If you love Ravel and enjoy recordings that defamiliarise music you thought you knew, this collection should captivate you. It includes three types of works, progressively distant from the originals on which they’re based: two of Ravel’s own transcriptions of orchestral works (La valse, slightly enhanced by the pianist, and the suite from Daphnis that the composer extracted from his piano-vocal score); three of Bertrand Chamayou’s straightforward Ravel arrangements; and eight brief and rarely heard homages. In Chamayou’s intended order, which intermingles Ravel with the composers who evoke and distort him, this artfully organised recital provides an agreeably disorientating sensation in which our understanding of the composer is subtly transformed.

On their own, too, many of the individual homages offer significant pleasures. They range from the exhilarating (Betsy Jolas’s kaleidoscope of brief gestures) to the nostalgic (Montsalvatge’s tender Elegía), from the upbeat (Nin’s celebration of Ravel’s Spanish side) to the mournful (Viñes’s lonely remembrance, with its smoky café feel). Of these tributes, though, Sciarrino’s brilliant De la nuit, a non-stop swarm of notes swirling around Gaspard de la nuit, is the most striking.

The most striking – and yet it’s here that the recital’s primary performance problem is revealed most clearly. The Sciarrino is as much a study in quiet dynamic shading as it is a demonstration of digital prowess. And little of the interplay between, say, ppp and pppp comes out in this reading, which is too consistently loud. That’s not the only place where Chamayou is over-insistent. While there are scattered moments of ravishing beauty at the quiet end (listen to the way he melts into the conclusion of the Nin), dynamic nuance is often elbowed aside.

Still, I don’t want to minimise the overall excellence of Chamayou’s playing. His cycle of Ravel’s solo piano music garnered rave reviews – and the playing here has the same ‘unforced naturalness’ that Patrick Rucker found there (3/16). The relaxed impressionism of the Tansman with its tolling bass and bluesy harmonies, the vitality of La valse – Chamayou impressively captures the shifts in spirit of the 13 pieces he’s chosen. His timbral play (say, in the Daphnis Interlude) can be wondrous, too. And whether in the breathtaking fingerwork of the Sciarrino or his ability to shape the long stretch of tremolos that opens the Nocturne from Daphnis, his technical panache is everywhere evident. In sum, a revelatory release that’s well worth your attention.