor solemn, nor particularly liturgical, Napoleon III is reputed to have said. It is also a definite jo, particularly in this original version for two pianos and harmonium, in which Creed makes no self-regarding interpretative points but just lets things burr along attractively.

Klemperer's is not a fashionable recording. But it's still the best. Things proceed slowly, organically and thickly, like some enormous lusty river about to spill out into the sea. The tone is one of world-weariness punctuated by fits of fear.

De Burgos is acutely aware of the dramatic and dynamic demands of this fine, snaky bit of neo-Baroquery. But with Gwyneth Jones, Janet Baker, Nicolai Gedda and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as soloists, the final quartet becomes a particular highlight.

There is something of the magic of the stumbled upon local service about this recording. The playing and singing is, of course, in a different league but there is still the feeling, when listening to the warmth and resonant pride of the Bavarian choir, that you are eavesdropping on something quite private, special and unsolicited.

This is a sharply etched, powerfully expressed performance, in which period authenticity is not allowed to dim argument or tone. In fact, the added tremulousness afforded the smaller ensemble is bracing, bolstering the fear at the heart of this work.

This has been a critics' favourite for nearly two decades for the spirited way the great choral get-togethers explode into life. The soloists too - Auger, von Otter, Chance and Tomlinson - are consistently fine and a random dip into this recording will never fail to please.

The issue of authenticity in classical music is a viper's nest. Parrott's 1985 recording came out at the height of the pitched battles between romantic traditionalists and the vanguard period performers. Mere mention of the words "period instruments" would and did lead to spats; when Rattle brought the issue up on the phone to Karajan, the maestro hung up. Bravery was necessary then to record a performance of the Bach B minor with an unheard of four-man choir who doubled as soloists. It worked, however. And how. The sounds are a diaphanous bloom that reveal the counterpoint and message with a glorious freshness and bite.