This trio of Russian musicians certainly have this music flowing through their veins, but is that enough in a crowded field? While it’s good to have the chamber works gathered together – less common than you might imagine – the demands of the Op 6 Morceaux de salon are very different from the Cello Sonata and the two trios.

To take the meatier works first, you sense from the very start of the First Trio élégiaque that this is their native language – from the whispered strings onwards, and the way this single-movement drama unfolds has an inevitability about it, the piano discreet in its accompanying of the duetting strings, the cello honeyed, the violin a little huskier-toned. But a few moments with Gidon Kremer’s gang and you’re cast on to a different emotional plane entirely – sample their respective ways with the lead-up to the mighty climax (here from 3'40"; Kremer from 3'31"), where the unblinking focus of the DG reading is irresistible and devastating.

In the Second Trio, the new account has a more flowing first movement than Kremer et al but it’s also enveloped in a warmer, more generalised vibrato (particularly from the cello of Pavel Gomziakov). On the plus side, though, this is very much an ensemble affair, without the limelight-grabbing that can dog more starry line-ups. The piano’s solo theme introducing the middle movement’s variations is a tricky one to get right – Trifonov, for Kremer, is a little fussy, but better that than the relative plainness of Korobeinikov. I’d forgotten just how fine Menahem Pressler is here – hymnic and unselfconscious, and as the variations unfold his fellow Beaux Arts musicians are full of imagination, compared to which the playing on this new account is just a little under-characterised, a quality that goes for the finale too, less fervently risoluto than the Beaux Arts.

The Cello Sonata has in its favour a naturalness of tempos and no shortage of songfulness in Gomziakov’s phrasing. But, again, I find his vibrato somewhat wearing, especially when compared to Isserlis, who finds so much more contrast between drive and lyricism in the opening movement (helped by the peerless Hough). This sonata demands so much from the pianist: Korobeinikov is technically absolutely up to the job (and in fact his earlier recording with Johannes Moser is a more interesting proposition), but when it comes to colours and shading he’s nowhere near Yuja Wang in her account with Gautier Capuçon. Most impressive on this newest account is the Scherzo, which goes with a will, singing luxuriantly in the lyrical episodes. By comparison the poetry of the Andante is a tad generalised and, while there’s no doubting their conviction in the finale, others find more light and shade. The remaining morceaux on the set are, frankly, more imaginatively served elsewhere.