Håkan Hardenberger and Fabien Gabel, himself a former trumpeter, join forces here for a programme of post-war French music, familiar and otherwise. The bravura concertos by Henri Tomasi (1948) and André Jolivet (1948 and 1954) have been recorded together before, notably by Wynton Marsalis and Esa-Pekka Salonen (Sony, 6/86), though Hardenberger and Gabel add into the mix the orchestral version of Florent Schmitt’s exacting Suite from 1954, originally for trumpet and piano, together with Betsy Jolas’s Onze Lieder, an introverted cycle of songs without words, written in 1977 for Hardenberger’s and Gabel’s teacher Pierre Thibaut.

The Tomasi Concerto, meanwhile, gets its first recording in a new Urtext edition by pianist-conductor Franck Villard, which restores some 60 bars regularly omitted from the finale but included in Tomasi’s original piano score – a cut probably made to ease the demands placed on the soloist in a work initially deemed unplayable. Newly orchestrated by Villard, the restored passage effectively forms the finale’s coda by recapitulating its main allegro before alluding to the expansive bittersweet melody heard at the movement’s centre. It’s remarkably effective, though you could also argue that the more familiar ending is tauter and, if anything, more exuberant.

Meeting every technical challenge head on, Hardenberger plays with a combination of breathtaking virtuosity and expressive refinement that is well-nigh ideal for this repertory. The bluesy poise of Tomasi’s central Nocturne offsets the brilliance of the outer movements. Jolivet’s Second Concerto is similarly exhilarating, with a real roller-coaster ride for the finale, though neither Hardenberger nor Gabel can disguise the repetitive nature of the work’s thematic material. The Concertino for trumpet, strings and piano is in many ways a finer piece. Again, Hardenberger plays it immaculately, though Gabel also comes into his own with it, carefully emphasising its unusual form – ostensibly laid out along conventional three-movement lines, though actually comprised of a theme and variations developed through its course. Pianist Roland Pöntinen matches Hardenberger’s verve here, too.

I much prefer the percussive drive of the piano version of Schmitt’s Suite, however, to his later, more nebulous orchestration. Hardenberger recorded the original, also with Pöntinen, over 30 years ago (Philips, 1/90), deploying a dark, edgy tone, in contrast to the new performance where his sound is brighter and his phrasing less aggressive. Onze Lieder, meanwhile, to some extent sits at a tangent from the rest of the programme in that despite its considerable difficulties, it is reflective rather than overtly virtuoso, though Gabel and Hardenberger prise open its soundscape with great finesse and care. It all makes for a most engaging album, beautifully done.