Jerusalem

When the Buda Musique label released the calm, meandering piano miniatures of Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou in their Éthiopiques series in 2006, it was a reminder, in part, of how fragile art is—and how easily it can come to be lost. After all, the music industry and its attendant market wasn’t obviously clamoring for the musical digressions of an aging Ethiopian nun. But the surfacing of Guèbrou’s music in everything from art-house movies to Amazon commercials became one of the more quietly remarkable stories of the 2010s and early 2020s, not to mention comfort to listeners who figured such recognition would be beyond the ken of our debased and uncaring world. Released a week after her death at age 99, these archival recordings capture the same featherlight beauty that made the Éthiopiques so precious, mixing stately, hymnlike pieces (“Quand La Mer Furieuse”) and quasi-classical nocturnes (“Aurora,” “The Home of Beethoven”) into a sound cosmic in its smallness and as humbly lived-in as a good pair of shoes. Even when she reaches for something more heightened and sublime, you sense the presence of someone so right with God that she feels no need to rush (“Woigaye, Don’t Cry Anymore”). Instead, the music keeps to itself: steady, resplendent, perfectly nothing to prove.