This is the 11th volume of a series entitled ‘Next Generation Mozart Soloists’ undertaken by the Swiss Orpheum Foundation. The soloists are chosen by an artistic board of trustees, described as ‘artistic personalities of international stature’. British conductor Howard Griffiths, who has resided in Switzerland since 1981, is the foundation’s artistic director and, in addition to the current recording, conducts nine of the previous 10 releases in the series. Both the featured pianist and violinist are now in their 30s and would seem to have some claim to be considered ‘current’ rather than ‘next generation’ soloists. But such is life.

The Swiss-Canadian pianist Teo Gheorghiu plays a Bösendorfer in the E flat Concerto, K449, a Viennese concerto dating from February 1784, and the early ‘pastiche’ Concerto in D, from July 1767 in Salzburg. Gheorghiu is rather free in his approach to 18th-century style. For instance, he seems equally happy to begin ornaments either on or in anticipation of the beat and has a tendency to embark on cadenzas like greased lightning. That said, the air of genuine dialogue between soloist and orchestra in the ingratiating Andantino is irresistible. And in the frolicsome contrapuntal interplay of the finale, Gheorghiu and the orchestra achieve that exhilarating hand-in-glove ensemble that is one of K449’s chief attractions. In the less challenging climes of K40 – consisting of the 11-year-old Mozart’s arrangements of sonata movements by Honauer, Eckard and CPE Bach – Gheorghiu and Griffiths revel in the score’s pellucid textures and kinaesthetic abandon.

Immediately striking in French violinist David Castro-Balbi’s approach to the Fifth Violin Concerto, K219, is the extraordinary purity of his sound. In the Adagio, Griffiths and the Salzburgers create the perfect ‘opera scena’ into which the soloist strides with beguiling poise and command; Castro-Balbi’s spot-on intonation and heartfelt expressivity are in full flower. The ultra-refinement of the Tempo di menuetto Rondo is the perfect set up for the roguish central section that gives the concerto its nickname, Turkish. But once embarked on this Ottoman janissary parody, no holds are barred. Castro-Balbi’s transitions into and out of this rustic wartime music are all subtlety and understatement, making the journey all the more delightful. Technically as well as musically, this is one of the more compelling performances of this beloved concerto that I’ve encountered.