Masaaki Suzuki joins a well-trammelled path of harpsichordists who have attempted to elucidate Bach’s exhaustive imagination in these six Titans. One of his greatest strengths – as one hears in the distinguished cantata series with Collegium Bach Japan – is the satisfyingly measured and articulated unfolding of individual lines, such as in the ‘Allemande’ of the Second Partita, the ‘Gigue’ of the Fourth, the ‘Sarabande’ of the Sixth and so on: there is no vain attempt to stamp an intrusive ‘personality’ on his subject, and yet neither does that mean cold-hearted objectivity. Indeed, it soon becomes clear that Suzuki’s way is both distinctive and thoughtful.

An undoubted virtuoso (he uses an instrument by Willem Kroesbergen, after a Ruckers), Suzuki’s playing does raise certain questions as to the extent to which his interpretations are pre-ordained. Prophecy is, of course, inherent in any form of musical preparation but it is also a matter of the means by which musicians allow their musical and intellectual reflexes to be honed and distilled before the ‘event’. I only mention this because, despite the clarity and success of Suzuki’s vision, one rarely hears articulation, textural spreading, melodic rubati (such as in the ‘Corrente’ of the third Partita) or ornamentation emerging from the ‘moment’ in quite the way one does with either Rousset, Pinnock or Haugsand.

I don’t wish, however, to give the impression that there is anything mechanical about Suzuki’s playing; that is certainly not at issue as he conveys a suppleness of phrasing and concentrated expressivity in many of the performances here. There is a courtly congeniality in the First Partita, if without the invigorating fun of Ketil Haugsand or sonorous generosity of Trevor Pinnock. The Second Partita is an almost unmitigated success of a kind which one rarely experiences, for its rhythmic authority alone. In terms of bravura, only Haugsand provides a brilliance of glistening orchestral opulence to the opening saccadé of the Fourth Partita, but Suzuki delivers just as thrilling a fast section and carries this through with the longest and most mesmerising ‘Allemande’ on record, beating Rousset by a clear minute, to 12'05". I found his Fifth Partita a touch unseasoned, lacking the wit and balletic ‘lift’ of the dexterous Staier but the Sixth is a tour de force to rival all the above versions, in gravitas if not fantasy.

All of these readings are ‘alive’ to the music in very different ways and Suzuki’s deeply considered approach deserves its special plaudits, even if ultimately it impresses more than exults. Rousset conveys a directness and flamboyance (although musically undeveloped elsewhere) but for sheer emotional range, abundance of character and quizzical-sounding spontaneity, I would still plump for Haugsand, with Pinnock’s more conventional reading in close contention.