Julian Ormon

The playing of many professional classical guitarists leaves me cold. Where they flawlessly execute a score, Bream has spaciously conceived the music using something it seems is in short supply- a disciplined imagination. Each note, instead of sounding like part of an automatic process, sounds conceived and executed deliberately. Bream attended conservatory, where he was told not to bring his "gypsy instrument".

Moving into what he later described as the second part of a trilogy of albums, Jehovahkill sees Julian Cope's focus shift from environmental collapse to raging against the destructiveness of mainstream religion and an attendant celebration of earlier, heathen impulses.

Where does one begin upon contemplating the vast discography of this master guitarist/lutenist? Well, why not let the artist himself guide you? Bream hand-picked his personal favorites for this 10-album collection, a limited-edition set featuring facsimile LPs with original cover artwork and labels as well as a greatly detailed booklet full of discography notes. His RCA debut The Art of Julian Bream joins his sensational J.S. Bach: Lute Suites, Nos. 1 & 2 , his very popular Romantic Guitar , his famous concert album Julian Bream and John Williams Live and the equally esteemed 20th Century Guitar .

Michel Corrette belongs to that not so rare species of 18th century composers whose diligence was at times their undoing. He was so prolific that he was dismissed by some in posterity as a superficial prolific writer, a fate he shared with Vivaldi, for example. In his time, Corrette was simply a keyboard whiz: in Paris, he held various organist posts, among others in the service of the Jesuits, composed sacred and secular vocal and instrumental music, and directed a music school. Thus we owe him a number of excellent school works for various instruments. His musical passion, however, was for the queen of instruments: With his works, he was able to elicit a playful lightness from the organ, which is otherwise associated with powerful sounds, like hardly anyone else. In their new recording, Hannfried Lucke and the orchestra le phénix present the concertante character with virtuoso brilliance.

Julian Lennon released his debut, Valotte, in 1984, not even a full four years after his father John's assassination. The wounds were still fresh and there were millions of listeners ready to embrace the son of a Beatle, particularly when he sounded remarkably like his father on the stately piano-led ballad "Valotte," the first single from the album. Its elegant evocation of late-period Beatles – deliberate but not self-conscious – invited some carping criticisms that Julian was riding on his father's coattails when the reality is this: any pop singer/songwriter of Julian's generation was bound to be influenced by the Beatles. At his best on Valotte – particularly the title track, but also the caramelized psychedelic chorus of "Well I Don't Know," the tightly wound "Say You're Wrong," and the spare, simple closer "Let Me Be" – Julian demonstrated a keen ear for Beatlesque pop songwriting, drawing equally from Lennon and McCartney.