All last year, the music world celebrated the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth. Feel like a rest? But there is no rest in Mozart production — nor should there be.

From Deutsche Grammophon comes a new recording of Mozart’s last work, the Requiem. Christian Thielemann conducts the Munich Philharmonic, of which he is music director, and the Bavarian Radio Chorus. This is a live recording. And, believe it or not, Mr. Thielemann had never before recorded Mozart. He picked a good piece, you’ll agree.

Mozart died before finishing the Requiem, and it was first completed by his pupil Süssmayr. This is the most common version, and it is the one used by Mr. Thielemann. That is a sensible decision.

And the recording on the whole is like that — sensible. I realize this may sound like faint praise: “a sensible performance.” But sensibleness goes a long way, especially in Mozart conducting.

In the CD booklet, Mr. Thielemann is quoted as saying the following: “I try to follow a path between ‘normal’ performance practice and the ostensibly authentic, which sometimes strikes me as sounding too contrived.” Amen, maestro. “On the other hand, I want to profit from its findings and insights.” I’m with you there, too. “Even the use of large-scale forces … can achieve fantastic quiet playing and transparency.”

Mr. Thielemann’s recording bears that out. You could argue with this interpretive choice or that. But Mr. Thielemann remains in the realm of the sensible — and the solid, and the beautiful, and the Mozartean. His Requiem is wisely paced, and it has an arching quality, along with a driven one. At the same time, it is not overdriven.

The choruses tend to be welldefined and propulsive. Their energy comes from within, rather than from a conductor’s baton. The conductor merely releases that energy (if you will accept the distinction).

As for the four vocal soloists, they are not especially wellknown, but they are all satisfactory. Sibylla Rubens is the soprano, Lioba Braun the mezzo-soprano, Steve Davislim the tenor, and Georg Zeppenfeld the bass. Each is an individual, if imperfect; and each is sincere.

Perhaps the big question to ask is whether Mr. Thielemann’s performance is spiritually transcendent. I would say not. And that is no small drawback. But others may think otherwise, and I might, too, on a later listening. In any case, Mr. Thielemann confirms that he is a real musician, doing justice to an immortal work.

Here in New York, we often have discussions about who will succeed Lorin Maazel at the Philharmonic, and who will succeed James Levine at the Metropolitan Opera. One could do worse than to have Mr. Thielemann in either post. Then again, it seems unlikely he would want to leave his native land.

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The piano music of Isaac Albéniz is widely known, thanks mainly to Alicia de Larrocha, the great Spanish pianist who retired a few years ago. She championed Albéniz, as she did Granados, Turina, and the rest of her countrymen. But what of Albéniz’s vocal music?

He wrote three operas, along with a zarzuela (which is certainly a kind of opera – a national opera). All three have now been recorded, under the baton of José de Eusebio, leader of Madrid forces. Those operas are “Henry Clifford” (1895), “Pepita Jiménez” (1896), and “Merlin” (1898). You will have noticed that two of the titles are English ones. That may have to do with the fact that Albéniz’s librettist — on all three operas — was a British banker-poet who rejoiced in the name of Francis Burdett Money-Coutts.

“Henry Clifford” and “Merlin” can be found on the Decca label, and the latest recording — of “Pepita Jiménez” — comes from Deutsche Grammophon. According to the excellent and fat CD booklet, “Pepita Jiménez” has been the subject of serious bastardization down the decades. We have not had an authentic version — until now. Mr. de Eusebio himself has put together this version, and Albéniz, we may be sure, would smile on it.

The music has what we would expect from this composer: easy melody, interesting harmonization, and structural integrity. “Pepita Jiménez” will not put “Parsifal” out of business, but it is worth hearing nonetheless. It often sounds like slightly Spanish Puccini, which is no putdown — certainly not from me.

The story is based on a novel by Juan Valera, and it concerns a young widow — age 20, in fact — who falls in love with a seminarian. Uh-oh. Will he pursue his vows, or take other vows with the widow, Pepita? On that dilemma hangs the story.

Star of this recording — singing that perplexed seminarian — is Plácido Domingo, the ageless Spanish tenor. I was looking forward to hearing him sing in his native language, something one seldom has a chance to hear him do. But the libretto is in English — Mr. Money-Coutts’s English. (Incidentally, the opera’s premiere was given in Italian — an Italian translation of the English libretto fashioned from the Spanish novel.) And how does Mr. Domingo sound? Like himself, and you know how that is.

His Pepita is the seasoned American soprano Carol Vaness. She is, as usual, imperious and slightly tremulous, not sounding like a 20-year-old. But does Mr. Domingo sound like a young seminarian? Well, yes, actually — in a way. Regardless, Ms. Vaness is a smart and compelling singer, and she comes through fine.

Secondary roles are very well cast: The mezzo-soprano Jane Henschel is an earthy, knowing, conniving servant, in the long tradition of such servants, sung by mezzos. Enrique Baquerizo is a super-smooth baritone, singing the seminarian’s father, and a bass, Carlos Chausson — no relation to the composer Ernest, as far as I know — is an able vicar.

As for Maestro de Eusebio, he knows what he’s doing, musicologically and musically.

Granados and Turina wrote operas, too. But probably the most famous of all Spanish operas is by Falla: “La Vida Breve.” It says something about the fate of Spanish opera at large that we know this work mainly from a couple of orchestral excerpts. Hats off to Maestro de Eusebio for his service to Albéniz, and to us.