Brahms, who had a high regard for Rubinstein, was said to wish that he took more trouble with composition. It is a fair point, and contrasts with the aged Haydn wrestling with what he said he still found such a difficult craft. As in these two highly agreeable cello sonatas, Rubinstein’s fluency can glide easily through matters that would engage and absorb others. Brahms himself is the model in the first movements of both works here, and one can imagine how much more substance he would give the material by wringing the most out of it. Another mentor was Mendelssohn. The easy flow of the closing Moderato of Rubinstein’s First Sonata draws much from his manner and sits more effectively on a relaxing finale than on a challenging first movement.

Yet Rubinstein had a distinct charm. The central Moderato of the First Sonata was once a popular piece in the St Petersburg salons where he reigned, and, even if it somewhat outstays its welcome, can still give pleasure. So can the Scherzo of the Second Sonata, again Mendelssohnian but with a particular spectral quality that duly haunts the imagination: Rubinstein was not without his faintly sinister side, as in his disquieting opera The Demon. Bárta and Milne give this just the eerie lilt it needs, and they go with a swing into the magnificent melody that dignifies the Andante. Balance is good, no mean feat when the pianist, not to mention the recording engineers, are set such problems by Rubinstein’s torrential keyboard-writing.