Bach’s two great series of solo instrumental works‚ the Cello Suites and the Sonatas and Partitas for violin‚ continue to offer a daunting challenge to baroque instrumentalists. Even today‚ after several decades of period­instrument activity‚ recordings of these pieces on modern instruments comfortably outnumber those on Baroque ones. In the case of the Cello Suites‚ this may be partly because the difference between the two types of instrument is somehow less marked than for others‚ but also because full­time Baroque cello soloists are rare. If you have encountered the name of Ophélie Gaillard on one of your CDs before‚ you will more than likely have spotted it among the list of names of Christophe Rousset’s Les Talens Lyriques or in her own chamber group Amarillis‚ so for her to offer solo Bach is a bold move. It is‚ however‚ a successful one. The first thing you notice about her playing is its tone‚ a warm‚ embracing one in which the cello neither growls (as modern ones are apt to do) nor whines (as Baroques ones can). At the same time there is an incisive clarity to her playing (well captured by an intimate but natural recorded sound) which means that the texture is never clouded‚ even when the double­stopping starts. As for the nitty­gritty of interpretation‚ there is plenty to give pleasure and little that should displease. Gaillard can show a fluid way with line – as in movements such as the Gigue of the Third Suite and the Courantes of the Second and Fifth – which she combines with a winsome light tread and a hint of poetry‚ for instance in the Fifth Suite’s Allemande and Sarabande. Elsewhere she can be spiky and nervy‚ for instance in the Second and Third Courantes‚ but perhaps scores most highly in the Préludes‚ where she shows how she has got their rhetorical measure; I particularly enjoyed the withdrawn‚ almost ruminative course she took through the broken­chord figures of the Third‚ and the unhistrionic drama she brought to the unfolding story of the Second. This is a recording which stands up well to current period­instrument competition‚ richer in sound than Anner Bylsma’s 1979 recording‚ more generous in spirit than Jaap ter Linden’s‚ and gentler on the music than Pieter Wispelwey’s 1998 version. Gaillard’s playing would benefit from some of the latter’s dancing‚ flickering­fingered brilliance‚ and Bylsma’s sublime insights can never be ignored‚ but her own virtues – thoughtfulness without self­indulgence and an ability to restore some of the music’s sheer beauty – are enough to make this a commendable release.