Who has the coolest name in all of music? I might argue for Jubilant Sykes, a baritone in California. He has linked up with Christopher Parkening, the famed guitarist. And the two of them have a new album, called, perhaps inevitably, “Jubilation.”

How to describe the album? “Easy listening” is a cruel phrase, though it need not be. Sometimes easy listening’s exactly what the doctor ordered. This album has a touch of that, and of crossover, and of New Age. But it is not to be mistaken for elevator fare.

The disc (which comes from EMI Classics) has Spanish and Latin American songs, and American songs. Mr. Parkening has some solo tracks, and he shows his usual virtuosity and musicality. This is an ever-reliable musician.

And Mr. Sykes? He is talented, heartfelt, and likable. He may be a little croony, gulpy, and scatty for some. Take his rendering of Guastavino’s beloved “La Rosa y El Sauce.” It is quite slow and soupy, and would benefit from more of a spine.

There are a couple of spirituals here, including the arrangement by Margaret Bonds of “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” This is an arrangement that Leontyne Price made famous, and that Jessye Norman has gloried in, too.

We also have a couple of the “Old American Songs” that Copland arranged, beginning with “At the River.” Mr. Sykes does not sing it as William Warfield or Marilyn Horne did: straightforwardly, sturdily, nobly (overpoweringly). He is pretty loose in it — but he is certainly entitled to his style.

The other Copland-arranged song is “Ching-a-ring Chaw,” in which Mr. Sykes is a lot of fun. (So is Mr. Parkening.) I don’t know about the whoopin’ and the hollerin’ at the end, but, again: One is entitled.

I doubt that anyone can embrace every track on this CD. But Messrs. Sykes and Parkening are two honest musicians who obviously enjoy making music together. There is sincerity all through.

MINKOWSKI/MUSICIENS DU LOUVRE
‘Romantique’

Marc Minkowski and Les Musiciens du Louvre have a message for you: Jacques Offenbach was more than a comic-opera composer, more than a cancan man. They have made a disc called “Romantique” (Archiv Produktion), giving us Offenbach’s orchestral music — also his Grand Concerto for Cello and Orchestra.

Offenbach was a cellist, known as “the Liszt of the cello,” according to Jean-Christophe Keck’s liner notes. It was Offenbach who introduced Beethoven’s cello sonatas to France. The Grand Concerto is long and ambitious — grand, indeed — and it is not uninteresting. But it will hardly knock Dvorÿák’s concerto out of the way. How you respond to the Offenbach may depend on how you respond to French Romanticism in general.

The concerto is well played by Jérôme Pernoo, a Frenchman in his mid-30s. Mr. Minkowski and his period band — those Musiciens du Louvre — do all right, too. Whether you are so conservative as to want Offenbach played on original instruments is another question. I happen to think dear Jacques would appreciate gleaming modern ones.

(Incidentally, the period people may not think of themselves as conservative, but that’s what they are: ultra.)

Also on offer are an overture and some ballet music. The overture is that to “Orpheus in the Underworld,” and it is a forgettable overture, in my view. Much more engaging is the ballet music: from “The Rhine Nymphs” and “Voyage to the Moon.” This music has sweep, charm, and a surprise or two. The Grande Valse from “The Rhine Nymphs” may get you to dancing (grandly).

If there is not enough French Romanticism in your life, this is a disc for you.

RÉGINE CRESPIN
Berlioz, Ravel, et al.

And if there is not enough Régine Crespin in your life, Decca has a new CD in its Legendary Recordings line. This legendary soprano was born in 1927 and retired in 1989. She was a versatile singer, but this disc has her in the music with which she is most closely associated: that of her native France. She sings the staples: Berlioz’s “Nuits d’été,” Ravel’s “Shéhérazade.” These cycles are performed with the refined Orchestre de la Suisse Romande, under its maestro, Ernest Ansermet. She also sings songs by Debussy and Poulenc with the pianist John Wustman. Some readers may remember him as the accompanist of Luciano Pavarotti.

Mme. Crespin is not the last word in French singing, or any other kind of singing, and I could give you a list of complaints. But of her authority, there is no question. She is a singer who deserves to be heard anew. And isn’t it amazing that CDs, to some degree, make that possible?