Musicians fondly think of some works as bonbons or candy, for they are as agreeable to play as they are to listen to; everybody likes them. Their melodies are engraved in our memories and run through our heads, as the makers of movies and ads know so well. Some, such as the Aria from Bach’s Suite in D major or Pachelbel’s Canon, cause us to shed tears at weddings or funerals. How can the popularity of these particular and apparently immortal works be explained, when their composers—with the exception of Corelli—have written so many other more elaborate masterpieces? Is it because, in their simplicity, these little jewels pierce straight into the hearts of their listeners? For ATMA and Les Violons du Roy the answer is yes.