CDs: various orchestras and conductors:

• Borodin: Symphony #2, In the Steppes of Central Asia, Overture and Polovtsian Dances from Prince Igor; Mussorgsky: Night on Bald Mountain (Seraphim)


• Sir Thomas Beecham/Royal Philharmonic Orchestra: Borodin: The Polovtsian Dances; Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherezade (EMI)


• The Haydn Quartet: Borodin: String Quartets 1 and 2 (Naxos)

Artists, whether they're actors, composers, painters, or writers, have frequently accompanied their creativity with a sometimes elusive quest for sheer survival. Reflecting this, the singer-songwriter John Gorka wrote the following in his liner notes to the appropriately titled Land of the Bottom Line, "I would like to dedicate this album to my mother, Loretta Gorka, who never mentioned 'starvation' or a 'real job' when my life took a turn for the music."

Mr. Gorka aside, there are numerous examples of artists who kept their day jobs. I remember the actor in Buffalo who worked in the Red Cross Bloodmobile by day and performed Brecht and Shakespeare by night. Then there was the pediatrician/poet William Carlos Williams. And we can't forget, Wendy Wasserstein reminds us in Uncommon Women and Others, that the poet Wallace Stevens was employed in the insurance industry. As former Olsson's buyer Joe Murphy tells me, upon Stevens's death, one of his co-workers famously said, "Wally wrote poetry?"

And then there was Alexander Borodin, the Russian chemistry professor who wrote music on the weekends, sometimes taking years or even decades over a composition, and left a small body of work, some of it unfinished.

But as a friend told me many years back, if Borodin composed relatively little, what he wrote was worth hearing. And surely you know at least part of that small body of work, for Borodin is ranked with the "Mighty Five" Russian nationalist composers -- Balakirev, Cui, Mussorgsky, and Rimsky-Korsakov are the others -- and his influence stretches from the concert hall to the radio, from the Broadway stage to popular song.

Confession time: I got my first fix of Borodin courtesy of the original Broadway cast album of Kismet, that timeless musical featuring Joan Diener, Doretta Morrow, Henry Calvin, Richard Kiley, and of course the legendary Alfred Drake. The show's hummable, much-loved songs -- "Sands of Time," "Fate," "And This Is My Beloved," and of course "Stranger in Paradise" -- come straight from Borodin's symphonic, operatic, and chamber works. Listen to In the Steppes of Central Asia or any part of Prince Igor and you'll see what I mean.

But even if you come to Borodin with no frame of reference, he's instantly accessible. It's pretty difficult to resist the 2nd String Quartet, with its famous Nocturne. It's even more moving when you consider the work immortalizes the composer's relationship with his wife, Ekaterina.

Though Borodin is identified as a romantic and a Russian nationalist, forget the labels and simply receive the music. There's something universal in the vigor and optimism of the final movement of the 2nd Symphony, for example. I find it irresistible, life-affirming.

So too In the Steppes of Central Asia speaks a language that crosses geographical and cultural barriers. The haunting, vaguely melancholy strains remain with me and contain some unspoken universal truth.

Too often Borodin is confined to compilation albums, sandwiched in with his brother composers such as Mussorgsky or Rimsky-Korsakov, as in the examples above, or in budget compilations featuring Russian composers or orchestral favorites. I blush to mention the budget-priced Seraphim CD above; after all, it costs less than a magazine. Moreover, the vocals are omitted from the Polovtsian Dances (You'll find them on the Beecham recording). But it's such a pleasure to have an array of Borodin compositions on one disc -- a musical tour, if you will -- that it more than earns its place in your collection.

Beecham's recording of Polovtsian Dances, paired delightfully with Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherezade, provides an especially satisfying journey into the exotic yet mysteriously familiar world that is part of the legacy of Alexander Borodin.

CD: Leif Ove Andsnes: The Long, Long Winter Night

On one of my favorite albums, A Land of Pure Delight (now known as Early American Choral Music, Volume I), there's a particularly engaging passage from William Billings's "The Rose of Sharon," the text of which is drawn from the Song of Solomon. His Majestie's Clerkes sing:

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

Well, that's from the Bible and not the meteorologist, and perhaps it's not going to be so easy this year. True, the trees are beginning to blossom, and I actually saw some forsythia on 16th Street today. But following the surreally mild temperatures of January (trees blooming on Capitol Hill at the opening of the 110th Congress!), Mother Nature dragged us kicking and screaming back into winter.

I once asked a Scandinavian colleague how she was able to bear the lengthy, dark winters in her homeland. "Don't feel sorry for us," she began, and explained how holidays, family gatherings, and the like bestowed a glow in the midst of winter.

Back here in the States, however, I get to thinking dark thoughts in the winter, and almost every glance at the newspaper leaves me thinking I can handle nothing more taxing than another cup of tea.

So it was nothing short of inspirational to drop everything this past Saturday and take in a performance of Doubt, John Patrick Shanley's Pulitzer Prize- and Tony Award-winning drama of an epic clash of wills in a Bronx parish, circa 1964.

Don't allow the title to put you off. Doubt is one of those beautifully constructed plays that seizes the imagination and holds it fast. Shanley's discipline and artistry as a playwright is matched by the fearless performance of Cherry Jones, here playing a parochial school principal confronting the possibility that a charismatic young priest may have engaged in illicit behavior with a student. Her Sister Aloysius is informed by an iron will, a surprising wit, and ultimately a touching humanity. Jones's memorable portrayal is complemented by the rest of the cast, particularly Chris McGarry as the priest in question and Caroline Stefanie Clay, who, as the student's mother, requires but a single scene and a few lines to convey a lifetime of painful choices.

Another artistic effort that seizes the imagination and puts it through its paces is The Long, Long Winter Night, Leif Ove Andsnes's brilliant recital of Norwegian piano music. As you would expect, Grieg is represented, and indeed Andsnes has been recording the composer's works for many years now.

All very well and good; you know and perhaps enjoy Grieg. But prepare yourself for the compositions from an array of Norwegian composers of the 20th century: David Monrad Johansen, Harald Saeverud, Geirr Tveitt, and Fartein Valen. To a man they were entirely unfamiliar to me, despite lives and careers which extended across the 20th century.

Don't feel trepidation about wandering into unfamiliar territory here, though; the music is demanding but accessible, and is informed by a variety of composers and eras. This is particularly true of the careers of Johansen, Saeverud, and Valen. However, all of them, in one respect or another, fell under the influence of their Norwegian heritage: folk tunes, folk tales, mythology, national pride and, in at least one case, outright defiance in the face of invasion.

Those influences help make this a truly Scandinavian affair, too, thematically speaking: everything from the reindeer to the god Thor puts in an appearance. Just read the track listings or, better yet, summon up your own images as you listen to the recording. Andsnes is masterful in his technique, finding the mood, tone, and coloring for each piece, from serene to sprightly, from thunderous to meditative. Is this disc a tale for a winter's night, or is it the story of a people? You could make a case for both views.

And if you are wondering where we have squirreled away this particular CD, just head over to the browser with all the EMI Encore sale items. Yes, this treasure has gone budget!

But don't reserve this album just for the long winter nights. Summon it up for your springtime, your summer, your autumn.

CDs:

• The Toronto Consort: The Da Vinci Collection


• The King's Singers: Madrigal History Tour

Somehow I can't begin any discussion of secular Renaissance music without one of my favorite movie quotes of all time, bar none. As Orson Welles says to Joseph Cotten in The Third Man, "In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."

I'm not willing to march into Harry Lime's amoral world (though he would make an engaging drinking buddy), and I'm even less prepared to speculate on whether a society in upheaval or one at peace produces the better art, though I'd note that neutral Sweden gave us Ingmar Bergman.

What I have no doubt about is that Renaissance art speaks to us as eloquently today, and if you care to test that notion, drop by the National Gallery or find a Lenten choral concert in one of the DC area churches.

"They" tell me that early music is always the hardest sell to someone just approaching classical music. The conventional wisdom is that you bait the hook with a little Baroque, a little Beethoven, and then reel them in, but save the Gregorian chant, the medieval mystery plays, the crumhorn, and the Tallis Scholars for a later point in the musical education.

Yet I find it difficult to believe that anyone with, say, a taste for klezmer bands or the Chieftains or perhaps even certain types of bluegrass wouldn't warm to early music ensembles.

What I no longer recall is whether early music sounded strange on my ear when I first heard it (though I confess I found the crumhorn a rather rude instrument). Perhaps it gained a beachhead during my childhood when my father took us to see The Play of Daniel in New York. If I can't summon up that music in my inner soundtrack, at least I remember the production's visual aspects and also that it was my first real exposure to early music outside of liturgical chant.

At any rate, in my days at Olsson's in Bethesda, I used to bait the hook with early music discs and see who I could reel in. Among the the groups passed the test of drawing customers to the counter to check out the play list were the Baltimore Consort and the Toronto Consort.

Happily, the Toronto Consort has a new CD out, The Da Vinci Collection, which would probably pass the play list test as well. And in case you're wondering if that title is a bit of unsettling cross-promotion in the service of Dan Brown, bear in mind that we are talking Italian music from the time of Leonardo. As the Marquis Music website has it, not only would he have known some of the composers, but he probably would have heard the some of the music as well.

The acid test, though, is whether the group and its chosen material are worth your time. Wonder no more; the music is utterly beguiling. Included in the collection are sacred and secular material, vocal solos and ensemble work, and instrumentals, including dance tunes. There's even an instrument I'd never heard of before, the saz, which is apparently a variety of Turkish lute.

I'd previously become addicted to the Toronto Consort's Dorian CD of medieval travel music, The Way of the Pilgrim, and therefore it was a pleasure to encounter the gang again, this time in the heart of the Renaissance. The instrumental ensemble features the hurdy-gurdy, viola da gamba, renaissance flute, and more familiar instruments (along with the aforementioned saz). I found the women's vocals particularly affecting, pure but not colorless. Kudos to mezzo Laura Pudwell and soprano Katherine Hill.

And when you're passing by the browser containing the EMI sale CDs, keep an eye out for Madrigal History Tour, by the King's Singers. This monster collection (34 tracks from five different cultural traditions) of Renaissance vocal music was very much a steal when it was in EMI's mid-priced catalogue, but now it's budget and therefore they're practically giving it away.

The recording itself stems from the early '80s, when the line-up of the King's Singers consisted of countertenors Alastair Hume and Jeremy Jackman, tenor Bill Ives, baritones Simon Carrington and Anthony Holt, and bass Colin Mason. For me, this was always the definitive incarnation of the group, though you'll want to explore further efforts by other singers. Remember too that footage of the King's Singers' performances pop up on Classic Arts Showcase.

This particular album really shows off their vocal agility, ease with various languages, and of course their trademark humor and sense of fun. And if you are into major springtime frolicking, or at least yard work, you could do worse than to let the boys provide the soundtrack. Thematically speaking, it goes from birds and gardens to raging hormones, bliss, heartbreak, and back again. Try bouncing around the garden to Morley's "Now is the Month of Maying" or Hassler's "Tanzen und Springen," for example.

I bought the disc back in its mid-price days and was thrilled by the liner notes: texts and translations, complete credits, multilingual commentary on the madrigal. In short, it's perfect for gaining a toehold in the world of early music.

DVD: Crossing Delancey

When the subject turns to independent bookstores on film, three distinctive romantic comedies spring immediately to mind.

The first is Beeban Kidron's Antonia and Jane, which features the great Imelda Staunton as Jane Hartman, a nebbishy British bookseller beset with an oddball family, a lover with an Iris Murdoch fetish, and an uncomfortable rivalry with the classmate (Saskia Reeves) who married Jane's erstwhile boyfriend (Bill Nighy), went into publishing, and supposedly achieved the perfect life. Things take an interesting turn when the two women wind up in therapy -- with the same analyst. The movie, though not available on DVD at this writing, is worth keeping an eye out for.

The second is You've Got Mail, the latest incarnation of Miklos Laszlo's Parfumerie, which has been adapted as, among other things, Ernst Lubitsch's classic The Shop Around the Corner. In You've Got Mail, independent bookstore owner Meg Ryan faces off with corporate behemoth Fox Books. The film is a tad kind to the invading hordes (they're led by the affable Tom Hanks, after all). But it's to Nora Ephron's credit that she has provided a pop culture shorthand for the plight of the indie bookstore. Whenever I try to explain to a sibling or high school friend what Olsson's is, the light of recognition fills their eyes and the first thing they bring up is the plot of You've Got Mail.

But few films pay tribute to the indie bookstore as well as the new-to-DVD Crossing Delancey, a romantic fable set in the New York of the recent past, post-Lindsay and pre-Giuliani, a city of immigrants, hot dog stands, and rent-controlled apartments.

The focus is one Isabelle Grossman (Amy Irving), a winsome New Yorker with a Bohemian wardrobe and a job organizing author readings at a literary bookstore. The very first scene, a party celebrating New Day Books' survival, gives some hint of the glamor, drudgery, and precariousness of Izzy's existence. Bookstore owner George Martin's defiant, triumphant speech to the partygoers, followed by his exchanges with his employees, says almost everything that needs to be said about independent bookstores.

But if Izzy lives in a rent-controlled apartment and schmoozes with world-famous poets and authors, she also has one foot in the Lower East side, where her immigrant grandmother (Reizl Bozyk) holds court and dreams of the day she'll dance at her granddaughter's wedding.

And she's not just dreaming, either; a mission like this calls for a professional. Enter Hannah Mandelbaum (Sylvia Miles), matchmaker and possibly Izzy's worst nightmare.

Or is she? For Bachelor Number 1 proves to be Sam Posner (Peter Riegert), a guy from the neighborhood. True, he runs the family pickle stand, hardly the stuff of romantic fantasies, and Izzy already has her eye on a smooth-talking author (Jeroen Krabbe) from uptown. But Sam has some powerful allies, notably Izzy's determined Bubbie, and perhaps the most persuasive weapon of all: a complete lack of a hidden agenda.

Sylvia Miles is surprisingly endearing as the tactless, vulgar, and ultimately kind matchmaker, an earthbound goddess with a raucous laugh and a wheeler-dealer mind-set.

Reizl Bozyk, a veteran of the Yiddish theater, appears to be channeling several boroughs full of immigrant grandmothers in her portrayal of the crafty Bubbie, and I could swear I've been in that kitchen. You can almost smell the soup.

Peter Riegert, who has frequently taken supporting roles opposite flashier types, has a chance to shine here as the grounded Sam, moving with ease from shul on the Lower East side to literary gatherings uptown.

Even if you don't remember Riegert, it's a safe bet you've seen him in something, whether it's a Wendy Wasserstein play, a Jim Carrey farce, or The Sopranos. And when he hit the road to promote his film King of the Corner, the Bethesda audience was charmed by his post-screening talk, where he covered everything from the apparent indestructibility of Eli Wallach to the fecklessness of Hollywood's tendency to write off the over-35 moviegoing public. Call him psychic, given the results of the awards season!

But despite the masculine presence of Riegert, Krabbe, Martin, and supporting players John Bedford Lloyd and David Hyde Pierce, Crossing Delancey is definitely an estrogen-driven affair, with Bozyk, Irving, and Miles heading a multigenerational, multiethnic group of women. Traveling from the grocery store to the self-defense class, we glimpse Hasidic housewives, yuppies, single mothers, retirees, and a mystery woman singing Rodgers and Hammerstein at the hot dog stand. Don't you just love New York?

Of special note is Suzzy Roche, one of the famous singing Roche sisters, who handily steals scenes as Izzy's buddy and possible romantic rival. And in case you're wondering, yes, that wonderful soundtrack showcases several Roches songs.

Since we're on girl talk here, I should mention that a couple of critics felt the film's fleeting raciness marred its general tone. Granted, post-Sex and the City, it's much harder to find shock value in the ladies' steam-room bawdiness or rude comments and sights during the bris scene, but consider yourself warned.

I should add too that Susan Faludi wrote off the film as part of the antifeminist backlash, but that's a bit of a stretch. Crossing Delancey is as much about ethnicity, class, and pretensions as it is about Manhattan lonely hearts, and it's hard not to melt when Isabelle's uptown fantasy dissolves into the very real possibility that love is waiting for her on the Lower East Side.

Besides, Hendrik Hertzberg has a cameo. What's not to love?

CD: Jean-Yves Thibaudet: Aria: Opera without Words

At their most appalling, transcriptions can devolve into Classical Hits for Dummies, background music comprised of melodies from the better-known operas, oratorios, and cantatas, pretty enough but without the emotional power and definitely without commitment -- the air kiss of classical music, if you will.

I'm happy to report that pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet's Aria: Opera without Words is not one of those listenable yet strangely watered-down experiences you tend to get from such collections. Yes, you will likely recognize the melodies, but make no assumptions about where you are going to wind up once Thibaudet takes you in hand.

Take, for example, the familiar "O mio babbino caro" from Gianni Schicchi, in whose vocal rendition, the soprano, in effective drama queen style, declares she'll just die if Daddy won't let her get married. Thibaudet caresses the notes with exquisite tenderness, and yet there is an undercurrent as well, a sense of a flowing river, indeed the River Arno of the text, here conveyed with the hands rather than the lips.

But there are passages in the other works, though, where ornamentation gives way to intimacy, sometimes even stark beauty. Consider, for example, what the pianist does with a Puccini selection for a soprano with a very different fate from that of the lovesick bride-to-be in Gianni Schicchi. Listen to the opening notes of "Vissi d'arte" from Tosca. In Thibaudet's hands, it is not merely a piteous cry to God; it's true alienation, a loss of faith. There is no doubting what will come next!

The other tracks, however, represent decidedly different affairs. There will be moments when you might imagine you've put on a CD of nocturnes and impromptus, and a passage from Saint-Saens or Bellini will prompt a reverie.

Then suddenly you'll drop your teacup and novel at the arrival of something from Johann Strauss or Richard Wagner. Thibaudet's performance of the latter's "Ride of the Valkyries" must be heard to be believed.

This, in short, is opera by through the looking glass, and while you'll arrive back where you started, you will never be the same.