The most successful numbers on Juan Diego Flórez’s previous album of popular Latin American songs (Decca, 10/06) were the handful where the Peruvian tenor was backed by a small ensemble. In those, his singing sounded freely expressive; in the rest, however, the singer’s – and the songs’ – spirit was squashed by the Fort Worth Symphony’s accompaniment.

Thankfully Flórez does away with the orchestra entirely on this new collection. Most of the arrangements are quite minimal, in fact, and those with slightly more elaborate instrumentation are thoughtfully realised, like ‘Contigo en la distancia’, where the nightclub atmosphere, conjured by a reverberantly miked piano, aptly connects this Cuban song from the 1940s to its counterparts in the Great American Songbook.

Flórez is very much at home in this repertoire, for the most part, and particularly in the songs from his native Peru. He gets the speech-song quality of the folkloric ‘José Antonio’ just right, for instance, so the phrases move as gracefully as José’s trusty steed. The free-form structure of ‘Cuando llora mi guitarra’ depends upon the singer’s ability to convey heartache as spontaneous outpouring, and Flórez does this brilliantly. Perhaps ‘El tamalito’ is too elegantly delivered for a song about a street vendor selling tamales, but even if we’re served these on a silver platter, as it were, they’re still delicious.

There are a few songs that don’t quite work. ‘Aquarela do Brasil’ is a breezy number that requires ‘a swing that makes you sway’, as the lyric itself tells us; aquarela means watercolour, but Flórez’s full-throated, rhythmically heavy account suggests oils. And the festive ‘Guantanamera’, ‘La pollera colora’ and ‘El yerberito moderno’ are somewhat stilted for party music. I was also puzzled by his accent in Gardel’s tango ‘Volver’, with its bizarre mix of Argentine and Spanish consonants.

These are the exceptions, however. Most of the programme is enjoyable, and a few songs are absolute knockouts. I was stirred by his fervour in the anthemic ‘Solo le pido a Díos’, shivered at the catch in his throat in ‘Amaneci entre tus brazos’ (and the way he lingers on the final ‘s’), and I’m certain that in ‘Cucurrucucú paloma’ his long-held notes and intimate bouts of falsetto would bring the house down in recital.

Listening to ‘Bésame Mucho’ alongside Flórez’s earlier album, his tone may have lost some of its lightness and ease, perhaps, but its radiant tonal sheen remains a joy.