Concert pianist meets cabaret star sounds like an idea conceived by an eager A&R executive in search of a fresh angle linking two different musical worlds. Yet this inspired fusion of Thibaudet’s concert-hall virtuosity and Feinstein’s improvisatory skills, already honed on the road, to celebrate the centenary of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue turns out to be a musical marriage, if not made in heaven, then coming close to it. Nor does any quibble one might harbour as to the occasional imprecision in its execution mitigate against this double act, for they know for certain how to put on a show! In whatever union, they sail through this Gershwin celebration with wit and style, from Rialto Ripples, a rag in the Joplin tradition, to ‘Love is here to stay’, the last song Gershwin composed, and one of four numbers Feinstein sings in his unique transparent style, the lyric, as ever, uppermost in his mind. In ‘Someone to watch over me’ he sings a couple of unfamiliar lines, presumably to accommodate the fact that it was written for Gertrude Lawrence, but as Ira Gershwin’s amanuensis he has authority on his side.

Singlehandedly, this ‘Gershwin Rhapsody’ revives the concept of the medley, a device harking back to the era of the shellac disc, when it played a crucial role in promoting songs from the shows in abbreviated fashion to accommodate the shorter playing times of the 78rpm disc. Now that such restrictions are a thing of the past, the raw material can be expanded as befits the occasion. Two medleys reference the Rhapsody itself. The most elaborate, by New Yorker Tedd Firth, features both pianists in an inspired Lisztian spectacular feeding ‘The man I love’ into Rhapsody in Blue. A swinging account of ‘Sweet and lowdown’ captures the spirit of the Twenties to a T before setting up ‘Clap yo’ hands’ in a merger with ‘Fascinating rhythm’.

When Shostakovich composed his Tahiti Trot, based on ‘Tea for two’, he acknowledged the verse as an integral part of the composition. So it is in this tour de force of the Vincent Youmans classic from No, No, Nanette (1925), where the dance styles of the period are presented in a kaleidoscopic fashion, winding up with an unashamed showbiz ending, put across gleefully by this duo.

A gentler vein is tapped by Thibaudet in half a dozen titles unrecorded before, of which Sutton Place has the spring-in-the‑step hallmark of a Billy Mayerl composition, and Dance of the Waves, a dainty novelty, shines like a beacon for domestic music-making.

The lush sound from the Decca engineers spreads the icing on the cake of this glorious confection, communicated and performed with consummate skill by Jean-Yves and Michael.