Henri-Joseph Rigel is not a name you should feel bad about not knowing. Forty years ago, when I was doing postgraduate research on his symphonies, not a note of his music had been recorded and very little published. But writers who have paid him attention, both in his day and in the past hundred years, seem to have had nothing but praise for him as a musician and a person. Born in 1741 in southern Germany (as Heinrich Joseph Riegel), he studied with Jommelli in Stuttgart and (possibly) Franz Xaver Richter before moving to Paris in the late 1760s, where he established himself as a respected composer, pianist and teacher, winning praise from one commentator as ‘one of the foreigners living among us who most honours music in France’. He died in 1799, having become a professor of piano at the newly founded Paris Conservatoire.

Instrumental music was Rigel’s main thing, and since the turn of the century there have been discs showcasing his well-made and attractive symphonies (the excellent Concerto Köln on Berlin Classics, 3/09) and his string quartets (ATMA), both of which proved him worthy of his contemporaries’ esteem. This new album, from the Quebec-based Arion Orchestra on period instruments, includes one symphony not previously recorded, and for the first time works involving keyboard: a perky piano concerto with hints of Mozart in it, and a Sonate en symphonie which is basically a sturdy piano sonata with optional accompaniments for strings, oboes and horns to give it an orchestral feel. All reveal a skilled hand with the Classical orchestra, competent formal sense and a fluent gift for melody. Rigel also shows a taste for turbulent Sturm und Drang, both as the basis of a whole movement (the Allegro molto of the Sonate is very striking) and for moments of fleeting anxiety. Mélisande McNabney is an assured soloist on fortepiano, but though full of energy and drive, Arion’s bright sounds could have been refined by conductor Mathieu Lussier into something a little softer and warmer.

These pieces alone advance our knowledge of Rigel’s music, but this release offers a special treat by being the first to investigate his operas. Most of the music for his 14 works in the half-spoken opéra comique tradition is lost, but here are nine airs from these sentimental tales, often (as their titles suggest) of ordinary folk in pastoral settings. This is where Rigel’s lyrical gift really comes into its own. Small in scale and simple in melody, they are nevertheless charming, and sometimes touch the listener with an almost Mozartian poignancy (as in ‘Ô mon ami, c’est ton amour’) or Gluckian sense of noble suffering (‘Ah! quel supplice extrême!’). The singing is strong and stylish, but once again a little hard on the ears for these gently touching songs.

I hope I’m not getting over-excited in invoking these masters in the vicinity of such a little-known composer, but it is noticeable how many times in his music one is reminded of (later) Mozartian moments, and worth noting that when Gluck quit the Parisian opera scene in 1778 he recommended Rigel as his successor. I can’t wait to hear more of him.