Mozart’s late clarinet masterpieces for Anton Stadler, the Concerto especially, have acquired autumnal, even valedictory associations. Yet those are not epithets you find in contemporary criticism; indeed, Stadler’s playing was admired as much for its brilliance and zest as for its vocal eloquence. Nicknamed by Mozart ‘Notschibinitschiki’ – something like ‘stupid nincompoop’ – he also seems to have shared the composer’s zany sense of humour. I suspect both Mozart and Stadler would have delighted in French clarinettist Romain Guyot’s playing. Using a basset clarinet – and relishing its oily low notes – Guyot plays with rare poetry and subtlety of shading. In the first movement of the Quintet he plays the rarely observed second repeat in the first movement, and finds new colours and nuances, including expressive touches of ornamentation, second time round. In the slow movements of both concerto and quintet he and his ever-sensitive colleagues distil a profound inwardness; and I loved the way he digs deep into the clarinet’s chalumeau register at the centre of the Concerto’s Adagio.

While the music’s lyricism, serene or wistful, receives its full due, Guyot takes every Mozartian opportunity for wit and playfulness: gleefully dialoguing with himself in the finales, blithely embellishing the repeats in the Quintet’s yodelling second Trio or adding chirruping grace notes to the finale’s variation theme. Papageno is already a cheeky presence.

Likewise playing a basset clarinet, Alessandro Carbonare produces a rounded, velvety tone, phrases immaculately and ornaments tastefully. He also explores with sensitivity the Concerto’s shadows, and, in the finale, the moments of doubt and hesitation that throw the prevailing cheerfulness into relief. Abbado directs his hand-picked orchestra with finesse. Despite the relatively large body of strings (though surely there can’t be 15 violas, as the booklet listing implies!), textures are always transparent: Abbado ensures that important inner string lines tell, while flutes and high-pitched horns lend a bright sheen to the tuttis. Yet fine as it is, I find the performance a shade smooth and manicured, lacking in the sense of delighted, spontaneous discovery offered by Guyot.

Polish and euphony also rule in the much slighter earlier concertos. Both are enjoyable, though in his cultivation of a plump and even tone, with ne’er a buzz or rasp, Guilhaume Santana misses some of the Bassoon Concerto’s coltish fun. Not so Jacques Zoon in the Flute Concerto (arranged by Mozart from his Oboe Concerto), whose liquid tone and graceful phrasing and, crucially, sense of puckish mischief – not least in his cadenzas – made this, for me, the most wholly satisfying performance on the disc.