Ann Martin-Davis’s new disc of Ravel, subtitled ‘The Language of Flowers’, is anchored by the Valses nobles et sentimentales and Le tombeau de Couperin, leavened by the Sonatine and smaller works.

After the little 26-bar Prélude of 1913, passed around the room as an amuse-gueule, the dance gets under way. Yet for all their artful detail, these Valses seem to lack lilt and momentum. If Martin-Davis’s Valses come in at only roughly a minute and a half longer than those of, say, Bertrand Chamayou on his Gramophone Awards-nominated disc (Erato, 3/16), they nevertheless seem very slow indeed. While scrupulously adherent to the score, Martin-Davis tends to pause slightly to delineate phrases and emphasise cadential figures. Add close microphone placement which sacrifices much of the piano’s ambient sound and that sense of abandon so characteristic of the valse simply evaporates.

Happily, this Tombeau is ample compensation for the Valses’ relative lack of pep. Heralded by a swirling Prélude, the appropriately deliberate Fugue, playful Forlane and irrepressible Rigaudon are all comme il faut. Earnest innocence in the Menuet provides the perfect contrast before an exciting Toccata, all the more bracing for its pointilliste bent. Of the smaller pieces, the Pavane stands out for its forthright delicacy and simplicity, its tender melancholy thoroughly convincing. There’s a great deal to enjoy in these seasoned performances.