What muppet designs Naïve’s cover art? We got used to the striking array of painted ladies that adorned the label’s Vivaldi Edition until we were pulled up short when they put a bloke on the front of Tito Manlio (4/06). On the cover of this disc, for some reason, the puppet Flat Eric beams out from a bank of white left-luggage lockers.

An album of overtures, shorn of their operas, may seem a curious remnant from the LP era. Who now would put on such a CD and listen through it? I have to admit, though, that the sweep of the programme – running the gamut from the Italianate sinfonia style of the Mitridate overture to the late miniature masterpieces – and the zippy performances won me over. The man pulling the strings is Rinaldo Alessandrini, who has an innate understanding of Mozart’s conception of “sonata form” as concentrated drama. He makes you realise, for instance, why Figaro is subtitled La folle giornata (“The day of madness”), moving from perky opening statement through increasingly convoluted development to true catharsis as the work draws to its conclusion.

He also has an uncanny ear for sonority. For example, the fetish among practitioners of “historically aware” performance (and this disc falls into that category, despite the Norwegian band’s use of modern instruments) has been for trumpets to punch out gobbets of punctuation on downbeats. Alessandrini makes the brass an integral part of the woodwind choir: hear how beautifully they are incorporated into the wind chords in The Magic Flute – just one of the vivid and thought-provoking details that make this such a delightful disc. Perhaps, though, the Zig (&) Zag Territoires label should poach Naïve’s designer.