Carl Vine announces a “fantastic year of debuts” for the 2017 season along with the return of some audience favourites.

Choral and movie blockbusters, plus top soloists headline the 2017 season, while Sir Andrew Davis conducts Thaïs.

The only international competitor of the 2016 competition’s seven finalists delivered standout performances.

British pianist Jonathan Plowright continues his much-lauded coverage of Brahms’ solo piano music with this third volume in the series for BIS. It opens with the 15 Variations on a Hungarian Melody from 1853 (Op. 21, No 2), an earlier manifestation of Brahms’ fascination with Hungarian gypsy music that stemmed from his relationship with violinist Eduard Reményi and received fuller expression in the gypsy rondo of his First Piano Quartet, Op. 25. Like Brahms’ gypsy forays, his 16 Waltzes, Op. 39 (from 1865) were regarded by some critics as unconscionable descents into mainstream sensibility; they are indeed popular works, but no less delightful for this, and delivered by Plowright with sprightly vigour and zest. The influence of Beethoven and Schubert is evident in the Eight Klavierstücke of Op. 76 (1878), which move into deeper, more mysterious territory. Finally, with the Six Klavierstücke of Op. 118 (1892), we are plunged headlong into deep, stream-of-consciousness introspection, contemplation juxtaposed with volcanic anguish. The last of these is particularly disquieting, foreshadowing Debussy and defying resolution as it erupts and disappears into the mist. There is a dizzyingly broad spectrum of emotional terrain to traverse over these four sets of pieces, and Plowright navigates it…

“Two magicians, two master architects, amongst the most wildly imaginative and brilliant of their era; two composers who also tried to capture echoes of grand theatre with the palette offered by their keyboard.” Thus does 25-year-old French harpsichord prodigy Jean Rondeau characterise Rameau and the young Turk snapping at his heels, Royer; thus does Rondeau set the stage for a sweetly bellicose suite in which Rameau and Royer wage war across a Prélude and three entrées – Poetry, Music and Dance – before settling on Royer’s exquisite L’Aimable. The venue is the Château d’Assas. The instrument is its famous harpsichord, favoured for its capacious sonority; its rich bass, its unexpectedly warm middle register and its crisp, silvery, flute-like upper register. Here, Rondeau is free to indulge his fancy and conjure up the complimentary worlds of the theatre and salon in pieces such as Rameau’s delicate Les Tendres Plaintes and more vigorous Les Sauvages, and Royer’s dramatic Le Vertigo and tender La Zaïde. Rondeau’s playing, as always, seems locked in a struggle between lyricism and contemplation, passion and detachment. Which is part of its magic. And if one is in danger of being – pleasantly, it must be said – crushed…

Baldassare Galuppi is one of those unfortunate composers who were hailed in their lifetimes as being among the finest music-makers…and then promptly forgotten. Galuppi’s writing is in the galant style, essentially the precursor to the Classical era – his melodies might be simple, but they’re never simplistic. This sort of music, so full of elegance and warmth, can sound a tad trite if it’s not played with panache. However, that’s not a concern in this case! Andrea Chezzi brings brilliance to these sonatas when required, but most enjoyably, a definite sense of playfulness. For example, the opening Sonata No 1 in C Major, Op. 1, is given some additional tonal shifts from some well-timed use of the harpsichord’s stops, cheekily jumping from a dark sound to something more nasal in an echoed phrase. On the more reflective side of things, the slower movements are given a lovingly rounded sense of melody. The liner notes point out that this collection of sonatas was never composed as a set but was collated by Galuppi from various works. As a result, some of the sonatas are in three movements, while others are a single movement. While this might sound like a negative, it’s…

Franz Schubert’s late piano music has a deceptive simplicity about it: a surface naivety masking emotional depths. The surface purity and the Romantic soul need to be kept in balance; with Schubert it is always a question of less is more. That is why the most thoughtful and self-effacing of the great pianists – Alfred Brendel, for example – make such fine Schubertians. Geoffrey Saba, an Australian-born pianist resident in London, is one of this breed. He maintains the necessary equilibrium with skill and understanding. In the second Impromptu of D935, for instance, he transitions deftly between rippling semiquavers and the stately, somewhat melancholy chorale that closes the piece. In the following Impromptu, a theme and variations, he employs subtle rubato: enough to create a feeling of spontaneity that underlines the work’s title. Schubert could have called these four pieces a sonata, but he did not. The first of the Klavierstücke belongs to the same troubled world as Winterreise, and contains the seeds of desperation beneath a restless surface. Both works include passages of major-key frenzy that collapse into the minor. Saba judges such moments unerringly. I find the piano sound on this disc a trifle hollow. It lacks the warmth of Brendel’s Philips…

Serious record collectors should regularly light a candle for Robert von Bahr whose label BIS has brought so many fine artists to our attention; his willingness to green-light projects of dubious financial return is much appreciated by those of a completist turn. Ronald Brautigam’s surveys of Haydn and Mozart keyboard works were distinguished not only by the exceptional performances of the major masterpieces as by his diligent attention to every extant scrap from the composer’s desk. This latest release in his Beethoven cycle includes some of Ludwig’s least inspired scribblings but does have some gems to treasure. The lesser works can be a bore on a modern piano so the lovely characterful sound of the period instrument, an impeccable copy of an 1819 Conrad Graf by Paul McNulty, does wonders for their charm factor. This particular instrument featured heavily in earlier volumes and is a magnificent device with a lovely liquid top register and engagingly nut-brown bottom-end. Brautigam wrings the maximum expression and colour out of the instrument without ever pushing through the tone, while the light action abetted by his superb technique make for some thrilling flourishes. For the slyly charming variations on God Save the King, Rule Brittania…

David Robertson’s eclectic programme of new and old mixes Trifonov and Ibragimova with Dutoit and Ashkenazy. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

The English pianist Paul Lewis continues to stamp his considerable imprimatur on some of the world’s best-loved repertoire.

Paul Lewis explains why he’s shifted gears from the piano works of a Classic to a Romantic. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

In an exclusive interview with Julie Andrews, the actor talks about her remarkable rise to Broadway fame and fortune.