‘Mixture of rascally thug and dandy’ is how one reminiscence describes Scott Ross, and when one hears stories of his liking for giving recitals in lumberjacket and jeans, or of otherwise showing disarming disdain for conventional concert practice, one can begin to see why. The photos in this 11-CD box show him variously looking like John Lennon (’70s version), smooth-groomed but moodily turned away from the camera, or addressing us with the hard-as-nails stare of Michael Caine in Get Carter mode. The reminiscence also mentions ‘a great sense of humour’, much of which seems to have expressed itself in pretending he didn’t care about anything much when in fact he did care, and practised and thought hard. The images here suggest a prickly character, maybe, but also a deeply determined one.

For many, Ross is the harpsichordist who recorded all 555 of the Scarlatti sonatas, a monumental feat achieved in 16 months in the mid-1980s. For some, he is the great lost star of the harpsichord. His death in 1989 at the age of 38 from HIV-related pneumonia not only curtailed the complete cycle of Bach’s harpsichord works he had embarked upon – and which forms the starting point for this box – but also robbed us of the chance to continue feeling the closeness and relevance of his art. Today his short career is remembered for its brilliance and, to a lesser extent, eccentricity. His memory is still revered, but as time moves on and fashions change, our appreciation of his actual music-making becomes less and less exact.

Ross was born in Pittsburgh in 1951 but moved to Nice with his parents when he was 14. Starting on the piano, he gravitated towards the organ and then the harpsichord, and in 1971 won a rarely awarded First Prize at the Bruges International Harpsichord Competition. Despite that, he found it difficult at first to build a career, and for several years taught at the Laval University School of Music in Quebec. In 1983 he returned to France, living in a tiny rented house in the grounds of the Chateau d’Assas, near Montpellier, where he kept company with cats, orchids and the wondrous ‘Donzelague’ harpsichord he had already used for complete recordings of Rameau and Couperin. He also signed for Erato, for which the Scarlatti was made, and eventually began the Bach project which, on the evidence of what is in this box, promised much.

Ross knew he did not have long to live when he set out on it, and it is remarkable that he got as far as he did, recording between January and June 1988 the three harpsichord volumes of the Clavierübung – which is to say the Partitas, the Italian Concerto and French Overture and the Goldberg Variations (this last for EMI Angel) – as well as the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue. These four discs are the only original commercial recordings in the box and they stand as exemplars of Ross’s special talent. While not completely note-perfect, they reveal a technique of great precision and poise that allows him to express himself naturally without exaggeration or gimmick; indeed, given his reputation, many first-time listeners may be surprised to find how restrained his playing can seem, how lacking in rubato, extra ornamentation or other flamboyant gestures. Watch him on YouTube and you’ll see how still he sits, how smoothly unhurried his hands are. ‘With that combination of stability and the particular poise of his arms and hands’, a former student recalls in the booklet, ‘the music just flowed out of him’, and that is very much the impression you get here, especially in the allemandes and courantes that he runs by us with elegant legato.

What really creeps up on you, however, is his mastery of complex-textured fast pieces. The gigues in the Partitas compel attention in a way that is not obvious at first but which rests in the clarity and shape he gets from subtle and effective use of articulation, constantly letting in light and keeping the music vital. The Fifth Gigue is a stunning example, as is the Chromatic Fugue, but there are plenty more throughout this box – in fact, I seriously wonder if anyone has ever played harpsichord fugues more excitingly.

It’s sad then, that the next Bach on his list, which he didn’t get it to, was The Well-Tempered Clavier. Erato attempts to compensate by including a complete recording made for Radio Canada in 1980, in which Ross’s ability to enliven a rugged fugue with crossfiring articulations is also on show. Some of the preludes are a little staid, however, and one is left wondering how different they might have sounded 10 years on. Certainly one would hope that a commercial recording would have had more wrong notes edited out, and sourced a more generous-toned harpsichord.

The rest of the set is made up of further radio recordings, most of which have been posthumously issued on CD before, including a concert Goldbergs recorded in Ottawa in 1985. This is a good find; although not hugely different from the 1988 studio, it is consistently that little bit faster, giving it pleasing momentum. (It is also very accurate.) I like the insouciant way Ross plays the Aria, dancelike and apparently unweighted by thoughts of what is to come. This is perhaps overdone in the later version, but both of these performances are impressive accounts of this great piece.

One disc contains rarities and first releases, all from live recordings. Some (such as the Third English Suite) are ruinously noisy, and some (such as a stodgy F minor Harpsichord Concerto) should have been left where they were. But there is a joyous two-harpsichord arrangement by Ross’s second teacher Kenneth Gilbert of the Sixth Brandenburg (in which he is joined by his first teacher Huguette Grémy-Chauliac), while exciting performances of three of the Toccatas make you wish he had got round to them in the studio.

Ross’s organ output is relatively little-known, though he apparently thought of it as his first instrument. There are two discs of it here, including a few CD premieres. Again one is struck by the technical control and clarity of his playing, even if some of the instruments, mainly Canadian ’60s-builds, are somewhat lacking in grand character.

Although more of a mixed bag than it at first appears, this collection is a valuable celebration of a fascinating talent.