There can’t be many string quartets on the circuit who make a more likeable sound than the Vermeer Quartet, their leader Shmuel Ashkenasi setting the tone much as Adolf Busch and David Oistrakh had done with their respective quartets. Not that I’m claiming the Vermeers are quite in that class (most specifically the Busch) or that Ashkenasi ever hogs the limelight, more that his presence shines from the top, so to speak.

Viewed overall, the Vermeers achieve a tonal blend that is rich and yielding, even at piano – the opening of Bartók’s Second Quartet, for example, where you sense both lustre and forward momentum; then, near the beginning of the second movement, at the point where the leader plays sforzato (0’10”), in Ashkenasi’s case a raw, bruising sound with no vibrato, the viola following suit a little later on. At around 6’26”, after the lead violin’s lone entreaty has been defeated, note the muted, motor-driven prestissimo: every crotchet is audible. I like the way the Vermeers maintain their expressive axis even for the Fourth Quartet’s head-butting first movement, and their sensitive terracing of textures at the start of the central non troppo lento. Happily, the Fourth Quartet’s finale is alert and forceful without sounding ugly.

Richard Young’s memorably warm viola launches the Sixth Quartet, the general approach, again, relaxed and reflective. Compare the more keenly accented Emersons, both here and at the ghostly start of the second movement where they (not to mention DG’s earlier Tokyo Quartet set) achieve a fragile shimmer set against the Vermeers’ more ‘well-fed’ sonority. The contrasting burlesque elements in both middle movements of the Sixth are just a trifle heavy-handed and there are times elsewhere when I found the Vermeers’ rhythmic focusing a little slack, for example at the centre of the Fifth Quartet’s scherzo, and in the Third Quartet’s coda. There is also a reluctance to play really softly. But to offset occasional quibbles there are the emotional engagement, the warmth, the refusal to facilitate aggression (an occupational hazard with Bartók) and the musicianship of (in particular) Shmuel Ashkenasi, whose shaping of the more expressive phrases is a pleasure in itself.

It’s a lovely set to have in reserve but I couldn’t make it a top recommendation – there’s too little ‘edge’ for that, not enough bite or dynamism; the contours are too smoothed and reflexes are occasionally on the slow side. So it’s back to the comprehensively perceptive Takács, the refined Tokyos, the muscular ‘middle’ Juilliards, the folkish Véghs (if fine-tuning isn’t a priority) and the pristine Emersons. Between them they just about cover the field – and I’ve also enjoyed returning to the persuasive if somewhat drier Novák Quartet, a set that in the past I’ve tended to underrate. In context the Vermeers don’t quite make the top grade – which isn’t to say that they sell Bartók short, rather that their gestures are a bit sluggish and their love isn’t tough enough.