CD: Christian Gerhaher, baritone, and Gerold Huber, pianist: Schubert: Abendbilder

It is immensely reassuring to report that the gentle invasion of lieder artists continues to make its way into concert halls and recording studios. In fact, the baritones alone make a formidable division, among them Thomas Quasthoff, Matthias Goerne, and Christian Gerhaher.

Gerhaher has proven a nice surprise and a worthy inclusion in the pantheon of lieder singers. If the name is unfamiliar to you, store it in your memory and set out to familiarize yourself with the voice that goes with it. This is a baritone who very much belongs in the lieder tradition.

Part of Gerhaher's training involved master classes with soprano Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, the latter being one of the 20th century's greatest interpreters of lieder. Not surprisingly, Gerhaher's CDs have included Schumann's Dichterliebe and a well-received version of Schubert's Winterreise -- a work Fischer-Dieskau recorded more than once!

Abendbilder ("Evening Images"), another collection of Schubert lieder, is a gorgeous CD. There are just two instruments, Huber's piano and Gerhaher's supple voice, each beauteous by itself, each complementing the other. The singer's smooth delivery and crisp diction are an asset to the material and a gift to the listener, and I'm sure that even if you don't understand German, you will have little problem responding to the emotional power of the music, with which Gerhaher is clearly at home. By turns confiding, ardent, and reflective, he makes this collection of songs yet another memorable journey.

Christian Gerhaher's not just a lieder artist, either; drag him away from the piano and you get recordings of Bach, Bartok, Haydn, Mahler, Weber and -- you just knew this was coming, didn't you? -- one of the most recent recordings of Carmina Burana, a work which at this point almost seems an initiation rite for up-and-coming baritones. But if Gerhaher is in demand for stagings of Wagnerian operas and recordings of Bach masses, I certainly hope he will never abandon the lieder repertoire, to which he offers so much.

In the meantime, we can gear up for his next stop in the DC. The Washington Vocal Arts Society 2007-2008 performance schedule has Gerhaher and Huber due to appear at the Embassy of Austria on October 11th of this year.

DVD: Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

I was more than a little depressed to read that a classically trained dancer is appearing in a "reality" program called So You Think You Can Dance. Does a man who performed with the American Ballet Theater and at the Metropolitan Opera really want to be trotted out before a panel of judges for ritual humiliation? Perhaps we'd all be better served with something along the lines of What Qualifies You to Be a Pundit? or Saints Preserve Us! You Want to Be President.

It seems a lifetime ago that we saw our singing and dancing on the variety shows airing on the three major networks, or in the big-screen musicals at the movie house or drive-in -- Paint Your Wagon, for instance, or Oliver! I doubt kids today see many musical films, aside from some recent and vintage Disney classics or the odd screen adaptation of a Broadway musical. The jungle telegraph has it that the movie version of Mamma Mia! is on its way to theaters in 2008, and for all we know, a musical revival may ensue.

While the singing and dancing drought lasts, DVDs offer some respite, with 1954's Seven Brides for Seven Brothers among the irresistible options.

I can hear the grumbling already. What business do I have recommending something that scores off the charts on the political incorrectness scale? "Stockholm Syndrome: The Movie," opined Joe Murphy when we took in a screening of Seven Brides at the AFI Silver Theatre. I can't say I blame him. Look at the description! Six randy frontiersmen kidnap prospective brides after their recently married brother tells them the legend of the Sabine women, and it's all set to hummable Gene de Paul-Johnny Mercer tunes.

But oh, how those brothers dance, and that's the wonder of the movie for several reasons. For starters, when Stanley Donen set out to make a musical version of Stephen Vincent Benet's "Sobbin' Women" and enlisted Michael Kidd as choreographer, the battle lines were already drawn. Choreographing numbers for the backwoodsmen -- or, as Kidd translates into New Yorkese, "these seven slobs" -- seemed a thoroughly stupid idea.

How they wheedled the recalcitrant Kidd into creating the knockout dance sequences is a story by itself, told in the documentary Sobbin' Women: The Making of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, included with both the regular and special editions of the DVD.

Several of the film's dancers show up in the documentary to share their recollections, among them Jacques d'Amboise, who came to the production from the New York City Ballet; Russ Tamblyn, who of course went on to play another dancing tough guy in West Side Story; and Tommy Rall, who nearly stole Seven Brides with his daredevil athleticism in the film's key dance sequences.

Mr. Tamblyn was a gymnast, not a dancer, when he won the role of Gideon, the youngest of the seven Pontipee brothers. He makes the most every one of his scenes, though, especially with some acrobatic machismo in the barn-raising dance, and just watch what he does with his body in the "Goin' Courtin'" number.

But of course Tamblyn's on-screen brothers Rall, d'Amboise, and fellow dancers Marc Platt and Matt Mattox are utterly glorious to watch, especially once things really get rolling in the big barn-raising dance. When it's not a guys' rumble (and remember, this was before the choreographed gangs of West Side Story), it's a riot of color and energy as the dancing ladies pair off with the various men.

And I mustn't overlook film's leads, singer-dancer Jane Powell, here playing a big-hearted but indomitable frontier bride who almost single-handedly civilizes the entire Pontipee family, and her on-screen spouse, baritone Howard Keel. The "Sobbin' Women" number, in which Keel hands out a little dating advice to his brothers via Plutarch's Lives, is priceless.

Among the women, Virginia Gibson and Norma Doggett, as prospective brides Liza and Martha, are particular standouts in the barn-raising and "June Bride" numbers. Ms. Gibson in particular shows a dancer's grace in every move, whether she's leaping into the arms of her partner, sulking during a snowstorm, or picking a fight with one of her girlfriends.

Julie Newmar, Ruta Lee, Betty Carr, and the thoroughly adorable Nancy Kilgas round out the group of brides, and yes, that is a very young Sheila James (now Sheila Kuehl) playing Ms. Newmar's kid sister.

Speaking of beauty, the story is told in costume as well as dance. Observe how the men are dressed during the barn-raising sequence: boxy, unflattering jackets and trousers for the guys from town, who dance in a stiff, inhibited style; and bright shirts and body-flattering pants for the lithe, athletic Pontipee brothers, who have just the moves to whisk the town's beauties off their feet.

Speaking of costumes, if you watch too few classic movies or missed fashion before the low-rider and flip-flop era, the female dancers, boasting the tiniest waists this side of Scarlett O'Hara, will be a revelation. The only muffin tops in this movie are the ones eaten at breakfast, and those calories obviously burned off during dancing.

CD: Emmanuelle Haim/Le Concert d'Astree, with Natalie Dessay, Pavol Breslik, Ann Hallenberg, and Sonia Prina: Handel: Il trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno

We're just past Independence Day, Bastille Day is close at hand, and it seems that, aside from the recent Folklife Festival and Harry Potter mania, I cannot escape all things French.

For openers, I made a rare trip to the cinema to see Paris, je'taime, 18 short films -- fables, romances, tragedies, shaggy dog stories, all set you know where -- created by a variety of directors and featuring an international cast. You'll spot the usual suspects -- Fanny Ardant, Juliette Binoche, et al -- but keep an eye out for Steve Buscemi, Gena Rowlands, and a few other surprises.

Continuing my airfare-free trip to France, I rented the DVD of Le Placard (The Closet), a subversive little French comedy featuring the great Daniel Auteuil as an accountant with no backbone and no luck. If you're having a bad day at the office, this is definitely for you.

Then I opened my Washington Post on Saturday and got an eyeful of the new French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, jogging across the pages. Apparently "Sarko the American" has drawn Gallic wrath, or at least disgruntlement, with his choice of a fitness program. I must say I'm with the French on this one. A stroll down the boulevard is, after all, much more civilized.

Given my frame of mind, I was set for a review of the career of French coloratura soprano Natalie Dessay, who, between the recording studio and the opera house, has created a stir of her own. That voice of hers reaches notes in the stratosphere and is, as you would expect, well-suited for the Queen of Night in The Magic Flute and the title role in Lakme. However, Dessay has not shied away from an array of soubrette roles and the occasional bel canto part.

Prior to her vocal training, Dessay was an actress, and that experience apparently blended well with her singing technique. If you have seen her on Classic Arts Showcase, YouTube, or elsewhere, you know she doesn't simply glue herself to the stage and make pretty noises, like some wooden opera stars I won't name, but rather plunges into characterizations. Her Lucia is dangerously, heart-rendingly disturbed; her Cunegonde is giddy, greedy, and shamefaced all at once.

I happen to have her Mozart Heroines album, but if you really want to hear what she can do, check out Natalie Dessay: The Miracle of the Voice, a two-disc set available at Olsson's. The collection includes some genuine rarities and an astonishing breadth of composers. Yes, the lady's a natural choice for Delibes, Donizetti, or Mozart, but did you know she'd recorded compositions by Leonard Bernstein and Thelonious Monk?

I must admit, though, that I hadn't thought of Dessay in terms of Handel roles, despite her recent forays into the Baroque repertoire, and I was even more puzzled to find her latest project was a secular oratorio, an early composition from Handel, the rarely recorded Il trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno (usually translated as "The Triumph of Time and Enlightenment").

The libretto is straightforward: Beauty (sung by Dessay) is first enticed by Pleasure (mezzo-soprano Ann Hallenberg), then gradually set upon the path of righteousness by Time (our tenor, Pavol Breslik) and Enlightenment (alto Sonia Prina).

If that description leaves you with the feeling you're being dragged back into the university lecture hall, calm down. This is delicious music, more than two hours of pleasure, however the texts may read, and you won't come away feeling ascetic. Moreover, Handel clearly recognized this for the compositional triumph it is, since he quoted from it later on.

There are no large choruses this time out, but prepare to be enraptured by the vocal beauty of the four soloists. True, the spotlight is on Dessay, but the other women shine, particularly Hallenberg, noted for her wonderful voice, as well as her interpretations of the Baroque repertoire.

The newcomer of the foursome is tenor Pavol Breslik, he of the beautiful tone and emotional resonance. Where have they been hiding this guy? "The opera houses and theaters of Europe, you baritone-obsessed twit" is an acceptable reply. This Slovakian tenor, winner of the Antonin Dvorak International Competition, is making his recording debut with Il trionfo. His stage work includes Bach, Donizetti, Mozart, Verdi, and Wagner, and I dare to hope this signals a long and rich career.

Emmanuelle Haim, our conductor, harpsichordist, and organist, has had a distinguished career in the Baroque repertoire and is, not surprisingly, an alumna of Les Arts Florissants. Her own ensemble, Le Concert d'Astree, performs exquisitely alongside our vocal soloists -- yet another triumph in a remarkable recording.