Mendelssohn performed by a chamber orchestra and directed from the keyboard always looks like an enticing proposition. And so it proves with this new set from the Paris Chamber Orchestra with Lars Vogt at the helm.

There’s a wonderfully Beethovenian flair to the First Concerto’s opening movement, but equally striking is the musicians’ way with more lyrical moments: listen to Vogt’s response to the tranquillo B flat major theme (1'51"). And, as you might expect from such a first-class chamber musician, he gives as much attention to places where the piano accompanies (such as the passage underpinning clarinet and bassoon, from 3'00") as he does when he’s centre stage. Crucially, the orchestra respond in kind, matching the soloist’s articulation and dynamics to an unusual degree. There’s plenty of fantasy too – in the piano passages Mendelssohn writes to link the first and second movements of each concerto, for instance, which unfurl with a naturalness reminiscent of Murray Perahia.

For the slow movements Vogt takes relatively flowing tempos, enfolding the orchestra around him in the First, very much in the same spirit as Howard Shelley, who also directs from the keyboard. While Vogt is arguably faster than the Adagio indication in the Second Concerto, I must admit I prefer this to the more spacious visions of Perahia and Shelley. At similar tempos to Vogt, Hough is refulgently beautiful, while Brautigam brings out a conversational quality; Vogt combines elements of both, and he’s fully alive to the molto sostenuto instruction, with gorgeous legato phrasing.

The Presto finales are imbued with terrific energy but never become merely note-fests – the level of detail remains impressive. In the First, for instance, listen to the way a descending violin phrase is then taken up by oboe and clarinet; or Vogt’s dispatch of the fortissimo double octaves near the close, which is simultaneously powerful yet airy. Hough sounds slightly weighed down by the symphony orchestra forces, though on the other hand Brautigam’s period orchestra showcases some superb brass-playing. In the Second’s finale there’s an emphasis on the scherzando element as much as on swiftness, and the tautness of the phrase-endings creates an edgier quality than Perahia and Marriner with the ASMF. There are occasional bars where Vogt’s accentuation seems a little out of scale, but they’re fleeting, and the moments of quiet before the final climax are beautifully honed.

The album is filled out by the Capriccio brillant, Op 22, and what can be mere froth in unimaginative hands is wonderfully characterful here, the mock military march (4'00") given a jokey swagger, with nicely present timpani and brass. In the final a tempo, with its mad running dash of semiquavers, Vogt is impressively unfazed and dazzlingly understated. The recording is excellent too, with a vividness that brings these master musicians right into your sitting room.