What can you do to prepare for Messiaen’s Vingt Regards? Martin Helmchen has largely dedicated himself to the classic Austrian-German repertoire up to now – his only previous foray into French music on disc being d’Indy’s Symphonie sur un chant montagnard français. He recorded Vingt Regards in Berlin’s Christuskirche in 2014, so I wonder why it has taken five years to see the light of day.

From the off, there’s a palpable sense of concentration, which is an absolutely key aspect of this piece, and he finds a palette of many colours within the subdued dynamics of the first Regard. It’s also paced just so, which makes the rude awakening of the second Regard all the more dramatic. Throughout the cycle Helmchen is always scrupulous about gradations of sound and even the loudest moments never threaten to become percussive.

He is also a secure guide in the way he elucidates the main themes out of which Messiaen forms his Vingt Regards – the chordal ‘Theme of God’ initially heard in the first piece, the tumultuous ‘Theme of the Star and of the Cross’ presented in the second and the ‘Theme of Chords’ which occurs again and again in various ways.

But as well as his intellectual grasp of the piece, Helmchen is also alive to its sensuality, whether in the guileless No 4, combining innocence and delicacy, or the 11th Regard, which seems to stop time, building the dynamics up in a great arc and then falling away again, the filigree ideally judged. The fifth is another highlight, opening with a sense of desolation against which the slowed-down Theme of God chords sound wonderfully nurturing, and the point when the birdsong twitters around those chords is raptly done.

In No 13, with its evocation of pealing Christmas bells, Helmchen spices blatant joy with something more troubling, a kind of obsessive quality. The following Regard evoking the gaze of the Angels is glitteringly lit, with the final crescendo cut off with due drama, leaving the music suspended. The penultimate Regard is again a masterclass in tenderness, helping to create a very human reading.

But in order for Messiaen’s sense of contemplation and gentleness to be fully felt the interpreter also needs to conjure a sense of the extremes, whether these are joyous or terrifying. I find the 10th Regard, for instance, slightly tentative, particularly compared with the Ligetian brilliance of Aimard in the toccata opening. This means that when Aimard reaches the Theme of Joy itself, it stands in great contrast, whereas Helmchen is less intoxicatingly incense-laden.

In the 15th Regard – ‘The Kiss of the Infant Jesus’ – Helmchen’s way with the chordal theme is very beautiful. But Osborne is slower, more entrancing still, almost stopping time. Aimard is a little self-consciously studied here by comparison.

But perhaps the most potent example comes when you compare the three players in the final Regard, the ‘Gaze of the Church of Love’. Both Aimard and Osborne are frankly awesome in their vision of unfettered power. That’s not simply down to sheer dynamics, for the way Helmchen sets a marching bass line against fraught expostulations high in the right hand are very potent; it’s more about the sense of extremes, in which you feel as if the music itself is becoming dangerously unhinged.

Caveats aside, though, it’s always gratifying to have another fine recording of this extraordinarily potent masterpiece, still as fresh as ever in its 75th-birthday year. The recording engineers have done a fantastic job for Helmchen, catching him in a lifelike acoustic. And the luminously ethereal Klee painting that adorns the CD cover made me long for the era of proper-sized LP sleeves.