Many a major musical institution is largely ignoring the Schoenberg anniversary this year, so thank heavens for artists like Claire Booth, who here follows up her ‘Expressionist Music’ (Orchid, 7/24) with an album built around the composer’s seminal Pierrot lunaire.

While the earlier album was just Schoenberg, here we concentrate on the figure of Pierrot in music covering a century from the 1880s to the 1980s – plus a brief excursion back to the 1830s for the curtain-raiser: ‘Pierrot’ from Schumann’s Carnaval. There are songs, piano solos and chamber works – and there’s a gorgeous cello arrangement of Pierrot’s Tanzlied from Die tote Stadt. Booth and Ensemble 360 acquit themselves superbly in various configurations.

It’s certainly great to have Thea Musgrave’s 1985 Pierrot, a vividly descriptive, quietly unsettling three-hander in which Pierrot, Columbine and Harlequin are voiced by violin (Benjamin Nabarro), clarinet (Robert Plane) and piano (Tim Horton) respectively. And Booth has done some admirable exploration to turn up songs on the Pierrot theme by Joseph Marx, Poldowski (aka Régine Wieniawski) and Max Kowalski, as well as Debussy. All are brightly performed. And Amy Beach’s ‘Valse amoureuse’ is a beguiling piece, too.

The main course, however, is undoubtedly the Schoenberg, performed with the sort of conviction and commitment one would expect from Booth, with Ensemble 360 matching her with accurate, expressive instrumental support every inch of the way. The soprano’s approach offers what strikes me as a successful middle way between the extreme, as delivered by Patricia Kopatchinskaja, and the more objective approach we get from Christine Schäfer’s celebrated recording with Pierre Boulez. Indeed, appropriately enough given the focus of her earlier album, this is very much Schoenberg the expressionist.

Booth’s approach to Sprechgesang is fluid, with the vocal line relatively filled out and Schoenberg’s notated pitches treated very much as markers in a flexible line. Within these parameters, one can only marvel at the freedom and expressivity she brings to her performance, with much to enjoy in the details, too. For example, she realises the composer’s tremolandos – many of them ignored by Schäfer – convincingly, such as with the almost plaintive croak at the close of ‘Der kranke Mond’ (compellingly realised in tandem with Juliette Bausor’s flute).

And I like the witty dash of quasi-operatic vibrato she introduces to the word ‘sentimental’ in ‘Heimweh’. Like Kopatchinskaja, she adds a hint of neighing horse at ‘Schneemann der Lyrik’ in ‘Gebet an Pierrot’, but with more subtlety and control. We also, importantly, get the necessary sense of bitter tragedy, of the humanity behind the masks. There’s real drama in ‘Madonna’, and apocalyptic grandeur in ‘Die Kreuze’, after a powerful ‘Enthauptung’. The last two songs work their quiet, uncanny magic affectingly.

As with Booth’s earlier album, the German is not always idiomatic or accurate (‘Boot’, for example, is pronounced like the English and not the German word in ‘Heimfahrt’). But this is still a Pierrot to cherish, putting the seal on a fascinating, well-recorded release. Well worth seeking out.