Queens and empresses are the linking factor in this latest addition to Giovanni Antonini’s Haydn cycle. Some connections, though, are more tenuous than others. With no corroborating evidence, No 85, from the ‘Paris’ set, was said to be a favourite of Marie Antoinette. Legend even has it that in her final imprisonment she would console herself by playing the second movement (on a tune apparently derived from a French folk song) on the harpsichord.

We are on surer ground with the ceremonial C major Symphony No 50. Its first two movements recycle the overture to a lost marionette opera, Der Götterrath, performed in 1773 during a lavish entertainment in honour of the visiting Empress Maria Theresa. No 62 in D was composed around 1780, the year Maria Theresa died. But that’s about it. More pertinently, this little-known work – which may also have theatrical associations – was, with Nos 47 and 75, one of three Haydn symphonies whose openings Mozart noted down for possible use in his Vienna concerts. The Allegretto second movement, where Haydn creates poetry from the most minimal material, and the finale, beginning off-key, are especially memorable.

Regal links aside, the three symphonies make an attractive, amply varied programme; and the performances live up to the standards set by earlier instalments. Antonini has the knack of making you hear this music afresh without indulging in any of the tweaks and ‘listen to this!’ exaggerations that can grow increasingly irritating on repeated hearings: I’m thinking especially of Harnoncourt (DHM, 8/05) and Thomas Fey (Hänssler, 1/11) in No 85. The crack Basel period band, based on 20 string players, respond with polish, precision and pulsing vitality. Antonini’s ear for texture and harmonic colour ensures that Haydn’s part-writing emerges with ideal clarity. Violins are divided left and right, to advantage in, say, their gracious, gliding exchanges in the opening Vivace of No 85. Trumpets ring incisively in No 50. Bassoons are well in the picture, whether adding pungency to the basses (as in No 50), playing independently or reinforcing the violas, as they do with telling effect in the stormy ‘Farewell Symphony’ outburst in No 85.

Antonini chooses predictably lively tempos, yet never at the expense of detailed, expressive shaping. The variations in La Reine ideally balance walking motion and affectionate phrasing, while the Allegretto of No 62 – a dreamy barcarolle-serenade – floats with feathery delicacy. Minuets, taken at a brisk one-in-a-bar, emerge as proto-waltzes. That in No 62 is almost abrasive, with the Trio’s up-beat accents punched out by violins and solo bassoon. No 85’s Minuet, coloured by pealing high horns, has a whooping vigour, though if you want charm in the Ländler Trio go to Frans Brüggen (Philips, 11/99).

In the two earlier symphonies Christopher Hogwood (Decca, 5/98, 11/00) and, in No 50, Trevor Pinnock (Archiv, 9/90) employ smaller forces, roughly corresponding to Haydn’s own Esterházy band. Pinnock adds his own discreetly balanced harpsichord continuo. Both are highly enjoyable. Yet while interpretative differences are often slight, Antonini’s performances strike me as having that much more individual character than either. He’s a natural in Haydn. Collectors of his steadily evolving cycle, ever-unpredictable in its grouping of works, will need no prompting.