‘You English make Brahms so cold! In reality he was such a human person’, said his former pupil Ilona Eibenschütz. There’s not the slightest question of coldness in this account of his G minor Piano Quartet, and why should there be? It’s the work of a composer in his twenties, and it’s to the credit of this multinational chamber supergroup – the Latvian sisters Baiba and Laume Skride, plus Lise Berthaud on viola and Harriet Krijgh on cello – that you never forget this. The sense of tension – of momentum – that’s audible in the very first bars carries right through to the finish of Brahms’s gypsy finale.

If, at times, it can all feel a little breathless, I’d argue that the gains outweigh any losses: notably a slow movement that simply pours out in a glowing stream, flecked with touches of fantasy (portamentos from Baiba on violin, glinting flourishes from Lauma on piano). The group handle Brahms’s livelier secondary material with a sparkle in the eye and an almost military swagger. And of course the finale is exactly as fiery as you’d hope: the rhythms kick, you can hear the bite of rosin on string and Lauma does a very persuasive impression of a cimbalom in her whirling mini-cadenza.

Mozart’s G minor Piano Quartet opens the disc, and this too is taut, energetic and unaffected, though the string players – perhaps hoping for increased clarity – ease off on the vibrato, with results that can feel slightly chilly. But then they launch themselves headlong at the Mahler, and with Lauma handling the wonderfully splashy piano part like Liszt in a fever-dream, it couldn’t feel more right. So sit back, we’re on the road to Brahmsian glory.