CD: The Baltimore Consort: Gut, Wind and Wire.

You Renaissance music aficionados out there no doubt know what a Baltimore Consort CD adds to your collection. I've been accumulating an unbelievable stack of those Dorian CDs for some time: The Mad Buckgoat, Bright Day Star, even The Art of the Bawdy Song, and much more. In fact, I have a weakness for Dorian CDs in general, given the label's devotion to the early music repertoire.

So I was extremely pleased to find not only the Dorian label but the Baltimore Consort represented among the new releases at Olsson's, this time in the form of the CD Gut, Wind and Wire (known far and wide, apparently, as Gut, Wind and Fire). The disc provides both a pleasing retrospective (and some new releases) of the group's instrumental music.

If you liked An Early American Quilt, you'll surely warm to this recording. There's even some overlap in the choice of composers -- works from John Playford appear on the two albums -- and musicians, with Mark Cudek at the ready with cittern and period guitars for both groups.

The CD clocks in at under an hour of music, with 36 selections, a few of which are a minute or two long. It's utterly charming material, much of it from the Renaissance era, and beautifully played. As you might expect, there are a quite a few Irish, Scottish, and English tunes, timeless in their appeal. Listen too for the works by Michael Praetorius, as well as some delicately lovely Italian pieces.

Expect your favorite Baltimore Consort performers -- Mary Anne Ballard, Cudek, Larry Lipkis, Ronn McFarlane, Chris Norman -- plus guest instrumentalists Edwin George and William Simms. It seems rather a poor effort on my part to just string those names out together like so many beads, for these are music educators, composers, and performers whose festivals, recordings, and concert tours have been part of the early music scene, both here and abroad, for many years.

What about that puckish title that is causing all the confusion? Well, perhaps you remember what Benedick had to say about the power of music in Much Ado about Nothing. When his best friends, including the lovestruck Claudio, are about to be serenaded, Benedick observes:

Now, divine air! Now is his soul ravished. Is it not strange that sheeps' guts should hale souls out of men's bodies?

Benedick is sardonic and graphic enough here, but he's actually right in the spirit of Gut, Wind and Wire: beguiling melodies do emerge from stringed instruments, plucked or bowed.

Benedick doesn't mention wind instruments -- and if he had, there would no doubt have been a rude joke attached -- but they too are party to some magical music-making. On this album, crumhorn and recorder belong as much to the mix as do viol and lute. But however much you may enjoy the skill of the individual lutenist or flutist, it's the seamless blending of the performances that makes each track exquisite.

Even the cranky Benedick admired excellent musicians, and he certainly could be lured into spending an hour listening to such a masterful ensemble as the Baltimore Consort.

DVD: Paris, je t'aime

Back when I was an exchange student, I spent a giddy evening at a Biergarten overlooking the picturesque Franconian city of Bamberg. Gathered around the table that night were students and teachers of various nationalities, including my German instructor from the university.

As it happened, one of us was writing a postcard to a friend while we were all knocking back the beer, wine, and Limonade. I don't know who started it, but at one point a competition erupted in which almost everybody at the table had a go at contributing messages to the postcard, the object being to use as many different languages as possible. I scrawled a bit of Hebrew my Palestinian neighbor had taught me, and then the only Hungarian phrase I could remember (and spell), szeretlek, which just happens to mean "I love you."

I don't recall whether we ever found out how the recipient reacted to this linguistic group effort, but writing that card certainly captured some of the energy, exhilaration, and occasional absurdity of testing life within another culture.

Perhaps that memory is part of the reason one of my favorite movies of the past year is Paris, je t'aime (Paris, I Love You). This unforgettable film is a letter from abroad written by many hands and in more than one language, with an emotional range to match.

The concept by itself is intriguing: a compilation of short films, each set in a different arrondissement of Paris, with a separate director or team helming each project. Joel and Ethan Coen, Alexander Payne, Wes Craven, Gurinder Chadha, Gus Van Sant, and many others took on the challenge.

In the past several years I've often felt I was searching in vain for movies worth seeing in the theater (such a contrast to the creative richness of the '90s). The exceptions have been notable: Amelie, Waitress, Brokeback Mountain, a Hungarian film called Kontroll, and of course last year's Little Miss Sunshine.

Paris, je t'aime proved to me that it's still worth seeing a film for the first time in a darkened theater, although my first thought as the credits rolled was that I'd get the DVD when it came out.

There's more than one reason for that, of course. Yes, it was a moving, intensely memorable collection of films, but I also simply wanted to relive some of the segments, which, by turns, haunted or charmed me.

And then there's the other reaction I had at several moments: What was that?! This is not your average Parisian film, folks. Expect touches of magical realism followed by quotidian details and then a reversal of course -- several times. Bring on the ghosts, vampires, tourists who speak French with an American accent, and -- perhaps the most terrifying prospect of all -- mimes.

In fact the filmmakers have chosen to capture the garish and the mundane along with ineffable loveliness, as if to say that if life includes romantic kisses, it also promises muggings and job interviews, and while that guy you met on the boulevard or in the cafe might turn out to be your soul mate, he could also subject you to the French equivalent of "Hey, baby, what's your sign?"

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Each vignette, whether comic or tragic, touches on the fragility of happiness, of life itself:

Two young Parisians make tentative moves towards a delicate interfaith romance.

A long-married man prepares to deliver some devastating news to his wife -- or so he thinks.

An estranged couple (Ben Gazzara, Gena Rowlands) meets to finalize their divorce, gradually peeling back initial charm and civility to reveal the bitterness underneath.

An Englishwoman (Emily Mortimer) and her fiance (Rufus Sewell) panic as their romantic Paris holiday threatens to turn into a revelation of their irreconcilable differences.

A recurring theme is the intensity of the love between parent and child, with Catalina Sandino Moreno in an ironic fable about an immigrant mother, Juliette Binoche as a grief-stricken woman whose comfort comes from an unexpected source, and Dylan Gomong as a schoolboy who introduces us to his blissfully unconventional parents.

Several of the tales have ironic twists, usually with a touch of poignancy. Most haunting for me is the story of an open-hearted immigrant (Seydou Boro) whose fate is determined by chance encounters and split-second decisions.

Fortunately the mood is lightened at several key points, particularly with the adorable Mortimer-Sewell sketch, followed somewhat later by Fanny Ardant and Bob Hoskins as a more mature (?) and decidedly kinkier pair in the midst of their own spat.

And be on the lookout for a gravel-voiced Nick Nolte in the "Parc Monceau" segment, with its O. Henry twist.

The Coen brothers apparently couldn't resist putting perpetual good sport Steve Buscemi through his paces again -- though without the violent extremes of, say, Fargo or Miller's Crossing -- this time as a hapless American tourist trying out the Paris Metro system. They make great use of that distinctive Buscemi face and persona.

But perhaps the most unexpected surprise is the final film, a bittersweet gem that hides its heart beneath a comic exterior. I would just as soon leave you to discover its director, cast, and themes for yourself.

Paris, je t'aime concludes with a montage showcasing several characters, capturing hints of emotion, destiny, fulfillment, lingering grief, and then segueing into split-screen images of all the vignettes and cast members -- not unlike the concluding sequence from Love Actually. It's not quite a summing up, though perhaps I need to view it again to determine if any further plot developments really appeared. But it hints at a sense of human interconnection explored by filmmakers as disparate as Richard Curtis and Krzysztof Kieslowski.

I'll bet you never thought those two could find their way into the same blog entry, let alone the same sentence. But Paris, je t'aime inspires thoughts of that sort.

DVD: Waitress (2007)

DVDs have changed my life. Purchased, rented, borrowed, they've brought me all the films I truly want to see, especially those rarities that never hit the AFI or Avalon, or only turned up for the shortest of runs. And it's no exaggeration to say a humble little disc sometimes delivers a transcendent experience.

For instance, one of the real surprises in my recent DVD viewing was Searching for Debra Winger, a rough-edged but eye-opening documentary on the draining, sometimes humiliating casting system faced by actresses. In one crucial scene several women, all of whom began their film careers in the 1980s, gather around a table in the Russian Tea Room to trade war stories. They include the dark and brooding Ally Sheedy, feisty Martha Plimpton, and a tiny, delicate redhead who recounts how a casting meeting can rapidly switch from respectful conversation to the once-over.

That redhead is Adrienne Shelly, the late actress, screenwriter, and director whose final project, a labor of love called Waitress, has made its way to Sundance, our local arts theaters, DVD, and finally Olsson's.

Does that title summon up images of a beehive hairdo and a cigarette dangling from the corner of a painted-on mouth? Think again. Shelly's artistic vision has more in common with Like Water for Chocolate and Eat Drink Man Woman -- poignant and comic meditations on romantic frustration, family secrets, and lot of fantasy-inducing food.

I hope all of you have known at least one person who was a true artist in the kitchen. It's been my experience that such people are generally unknown except to those they love -- no cookbooks, no fame, but my eyes are tearing up as I type this -- and they wield enough magic to keep us clustered around the table on a Sunday evening, and then still trying to duplicate their ravioli or chicken paprikas decades later.

Well, the food as artistry conceit is back again in Waitress, and if you try to watch this without first laying in a supply of coffee and pastry, your growling stomach is your own affair. You'll be pressing your nose against the screen once our fresh-faced heroine, Jenna (Keri Russell), starts whipping up her delectable pies in the diner where she spends her days.

Jenna's a genius with pastry but flummoxed by what confronts her when she leaves the kitchen. Easily the most unpleasant: her husband, Earl (Jeremy Sisto), who alternates between intimidating Jenna and treating her like a piece of recreational equipment. That last bit of behavior has left her in the family way and apparently tethered to this Neanderthal for the duration.

But this feminist comedy is neither Knocked Up nor Spring's Awakening, so put down that remote. Shelly saves the day by giving the hard-luck Jenna an array of allies among the inescapably discontented denizens of her small Southern town. First up: her loyal confidantes and coworkers, Becky (an indomitable Cheryl Hines) and Dawn (the director, in mousy mode). Add to the mix Jenna's sensitive obstetrician (Nathan Fillion) and her best customer, Joe (Andy Griffith), and anything could happen.

Surprisingly, it's Griffith, playing a wily Southern curmudgeon, who proves to be Russell's most interesting foil. It's fun to watch Jenna match wits with the high-maintenance Joe, who ultimately respects and likes her, and there's a poignancy to banter between a blossoming young woman and a man who has traded his dreams for a few good memories.

And though it's Keri Russell who carries the movie, Shelly gives Griffith most of the best lines. In fact, on watching the DVD again, I was struck by how lovably quotable the screenplay was. Once characters start letting their inner voices escape from the censor, it's Katy bar the door, and you better start jotting down those zingers.

But don't let the wisecracks and candy-colored costumes and those amazing pies distract from the real journey. That's Jenna's road to the delivery room, where she comes to terms with all the fear, ambiguity, and anger within her own heart -- and comes face to face with the person who really changes everything. It's a journey Adrienne Shelly knew something about, both as an artist and a woman.

CD: Hesperus: An Early American Quilt

Back when I was in school one of my English teachers was kind enough to introduce us to the verse of Ogden Nash, including a recording of his rant about the commercialization of Christmas, in which he made the following threat:

This year I’m going to disconnect everything electrical in the house and spend the Christmas season like Tiny Tim and Mr Pickwick.

I think a fair number of us sympathize with Mr. Nash and his longing for the simple delights of the past, even if we're not ready to dispense with central heating or the DVD player. But it's not a bad idea to take a bit of time in the next month or so to get in touch with your inner colonial lady or gentleman and contemplate how the ancestors must have spent a winter evening back in the day. Try substituting gossip for the evening news and reading aloud for the latest episode of Desperate Housewives, and let's not forget the games, music, and dancing. Does anybody have a fiddle?

Last winter I had the opportunity to sample such entertainments when a friend of mine took me to a local folk festival, where she was one of the scheduled storytellers. As we stood watching the English country dancing - very Jane Austen, even if we were in a gymnasium - she asked me if I'd dare to participate. I had just finished saying, "Maybe next time," when a partner presented himself - again, very Jane Austen - and the next thing I knew, I was learning how to glide across the floor like Catherine Morland or Lizzy Bennet. It was somehow serene and exhilarating at the same instant.

I feel a little bit the same way with An Early American Quilt, the latest release from the early music ensemble Hesperus. This is something of an anthology of music from early America, and Hesperus casts a pretty wide net: English, Irish, Scottish, and French dance tunes; centuries-old songs such as "Fortune, My Foe," "Greensleeves," and "Barbara Allen"; and one choral work from the American shape note or Sacred Harp tradition, "New Jerusalem."

Ten of the 20 tracks come from 2007 recordings with Hesperus director Tina Chancey, Grant Herreid, and Maggie Sansone, but in addition there are selections from studio and live performances from over two decades of the group's history. That's Hesperus founder Scott Reiss - variously playing Irish whistle, recorder, and hammered dulcimer - on nine of the tracks, including five from a live concert. The great fiddler Bonnie Rideout is among the guest instrumentalists.

The music itself is utterly charming, and much of it sets your toes tapping. If you want to hear what people were dancing and flirting to back in the 18th century, and even before that, here's your chance. Among the highlights are selections from John Playford's The English Dancing Master, including "Stingo," which is threatening to become my favorite track.

That said, the mood changes several times over the course of the album. The familiar ballad "Barbara Allen" is mournful to begin with, but Melissa Weaver Dunning's a capella reading here is as dark as any I've heard. "New Jerusalem," though, gets a hearty, joyous treatment, with the singers starting off with fa, so, la before launching into the lyrics, as fits the Sacred Harp tradition.

It's a testament to the album that the material, to say nothing of the playing, will appeal to fans of various genres: folk, bluegrass, Celtic, and early music in general. And would it surprise you to hear that if you've paid attention to the soundtracks of recent films such as Cold Mountain, Sleepy Hollow, and Songcatcher, you'll already be familiar with one or more musical traditions represented on An Early American Quilt?

My interest in ballads, traditional Irish and English tunes, and early music ensembles has been building for decades, but somehow I'd overlooked a tune called "Cuckolds All in a Row," which is featured in a medley on this album. This being 2007 and all, I just had to perform a Google search on that title -- and turned up corresponding dance steps. History class was never like this...