The ‘second’ violin sonatas of Ravel and Prokofiev are unusual bedfellows on disc – Viktoria Mullova paired them early in her career – so it’s good to hear them feature on Johan Dalene and Christian Ihle Hadland’s new disc, a successor to their ‘Nordic Rhapsody’ release (5/21). Ravel’s G major Sonata was the only one published in the composer’s lifetime, but the posthumously published single-movement work has shunted it from the No 1 spot. Prokofiev’s No 2 in D major was composed for flute; David Oistrakh persuaded Prokofiev to arrange it for violin.

It’s interesting to listen to the newcomer alongside Oistrakh’s and Mullova’s recordings. Dalene’s tone is slighter, more compact, certainly not as sweet as Oistrakh’s, but like Mullova he digs into the crunchy double-stopping in the first movement of the Prokofiev. Dalene and Hadland interpret the Moderato marking a little more leisurely, a feeling of relaxation. They allow enough time in the Scherzo for the jokes to land and their Andante is beautifully tender and unaffected. I enjoyed the more purposeful way they throw themselves into the finale, with a good sense of thrust. In the Ravel, there is no sense of rushing. Hadland sets up the reflective quality of the sonata in his meandering introduction, Dalene entering on a whisper. His tone isn’t as naturally seductive as Oistrakh’s but Dalene is big on contrasts; listen to the difference between the pianissimo pizzicato thrums that open the jazzy Blues and the accented fortes – a sassy night on the Parisian tiles. Violinist and pianist play cat and mouse before the finale’s Perpetuum mobile kicks in.

The disc is filled out with some delectable shorter numbers. Aside from Arvo Pärt’s ubiquitous Fratres, it’s good to hear Lili Boulanger’s exquisite Nocturne and four works by Grażyna Bacewicz, a violinist herself who wrote five sonatas for violin and piano (and three for solo violin). The four works here are most persuasively played, ranging from a lively Humoresque and Moravian Dance to a lilting Lullaby and – most moving – the fragile, perfumed Stained-Glass Window that lends this fine album its title.