Although Zhu-Xiao Mei’s somewhat under-the-radar engagement with Bach’s keyboard output has so far encompassed the Goldberg Variations, Well-Tempered Clavier, Art of Fugue, Partitas, French Suites, Inventions and Sinfonias, the idea of a complete cycle does not call her; only works ‘close to my heart’ will do, she says. And in her booklet interview she explains that for a long time the English Suites were not among them, mainly because the lack of a copy in Bach’s hand created an obstacle to a strong sense of his presence. Now though, having spent time with them, she has learned to love them as ‘the music of intimacy … delicate and private’.

Yet if her performances have an inward quality apparently intended more for herself than us, they also conjure spontaneity from a combination of intelligence, engagement and unpredictability that stealthily reels the listener in. Seemingly serious and unshowy at first meeting, they are in fact laced with individualistic interpretative detail and characterisation, and if not every one of her ideas works, they all give us something to think about.

Mei’s conceptions of the different movement types are fairly consistent: in the concerto-style preludes she does not just imitate the excitement of differentiated solos and orchestral ‘tuttis’, but dynamically recreates them in piano terms; allemandes glide smoothly, delicately, sometimes dreamily; sarabandes are unpretentiously light and unconventionally quick, but beautiful nevertheless (No 4 is exquisite); and gigues are driven through with compelling contrapuntal clarity (the demonic Nos 3, 5 and 6 especially).

There is of course infinite variety in and around all this. It is interesting in Suite No 1 to hear the contrast of feisty Courante I and poised Courante II, which then retreats even further from the front line in each of its two Doubles. The menuets, bourrées and gavottes are taken on their own merits, though their dance flavour is ever alive, helped by a left hand that shapes with firmly moulded, harpsichordist-like articulation. The First Suite’s unusual Prelude is as well done as I’ve ever heard, perfectly managing the gear-change from opening flourish to main section, which is then executed with magical polyphonic eloquence. And everywhere lines are plucked from the texture that you hadn’t noticed before, not just for fun but to point the music in the right direction.

To be sure, such free thinking can divide opinion, and there are other irritants: not everyone will like the occasional slips into spiky non legato, the odd untidy ornament and what seem like randomly loud single notes that sound strangely clumsy. The repeat scheme is an annoyance – almost all second-half repeats are missing and some first-half ones, too. And the recording, made in a tiny French Alpine church, is clogged in high register, spoiling the clarity of the right hand in comparison with the left.

While András Schiff’s razor-sharp intelligence and precision (Decca, 12/88), Murray Perahia’s outgoing warmth and brilliance (Sony, 6/98 and 4/99) and Angela Hewitt’s classical wisdom and refinement (Hyperion, A/03) make them the English Suite pianists to live with, Mei offers a sensation of communion with Bach and self that would be nice to think one could summon oneself playing late at night when nobody’s listening – if, that is, one were blessed with Mei’s skill and understanding.