What follows is a grouping of 25 albums that may give a classical music novice some sense of what the excitement is all about.

I am well aware of this list's shortcomings, and I'll point out some of the grosser outrages myself. For example, where are the works of Vivaldi, Haydn, Berlioz, Mahler, Bruckner, Debussy and Schoenberg, to name only a handful of the important composers who have been slighted? Where are the Brahms symphonies and the Beethoven string quartets?

All valid questions, but remember: This is not an attempt to define the World's Greatest Music (although there is a lot of it here). Rather, I have in mind an introduction to some compositions that are distinguished, varied, much loved, and more or less immediately appealing to a general listener. Because it seemed important to represent opera, song, solo piano and chamber music as well as the symphonic literature, I have forgone some familiar orchestral pieces (such as the Brahms symphonies) in order to present different but equally valuable music by the same composer. And I have left out some of my favorite works (such as Berlioz's magnificent, monumental opera "Les Troyens," to start at the top) because I have found that they are best appreciated after a good deal of musical experience.

All of the recordings I have chosen should be easily available. Whenever it was possible to recommend a budget-priced disc without any concomitant decline in the quality of the performance, I have done so. Fair warning: I hope to get you hooked.

• Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750): Brandenburg Concertos.
These six works for small orchestra represent baroque music at its most joyful and immediate. No. 2 features a brilliant, incredibly difficult part for solo trumpet (you may remember it as the "Firing Line" theme), while No. 5 is the great forerunner of all keyboard concertos to come. Many fine recordings are available, ranging from the majestically overstuffed "Olde World" versions by the Busch Chamber Ensemble, which dates from the 1930s, through the trim, fleet recent renditions by the Boston Baroque Ensemble under Martin Pearlman, an attempt to play the music in much the same way that Bach might have heard it himself. I would opt for a compromise and pick up Karl Richter's performances on Teldec, which are warm, taut, energetic and shot through with regal grandeur.

• J.S. Bach: Goldberg Variations.
Bach wrote his Goldberg Variations for a musical colleague who had been called upon to play for an insomniac patron as he whiled away the midnight hours. I suppose these variations could have a soporific effect on some listeners, but the late Canadian pianist Glenn Gould turned them into a dazzling tour de force, and neither of his two recordings — a brisk, exultant rendition from 1955 and a more sober and reflective version from 1981 — has ever been out of print. Stylistically, the piece bears a certain resemblance to a jam session: It's a set of 30 exalted solos over a more or less unvarying set of chords.

• George Frideric Handel (1685-1759): "The Messiah."
This amazing score, tossed off in a mere three weeks, has become a holiday tradition for listeners of all faiths. Some prefer grand Victorian-style interpretations with full orchestra, booming organ and a chorus of hundreds; others prefer a more intimate approach. Those in search of the former will want to investigate the recording by Andrew Davis and the Toronto Symphony, which boasts soloists such as Samuel Ramey and Kathleen Battle in her silvery prime. Those who prefer the "small is beautiful" approach can't go wrong with Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music.

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91): Symphonies Nos. 35-41.
What sets Mozart apart from other great composers is his near-universal appeal. He speaks to almost everybody, of any age, on any level of musical expertise. If all you want is some momentary pleasure, Mozart will certainly provide it; if you want much more, he will provide that as well in virtually all his mature pieces. The last six symphonies (there is no 37th) are a succession of wonders — unfailingly elegant, yet possessed of vast emotional power. Karl Bohm's performances with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra are sumptuous, caloric and something of a bargain at $21.99 for a packed two-CD set.

• Mozart: "The Marriage of Figaro."
Mozart's opera wins our heart not only with its seraphic score but also with its all-seeing, truly civilized acceptance and affirmation of humanity. From the opening scene, we have the feeling that we know these characters and that, despite their abundant flaws, we love them all. This is the human race in all of its vanity, lust, delusion — and sweet, transitive glory. My favorite "Figaro" remains the vividly characterized and raptly sung version from 1968 with Herrmann Prey, Edith Mathis, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gundula Janowitz, under the direction of Karl Bohm, but there are admirable alternatives.

• Mozart: String Quintets and Divertimento for String Trio (K. 563).
Goethe's famous description of chamber music as a "discourse between reasonable individuals" is never more apt than when applied to these works. The divertimento, in particular, is suffused with an otherworldly radiance and serenity, while the quintets explore the whole panoply of Mozartean emotion. Arthur Grumiaux was a dapper, soulful violinist who made a specialty of chamber music; his recordings of this music, gathered on a moderately priced three-disc set from Philips, are unlikely to be superseded any time soon.

• Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827): The Nine Symphonies.
If Mozart sometimes seems almost Olympian in his elevation and composure, Beethoven is demonstrably one of us — alternately struggling and celebrating, suffering and exuberant, convivial and unbearably alone. Composition did not come naturally to Beethoven; his notebooks reflect the extraordinary amount of effort he put into each work, and the last quarter-century of his life was shadowed by increasing deafness. Still, his nine symphonies are central to any understanding of classical music. I urge you to buy a complete set, as picking a "best" Beethoven symphony is roughly comparable to choosing a favorite Himalaya. While there is no such thing as a "definitive" performance of any masterpiece, Herbert von Karajan's 1963 recording of the Beethoven symphonies with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra has always been recognized as supremely authoritative.

• Beethoven: Piano Sonatas.
In an ideal world, everybody would have a complete set of "the 32" to keep alongside "the Nine," for these sonatas make up the cornerstone of the piano literature. For our purposes, a single disc will have to suffice (although the curious should investigate complete recordings by Claude Frank, Richard Goode or Wilhelm Backhaus). Alfred Brendel offers thoughtful and persuasive renditions of four of the "named" sonatas — the "Moonlight," the "Pathetique," the "Appassionata" and "Les Adieux" — on a Philips album.

• Gioacchino Rossini (1792-1868): Overtures.
Rossini is the most steadily undervalued of the great composers. His music has everything: long, lush melodies that constantly startle with their beauty and potency; ceaselessly inventive part writing, harmony and orchestration; enormous reserves of feeling; and an abundance of wit, heart and soul. Operas such as "The Barber of Seville," "L'Italiana in Algeri" and "La Cenerentola" are near-perfect confections — frothy, delicious fluff turned into high art — while the "Petite Messe Solennelle" and "Stabat Mater" are among the most affecting and original devotional works in the literature.

• Franz Schubert (1797-1828): Songs.
Schubert produced melodies in much the same way an apple tree bears fruit — naturally, effortlessly, inevitably. In his short life, Schubert created symphonies, operas, chamber works, some fathomless and ethereally beautiful piano music and hundreds of songs, or lieder. There is now a century-old tradition of singing Schubert on record, and many artists have given us distinguished recital discs. Recently, British tenor Ian Bostridge has brought rare intelligence and dramatic intensity to this music, and the first of his two Schubert recitals on EMI has many of the composer's "hits."

• Frederic Chopin (1810-49): Preludes.
Chopin has been called the "poet of the piano"; he was also the most adept miniaturist in musical history. Nowhere is this more apparent than in his set of "preludes" — 24 short pieces (some of them barely half a minute long) that contain music of astonishing potency and variety compressed into the most economical of forms. My only hesitation in recommending Maurizio Pollini's brilliant and multifaceted rendition is the disc's brevity — only 36 minutes of music at full price — but it remains my favorite interpretation. Other sensitive artists — Martha Argerich, Juana Zayas and the late Jeanne-Marie Darre among them — throw in some additional music on their recordings.

• Felix Mendelssohn (1809-47): Octet.
Mendelssohn was all of 16 when he completed his Octet for Strings and, with all due respect to such wonderful later works as the "Italian" Symphony and "Elijah," he never quite surpassed it. Over the course of the octet's four movements, we find the exuberant ardor of youth mated with the technical assurance of a master. A recent two-CD set by the English group Hausmusik contains not only the octet but the two Mendelssohn string quintets and one of his quartets, all for $10.98.

• Robert Schumann (1810-56): Piano Quartet/Piano Quintet.
"Schumann wrote music of the heart," the late American composer and critic Virgil Thomson once observed. "There's nothing like it." Schumann's output includes four symphonies, some marvelous songs and an entire catalogue of fanciful and highly personal keyboard music. Still, these two exhilarating and virtuosic works for piano and strings, written within a year of each other, are the ones to which I return most often, especially in the superb recording by the Emerson String Quartet and pianist Menahem Pressler. Note the rapturous melody in the quartet's Andante Cantabile movement — a perfect melding of deep joy and profound melancholy, a combination rarely found in the same notes.

• Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901): "La Traviata."
Selecting only one of Verdi's many operas, some 15 of which are staged regularly around the world, is a thankless task. I selected "La Traviata," the tale of a dying courtesan and her last love, for its poignancy, familiarity, melodic richness and dramatic variety (the four scenes are all markedly different from one another). Maria Callas, who made a specialty of "Traviata," is sadly represented only by a dimly recorded live performance from 1958. For that reason, I recommend the 1977 Deutsche Grammophon recording featuring Ileana Cotrubas, with Placido Domingo as Alfredo.

• Richard Wagner (1813-83): "Wagner Without Words."
Wagner's operas are quite long, and his strenuous writing for the voice can be off-putting to a novice listener. If you want to go ahead and opt for an opera, my first choice would be "Die Meistersinger von Nurnburg," for its good humor, humane wisdom and unfailingly luscious score. But "Wagner Without Words" makes a splendid introduction to this composer's music (especially at the budget price), and the Cleveland Orchestra under George Szell was one of the world's best.

• Johannes Brahms (1833-97): "A German Requiem."
This austere, brooding meditation on the mysteries of life and death is caviar for pessimists. Brahms was usually at his most eloquent when writing in an autumnal vein (other examples include the late Intermezzos for piano and the piercingly lovely Clarinet Quintet).

• Georges Bizet (1838-75): "Carmen."
It has been called a perfect opera; certainly it's an extraordinarily popular one. Put on "Carmen" for a friend who claims to know nothing about classical music and watch for the delighted response as melody after familiar melody struts by. I have selected Maria Callas' 1964 recording to represent Bizet's masterpiece: Despite her inelegant French and some vocal wear and tear, nobody else brings the untamed Gypsy girl to such vibrant, dangerous life.

• Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840-93): "The Nutcracker."
This matchless ballet presents us with Tchaikovsky's full range as a composer — from the patrician but deeply emotive "Waltz of the Flowers" through the heady delirium of the Pas de Deux, the world's most emphatic descending scale. Particularly captivating are the smaller movements — the oompah bassoon and prancing piccolo of the "Chinese Dance," the enchanted celesta in the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" and the headlong propulsion of the "Trepak." Valery Gergiev's recent recording with the Kirov Orchestra is passionate and playful, grand and intricate by turn, and Tchaikovsky's wonderful melodies are given their full due.

• Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924): "La Boheme."
If you were ever young, struggling and in love in a big city, you'll have a hard time resisting "La Boheme." No other opera so convincingly bewails the horrors of poverty while making most of the resultant hardships seem so romantic. Puccini's score is rich and sturdy, and juicy arias abound. Act 3 is a gorgeous, unbroken continuum (and Stephen Sondheim's favorite scene in all opera). You can't do better than the performance with tenor Luciano Pavarotti and soprano Mirella Freni, both in peak, honeyed condition, under the direction of Herbert von Karajan.

• Richard Strauss (1864-1949): Tone Poems and "Four Last Songs."
Strauss wrote great music for more than six decades — not all the time, by any means, but enough so that his works are still being explored and reevaluated. A mid-1970s recording by Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic contains one of the early, hyper-romantic tone poems that brought the composer world acclaim ("Death and Transfiguration") but also two very different pieces written when Strauss was past 80: the mournful elegy for string orchestra "Metamorphosen" and the peerless "Four Last Songs," with soprano Gundula Janowitz.

• Jean Sibelius (1865-1957): Symphonies Nos. 5 and 6.
Sibelius is among the most mysterious of composers — a man who changed his style (if not his voice) from work to work, and wrote almost nothing in the last 30 years of his long life. The Symphony No. 5 is ecstatic late Romanticism, scored for huge orchestra, with magnificent, resounding passages for brass choir that suggest nothing less than the opening of the heavens. The Symphony No. 6 is something else again: gentle, clarified music of rare sweetness and satisfaction. Paavo Berglund, one of Sibelius' Finnish countrymen, conducts the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra on a budget recording from EMI Angel.

• Maurice Ravel (1875-1937): "Bolero" and other works.
Such is the popularity of Ravel's "Bolero" that it practically guarantees a full house for any orchestra that includes it on a program. "It's my masterpiece," the composer once explained. "Too bad it contains no music." In fact, "Bolero" is one of those rare pieces that create and perfect their own forms, and then break the mold; unique by definition, it can never have a sequel. Ravel wrote a number of other pieces that are equally unusual and compelling: "La Valse," for example, is not only the ultimate apocalyptic sendup of Viennese pomp but chockablock with grand, whirling melodies that would not have been out of place in the heyday of Johann Strauss. Charles Munch leads the Boston Symphony Orchestra on a recording that includes not only "Bolero" and "La Valse" but the "Rapsodie Espagnole" and the "Mother Goose Suite."

• Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971): "Firebird," "Petrouchka," "The Rite of Spring."
Stravinsky was undoubtedly the most influential composer of the 20th century; many thought him the greatest as well. You can get all three graceful, charming ballets, as well as the delicious, airy, neoclassical "Pulcinella" and the agreeable "Jeu des Cartes," in a moderately priced two-CD set featuring the London Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Claudio Abbado.

• Carl Orff (1895-1982): "Carmina Burana."
A setting of pagan texts from the Middle Ages, this primal, pulsing choral work has sometimes been reviled as simplistic and even reactionary by composers and critics, but it increasingly seems one of the genuine, path-breaking classics of the 20th century. What will impress a contemporary listener is how much was prefigured in this 1937 piece. The orchestral dances might have come from Copland's "Americana" phase; the piano syncopation in "Veni, Veni, Venias" is right out of "West Side Story"; the soprano solo "In Trutina" could be a forgotten movement from Henryk-Mikolaj Gorecki's Third Symphony, which became an unexpected bestseller a decade ago.

• Aaron Copland (1900-90): "Appalachian Spring," "El Salon Mexico" and other works.
The first American on our list, Copland was one of the few composers of his time who were held in equal esteem by professional musicians and the general public. Conductor Leonard Bernstein was Copland's ideal interpreter, and his disc of such favorites as "Appalachian Spring," "El Salon Mexico" and "Fanfare for the Common Man" is a terrific introduction.

• Bonus disc (for those willing to try some contemporary music): Steve Reich (1936- ): Music for Mallet Instruments, Voices and Electric Organ, and other works.

If somebody were to force me to choose the single most sonorous, sheerly beautiful composition written during my lifetime, I might elect Reich's bejeweled 1973 masterpiece. It is one of those pieces so sumptuous and original that a listener can scarcely imagine what it must have been like to bring it into the world. The first and best recording of the Music for Mallet Instruments has just been reissued.