César Franck’s Piano Quintet has notoriously divided opinion since it was first heard in January 1880, when Saint-Saëns, sight-reading his way through the piano part, stalked offstage in disdain the moment the performance was finished. Liszt and later Debussy were also among those to take umbrage at a score that often embraces the grandest and most sensual of passions but which some have also considered torrid or overheated. ‘Paroxysm, the whole time’, was Debussy’s dismissive verdict, much shared, though not, it would seem, by Martin Klett and the Armida Quartet, who offer a considered, reined-in interpretation, albeit one that by no means ignores the emotions at the work’s centre.

The tension and restraint characteristic of the performance as a whole are apparent at the outset in the edgy assertion of the opening string phrases and Klett’s understated, lyrical response. Despite the complexities and weight of Franck’s piano-writing, Klett never allows himself to dominate: the sense of even-handed give and take between the players is consequently paramount and their careful, detailed way with phrasing and dynamics adds immeasurably to the restlessness and gathering passions of the first movement. The central Lento is marvellous here, its sadness and nostalgia gradually building towards a climax of almost shocking grief before we reach the finale, where the momentum is relentless, and the closing pages have a fiery exhilaration. The work has been well served on disc, with Clifford Curzon and the Vienna Philharmonic Quartet (Decca, 9/61) and Gabriel Tacchino, grander in drama and gesture, with the Quatuor Athenaeum-Enescu (Pierre Verany, 12/92) arguably leading the field. Klett and the Armida may not quite eclipse them but this is a superb achievement that nevertheless runs them close.

What makes the disc so attractive, however, is the choice of Frank Martin’s rarely heard Quintet (1919) as companion piece. The two works are in some respects antithetical, and each throws the other into sharp relief. Franck’s high Romanticism offsets Martin’s neo-Baroque cool, with its frequent echoes of Bach and a poise worthy of Ravel at his finest. Where Franck gives us an intense dialogue for all five players, Martin glides between multiple groupings and combinations of instruments. The piano is often an effective outsider, on occasion commenting, as if from a distance, on what to all intents and purposes sounds like a self-contained quartet, or leading the strings in a witty minuet that never quite seems to go where they – or indeed we – expect. A beguiling work, it’s done with wonderful finesse here: the Armida sound exquisite throughout and the limpidity of Klett’s playing is simply ravishing. Admirers of the Franck will not be disappointed, but ultimately it’s the Martin that makes the disc very special indeed.