In the sense meant by the old phrase ‘a painter’s painter’, Camargo Guarnieri is ‘a composer’s composer’. His music grabs hold of you, impels you, pushes you hither and thither, but you feel no resentment: quite the opposite. So consummate is his technique that you want to follow him, Pied Piper-fashion.

Chôro for clarinet and orchestra (1956) is a perfect example of this. The listener is seduced by the magical orchestration, lulled by the sensual melodic style (Gershwin will certainly come to mind) and exhilarated by the rhythmic intrigue. The listening composer feels the same but also wants to see the score to know exactly how he did these things. Without intending to resort to cliché, there is also that sense of dance, of physical movement – try the first movement of the Chôro for piano and orchestra (also 1956) and see if you are not drawn in by its swinging rhythm, before your ear is drawn by what Paulo de Tarso Salles describes in his booklet note as his ‘elegant counterpoint’.

The latest work on the album is the Chôro for viola and orchestra (1975), an altogether more angular though not dodecaphonic piece. It explores more extreme emotional territory and is shot through with the beauty of melancholy, particularly in the middle movement, Tristemente. If viola players would take it up, as one might hope would be the result of this excellent recording, it would constitute a major addition to the literature for the instrument. There’s some magical writing, too, in the Chôro for cello and orchestra (1961), notably the lyrical excursions in the central Calmo e triste.

The ‘intruder’ here is the lovely Flor de Tremembé (1937), which will certainly call to mind Villa-Lobos, as Salles notes, but Guarnieri is altogether a more consistent composer, while Villa-Lobos is something of a lottery – you are as likely to get a work of bizarrely imaginative genius as the feeling of a piece of chewing gum that never ends.

Performances throughout are thoroughly idiomatic and the four soloists genuinely seem to revel in the music. Roberto Tibiriçá guides them through it with the sureness of one who knows the scores inside out, and the recording, made in the Sala São Paulo, is both clear and resonant.