Rival Ravel recordings are in abundance at the moment, with various discs of individual works and a couple of sets of the orchestral music on the go. Leonard Slatkin’s for Naxos, highly collectable until the most recent, comparatively commonplace CD of the Ravel orchestral transcriptions (Mussorgsky’s Pictures included), still has a few gaps in it, whereas Stéphane Denève’s with the Stuttgart Radio Orchestra (SWR Music) is now complete, unless he plans to do the transcriptions as well. Denève’s newest disc was of the ballet Daphnis et Chloé (6/16), where he was up against a more compelling version by the Rotterdam Philharmonic under Yannick Nézet-Séguin (BIS, 5/15). Now the market becomes even busier with this four-CD box, containing all the orchestral works including the two piano concertos but without the transcriptions.

The pairing of the piano concertos was released separately last year, possibly because it featured that young star-of-the-moment Yuja Wang. Her interpretations would certainly not be my first choice, when you consider that we already have Krystian Zimerman, Pierre-Laurent Aimard and Pascal Rogé to choose from at a much higher and deeper level of musical and stylistic perceptiveness, and, in the G major Concerto, timeless classics by Martha Argerich and Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. Such considerations can often be niggling when it comes to compendium boxes: Wang certainly has a following and many will rejoice that she is the chosen soloist here, but for me there is an imbalance between the dazzling virtuosity and the degree of personality that she brings to the music. The Left Hand Concerto fares better than the G major in that respect, and on the positive side in both concertos the Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra under Lionel Bringuier are spot-on in Gallic polish, piquancy and rhythmic precision.

Indeed, it is in the purely orchestral works where the strengths of this set truly and less equivocally lie. Yes, we have here yet another Daphnis et Chloé, and the one to go for is still Nézet-Séguin’s if you want a modern recording of the ballet alone. But Bringuier has the overall sweep and the detail of the score at his fingertips: he does not disappoint when it comes to establishing contrasts of colour or, for example in the ‘Danse générale’ of Part 1, finding that elastic, almost conversational quality that certain phrases of the music seem to suggest. The woodwind guffaws and the saucy brass glissandos in the ‘Danse grotesque de Dorcon’ all add to an interpretation in which characterisation is vivid and the narrative graphically and sympathetically told.

The first CD of the set combines Shéhérazade, Le tombeau de Couperin and Boléro with the fearsome Tzigane, composed for the intrepid Hungarian violinist Jelly d’Arányi and, in its tricks of the trade, out-Paganini ing Paganini. As Ravel’s friend Hélène Jourdan-Morhange said, ‘He thought that Paganini might be able to suggest to him some unsuspected obstacles, but I can safely say Ravel was the more devilish of the two’. Ray Chen, possessing the right technical arsenal, also has the diabolical temperament and gypsy flair to carry the day. Neither Denève’s set nor Slatkin’s (yet) contains Tzigane, so that is a distinct plus for this one.

When it comes to the works common to all sets – Pavane pour une infante défunte, Rapsodie espagnole, La valse, Valses nobles et sentimentales, Alborada del gracioso and so on – Bringuier’s ear for style and mood, shaping and phrasing, together with the orchestra’s ready response, just about gives this set the edge over its competitors, but it’s a close-run thing.