Bertrand Chamayou begins the essay to his new disc of berceuses and lullabies with the admission ‘I’m a night owl’. He goes on to explore the phenomenon of the moment of falling asleep, explaining: ‘This is the borderland, haunted by the most varied of emotions, from tenderness to fear.’ Having become a father he now finds himself taking on the ‘roles of tucker-up and comforter, while putting my own worries aside’. The danger with this kind of CD is that you end up with so much slow, quiet music that you find yourself drifting off into the most pleasant slumber …

But not here, for the programme is full of surprises and ranges wide, both geographically and historically. The earliest piece is also the best known, Chopin’s Berceuse, in which Chamayou bends the melody to his will, to fine effect, though I found his metrical indulgence with the accompaniment somewhat distracting – the more restrained Perahia at a similar tempo is more affecting (Sony, 12/85). But the recital begins not with this but with Janáček’s ‘Good Night!’ from On an Overgrown Path, in which Chamayou reveals the composer’s quizzical nature as vividly as such iconic accounts by Firkušný (RCA, 3/91) and Páleníček (Supraphon).

Liszt’s late Wiegenlied, programmed next, shares with the Janáček an obsessive way with the briefest of ideas; the other Liszt piece by contrast is the expansive Berceuse from nearly 20 years earlier, a veritable tone poem in Chamayou’s hands, with the pianist drawing out delicate filigree every bit as potently as the moments of rich songfulness. There are two pieces by Lyapunov too, the first (‘A Doll’s Lullaby’) again echoing Janáček in its harmonies and motivic economy. The Berceuse that forms the first of Lyapunov’s 12 Transcendental Études breaks out into flurries of notes – he clearly learnt from Liszt’s examples – and Chamayou dispatches them with enviable insouciance, warmer in effect that Konstantin Scherbakov (Steinway & Sons, 7/19).

Other highlights include Grieg’s ‘Lullaby’ from the Lyric Pieces, Op 38, its gentle rocking motion giving way to an increasing unease before being lulled back to quiet once more. This is followed by the premiere recording of Bryce Dessner’s haunting and hypnotic Song for Octave, which the composer wrote earlier this year for his own son. Mel Bonis’s ‘The Little Girl Falls Asleep’ is all tenderness and certainly deserves to be better known, as does Martinů’s haunting ‘Ukolébavka’, written just three years earlier in 1925.

Busoni also makes a striking appearance with the Seventh Elegy (Berceuse), which is rendered almost Debussian by Chamayou, with a fluid wash of sound. Hamelin by comparison is more concerned with conveying its underlying grandeur, each harmonic change minutely detailed (Hyperion, 11/13).

Chamayou closes with Alkan, the 13th Prelude from his Op 31 set, which translates as ‘I slept but my heart is awake’. He palpably relishes its disarming beauty and isn’t afraid to lend its simple melody more point with nicely judged rubato. A treasure-trove of an album.