‘Forqueray and Son’‚ this really should be‚ and possibly ‘and Daughter­in­Law’ as well. Antoine Forqueray‚ a contemporary of Couperin‚ wrote the original bass­viol versions of all but three of these 32 pieces‚ which his son Jean­Baptiste then published in 1747‚ two years after Antoine’s death. But Jean­Baptiste not only made revisions and modifications‚ he also added three new pieces of his own and issued the parallel transcriptions for harpsichord which are presented on these two discs – for which‚ it is thought‚ he may have enlisted the help of his harpsichordist wife. A whiff of soap opera is added to this dynastic tale by the knowledge that Antoine‚ apparently jealous of his son’s ability as a viol player‚ at one time had him imprisoned and banished from France. All water under the bridge now‚ of course‚ and anyway this product of the Forqueray family brand has a fair dollop of spice of its own. For a startÊ–Êand despite never venturing above the instrument’s middle registerÊ–Êthese must be among the most difficult harpsichord compositions of the 18th century‚ making tough demands on the abilities of their performers with agile hand­crossings‚ acrobatic left­hand accompaniments and busy ornamentation. On top of that‚ they reveal a strong personality‚ sometimes witty and sometimes almost bizarrely wilful; while there is grace in pieces such as La Léon and La Sylva‚ others like La Guignon or La portugaise inhabit less the disciplined and refined world of a Couperin‚ and more that of a Scarlatti or a Rameau at his most rugged and vigorous. Christophe Rousset is certainly the kind of harpsichordist you would want to trust with a trip through this technical obstacle course‚ and as befits one of the most accomplished virtuosos of today he presents an immaculate account with all ornaments securely in place and all the most complex keyboard figurations executed with precision. That alone is impressive in pieces such as La boisson or the rampant Jupiter‚ but where he is less successful is in conveying Forqueray’s more capricious side. Surely La mandoline‚ for instance‚ should be played with more of a knowing wink. For all his undoubted affinity with French Baroque style‚ though‚ Rousset is ever serious‚ disinclined‚ it seems‚ to allow humour and spontaneity to encroach too far into his playing. That does not matter for every composer‚ but surely for this one (or these ones‚ I should say) it does. In spite of such a reservation‚ however‚ this in many ways is still remarkably fine harpsichord­playing. The instrument‚ a Hemsch original of 1761‚ is crisp and sonorous.