'The Bohemians are remarkably expert in the use of wind instruments’, wrote dear old Dr Burney, and naturally enough he’s quoted in the booklet notes for this all-Czech (if not, technically, all-Bohemian – Janáček would have had something to say about that) second disc from the Orsino Ensemble. Clearly, Britons aren’t too shabby in the woodwind department either: flautist Adam Walker has assembled an all-star super-quintet, and Tim Ashley’s only real reservation when reviewing their debut disc (5/21) was that he’d have preferred to hear more of them as a full ensemble.

That’s exactly what we get here: in fact two of the four works (Janáček and Martinů) actually enlarge the basic quintet. James Baillieu, no less, is the pianist in the Martinů, where the delicacy and fantasy of his playing fit right in. The Sextet is delicious, of course: it’s from 1929, and it’s Paris-period Martinů at his most playful and succulent. But the programme begins with the core five in Haas’s Quintet, Op 10: also from 1929 and bristling with Hindemith-like drollery and wit.

It’s an ideal showcase for the ensemble’s collective strengths: the lively, instinctive way they make textures blend or separate, their lyrical, buoyant phrasing and their ability to find exactly the right colour at exactly the right moment. This is playing of huge character: listen to the plangent cry of Matthew Hunt’s clarinet in the kantor-like ‘Preghiera’, or the hilarious way the whole group deflates, like a punctured squeezebox, near the end of the ‘Epilogo’. These qualities make for a delightfully animated musical conversation in the Reicha, and (to my mind) exactly the right blend of the tangy and the tender – the raucous and the radiant – in Mládí. Music-making of the freshest and happiest kind.