An out-of-the-way programme, maybe, but the music isn’t uninteresting or second rate, and Lidström and Forsberg’s established expertise in performing French music makes for an issue that’s well worth exploring. They’ve already recorded the first two books of Koechlin’s Chansons Bretonnes for Hyperion (8/98), but were unaware that he had left a third set until his son presented them with a copy. Koechlin uses the simple, often modal, folk material most imaginatively, to create a series of miniature character pieces; intense, declamatory movements alternating with evocations of an austere medieval world.

Of the two sonatas, the Widor is by some way the more ingratiating and decorative. Its predominately lyrical style, with subtle, shifting harmonies and elaborate piano writing, put me in mind, oddly, of Rachmaninov, but a Rachmaninov where the sombre melancholy is replaced by bright, positive feelings, especially in the rhapsodic finale. Bengt Forsberg is extremely impressive here, combining virtuosity in the Lizstian tradition with playing of extreme delicacy.

The Magnard Sonata of 1910 is a slightly more familiar work; it’s been recorded several times. Its complex harmonic idiom, with constantly changing tonality and elaborate counterpoint, demands the listener’s close attention, and Lidström and Forsberg make everything as clear as can be. They’re adept at finding just the right tone for each passage – a good example is the way the tempestuous Scherzo (sans faiblir is Magnard’s instruction) transforms into the more inward but still anguished Funèbre third movement. In the contrasting consolatory section of this funeral march, Mats Lidström produces the most beautiful soft tone, starting very tentatively, then blossoming into greater intensity.