Sir Thomas Allen is held in great affection in the UK, and from this disc it is easy to see why.  The more 
                  ‘poppy’ final tracks - standard additions in compilations of 
                  this ilk - are much more than an addendum, Allen acting as the 
                  story-teller par excellence in the Carousel excerpt, 
                  completely at home. It is with Korngold that he opts to end, 
                  however -  Fritz’s Song from Die tote Stadt - a 
                  glowing, autumnal close that leaves a lingering sense of satisfaction 
                  after the disc stops playing. It is helped in this case also 
                  by the ethereal ladies voices of the excellent Geoffrey Mitchell 
                  Choir.
                The earlier items are magnificently chosen to give not 
                  only an overview of Allen favourites, but also to give a balanced 
                  selection of favourites. The decision to start with the Faust 
                  excerpt as opposed to the more obvious second track (‘Largo al factotum’) is an interesting one, and 
                  one that works well. It immediately establishes Allen’s refulgent 
                  tone and gorgeous sense of line, his sensitivity to mood changes 
                  (quite quick in this short aria) and his natural and accurate 
                  way with the text.
                The ‘Largo al factotum’, bubbly as champagne, is despatched 
                  with almost superhuman confidence, even more than Mark Stone’s 
                  cocksure Barber at ENO recently (http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2005/Jan-Jun05/barber1602.htm ). The words seem less gabbled with Allen, and I like 
                  the way Allen is distanced at the start with his ‘La la la lera’s, 
                  as if he’s walking onstage.
                Talking of Almaviva-like frolickery, Figaro is 
                  next, the orchestra miraculously on the ball in the tricky accompaniment 
                  to the recit before the aria. Allen is remarkably dramatically 
                  secure - here and everywhere on the disc - clearly enjoying 
                  himself.
                Mozart and Wagner make firm bedfellows, and Wolfram’s 
                  ‘Wie Todesahnung’ from Tannhäuser follows on marvellously, 
                  the one illuminating the other. Trombones are gorgeously crepuscular 
                  and captured perfectly in the Couzens’ superb recording. Allen’s 
                  legato is a model at ‘O du mein holder Morgenstern’ - here, 
                  of course, in English – ‘Look down, oh gentle evening star’. 
                  There is a simply gorgeous pianissimo in the orchestra at the 
                  end, yet it is Allen who remains in the memory. This 
                  is great singing. Wolfram’s aria describing the nature of Love, 
                  ‘Blick’ ich umher’, heard later in the recital occupies the 
                  same hallowed ground.
                Interestingly the one-lined Lisa in the Queen of Spades 
                  excerpt is not credited, but one assumes it to be Janice Watson, 
                  who appears twice later. This flows well, its yearning quality 
                  contrasting with the swaggering Drinking Song from Thomas’ 
                  Hamlet. Again there are solo lines, not emanating from 
                  Allen, that are uncredited - here the parts of Marcellus and 
                  Horatio. Joyous trumpets launch this orgy of fun.
                The interaction of Allen with warm-voiced bass Bradley 
                  Sherratt in the Luisa Miller excerpt - which includes 
                  the aria ‘Sacra la scelta’ - is gripping; Allen shapes the aria 
                  affectionately.
                Interesting that Chandos put ‘Billy in the Darbies’ between 
                  Bizet and Johann Strauss II. The Bizet flowers into real lyricism 
                  but it is the Billy Budd fragment that marks the true 
                  climax of the disc. Allen takes you right into Britten’s elusive 
                  world, the excerpt fading back into the silence from whence 
                  it came. 
                Of course it is traditional to end recitals of this ilk 
                  with more ‘fun’ fare, and so we launch now into a sequence of 
                  lighter pieces. The ‘Watch Duet’ from Fledermaus sees 
                  everyone concerned at home, vocal roulades glittering ... and 
                  this time we know he’s with Janice Watson! Similar compliments 
                  could be heaped on the sweet Cavalryman Duet from The 
                  Merry Widow or the long (7’11) soliloquy from Carousel; 
                  the latter previously discussed above.
                It is difficult to imagine a finer tribute to one of 
                  the UK’s finest singers. And there are few better ways of spending 
                  seventy two minutes and 29 seconds than listening to this recital 
                  straight through. I do suggest you test the truth of this statement.
                Colin Clarke