Like Béla Bartók, Romanian composer-violinist-pianist George Enescu wrote violin music from a fairly early age, even earlier in fact: both the Ballade and Tarantella that feature on the second disc of this admirable survey are the products of a prodigiously gifted 14-year-old. Both are world premiere recordings, forming part of a sequence of unusual short pieces that includes a racy Hora Unirei from 1917 (like an offbeat waltz), a playful Impromptu concertant (1903) and a brief but harmonically pungent Andante malinconico that Enescu wrote for a sight-reading competition just four years before he died. All five miniatures showcase the refined but vibrant performing style of Remus Azoitei, a distinctive player whose sound world echoes Enescu’s own, as did Sherban Lupu’s on an earlier, somewhat less comprehensive survey of Enescu violin works (Electrecord, 8/01), which included the uncompleted Caprice roumain for violin and orchestra which Enescu had been working on between 1925 and 1949.

Azoitei’s pianist Eduard Stan is memorably supple in terms of both rhythm and touch, vital attributes in the last and greatest of the violin works, the Third Sonata, with its tricky transitions, complex but spirited dance sequences and fiery climaxes, especially in the finale. Other partnerships have triumphed here too, not least Yehudi and Hepzibah Menuhin, Lupu and Valentin Gheorghiu, and Christian Ferras with Pierre Barbizet, but Azoitei and Stan combine temperament, mastery of idiom and executive elegance in a very special way. They shape the music beautifully, so that what in some hands sounds like mere extended improvisation (a desirable attribute admittedly) also parades discernable form.

The five larger works all come off exceptionally well. Regarding the folky and atmospheric Impressions d’enfance I’ve previously written in these pages of Sherban Lupu’s “quietly sighing bow, like the breathy frame favoured by certain jazz saxophonists…and his mastery of gypsy-style devices”. Azoitei’s playing is less “breathy” but no less sweet; like Lupu, he gives the impression of controlled rhapsodising, and so does his pianist. The earliest larger-scale work here is the First Sonata, another teenage essay, confident and fitfully memorable though predictably derivative, with Schumann coming most often to mind. Carl Flesch described the Second Sonata (1899) as “one of the most important works of all sonata literature, whose neglect is totally unjustifiable”. Flesch died in 1944 and it’s sad to relate that even nowadays this attractive Sonata, with its discernible echoes of César Franck, is hardly more familiar than it was then. Yes it is a fine piece, one that Enescu himself recorded (with Lipatti), but the Third is a must-have masterpiece that the Torso Sonata in A minor (1911), a work that approaches Chausson’s Poème in scale and expressive power, clearly anticipates. Again, the performances are richly responsive and tastefully phrased, the recorded sound excellent. So if the repertoire appeals, no need to look any further: this is a first-rate collection, although Lupu is also worth searching out, maybe as a supplementary purchase, especially for that orchestral Caprice roumain.