Just when you thought falsettists couldn’t get any higher, along comes Bruno de Sá, pinging out high Cs and Ds with almost indecent ease. Following his stunning (mainly) Baroque debut album (12/22) the Brazilian sopranist moves forwards into the age of Mozart with an array of arias sacred and profane that range from the familiar (Exsultate, jubilate, performed in Mozart’s later version with flutes instead of oboes) to the downright obscure. There are six premiere recordings. If you’ve heard of all the composers on display here perhaps we should swap jobs.

Setting out his stall in an aria from Cherubini’s early Mesenzio, de Sá negotiates vertiginous leaps and plunges with aplomb and unfurls reams of flawless, skimming coloratura. Here and in, say, the aria di bravura by the Neapolitan Luigi Caruso which spawns the disc’s title, ‘Mille affetti’ (‘A Thousand Emotions’), he dazzles with his poise and precision on the tightrope. In a galant minuet aria from Cimarosa’s Requiem he sails in, unfazed, on a long-sustained high B flat. But there’s a lot more to de Sá’s art than high-wire acrobatics. His pure, sweet timbre, warmed by a gentle vibrato – and more obviously feminine than that of his Venezuelan counterpart Samuel Mariño – has reserves of power, as you can hear in a dramatic scena from Johann Friedrich Reichardt’s Andromeda. Yet unlike so many falsettists in extremis, de Sá never squawks or shrieks.

Richard Bratby’s engaging booklet note quotes the sopranist’s love of a ‘soft, tender way of phrasing’. De Sá bears this out time and again: in a musing, delicately shaded performance of Sifare’s aria of parting ‘Lungi da te, mio bene’ from Mitridate, where the voice duets with obbligato horn; or in Poro’s plea for pity from Felice Alessandri’s Alessandro nell’Indie (no, I hadn’t either) that makes a touchingly understated ending to the programme.

Even de Sá’s brilliance and discerning musicality can’t rescue a few of the items from banality. The vacuous coloratura in ‘Ad te clamamus’ from Zingarelli’s Salve regina is just the kind of thing Mozart parodied in the Queen of the Night’s arias. Nor would I rush to hear again a bland love song from the Dresden composer Franz Seydelmann’s Il turco in Italia. But there are many welcome discoveries here, not least the Reichardt scena and, among a smattering of instrumental numbers, tempestuous minor-key overtures by Franz Beck and Mozart’s Bohemian friend Josef Mysliveček. There’s also a completed fragment of a G minor Mozart organ fugue, a sober exercise in the stile antico. The Wrocław period orchestra under Jarosław Thiel make prompt and, where apt, urgent accompanists. A word, too, for the horn soloist in ‘Lungi da te’, fully a match for de Sá in beauty of tone and eloquence of phrase.