First, a general but enthusiastic commendation for the Original Masters as a concept, precisely the sort of project that the major companies should be embarking on: mining their archives, pooling their resources and taking the time to plan things properly. In this particular instance we have all of the Janácek Quartet’s recordings currently sheltered under Universal’s sizeable umbrella. Not just the recordings for DG, you will note, but for Decca and Westminster as well, which means a welcome reappearance of Mendelssohn’s Octet in a famous 1959 recording that was first put out by Westminster, and then by EMI as part of their bargain-price Concert Classics LP series. The Janácek Quartet’s collaboration with their celebrated peers, the Smetana Quartet, resulted in a performance that is more patrician than mercurial, rock-solid in the first movement (with repeat), solemn in the second and with a crisply articulated Scherzo. The finale is powerfully propelled, though the lead cello’s opening isn’t as clearly defined as on a 1968 Supraphon re-make by the same artists. There, the overall effect is rather more unbuttoned, the acoustic more open and ensemble less tight than here.

Tully Potter’s booklet note traces the Quartet’s history from its foundation in 1947, through its adoption of the mascot name ‘Janácek’ two years later, to the present-day ensemble (with an entirely different line-up). DG’s collection covers the period 1956-63, something of a golden age for the Quartet given the recorded evidence. I’d always prized the 1963 Supraphon recording of the Janáceks playing Janácek, Intimate Letters especially (1/65 – nla). Yet in some respects this 1956 DG predecessor pips that re-make of No 2 to the post: Jirí Trávnícek’s soaring lead violin for the central section of the moderato third movement, for example, or his brightly flickering trills in the finale. The later recording is swifter by around 90 seconds overall, but the DG version is even more impassioned. Similar qualities inform Smetana’s autobiographical First Quartet where, in the heartbreaking Largo, cellist Karel Krafka calculates a faltering lilt to his crucial pizzicato accompaniment. Trávnícek again excels in the first movement’s second subject. Both performances are absolutely top of the league.

Perhaps the most familiar recordings are the ones made for Decca in 1963, primarily a trio of Haydn Quartets – Op 33 No 2, The Joke, and Op 76 No 2, Fifths, with Roman Hoffstetter’s F major Quartet (or Serenade) still parading under Haydn’s name. All are treated to the same burnished tonal blend, meticulous balancing and unhurried tempi, and are rather more alert than the equally well prepared but rather sober 1958 DG recording of Op 33 No 3, The Bird. There the most successful movement is the second, a broad and mellow scherzo but even considering that the opening movement is marked Allegro moderato it does seems just a fraction under-powered.

The two Decca Dvorák quartets are superbly done, the American affectionate but unmannered, the great D minor Op 34 displaying the full range of its Brahmsian influences, particularly in the strutting finale. In terms of sound, the Deccas are the best of the batch, save for a spot of pitting along the violin line at around 2'26" into the American Quartet’s finale.

The DG piano quintets with the admirably fluent if occasionally straitlaced Eva Bernáthová are well worth revisiting, the Brahms with its first movement repeat intact though the early stereo recording leaves violist Jirí Kratochvíl sounding a little emaciated. Dvorák’s Quintet (minus the repeat this time) is unusually purposeful though Bernáthová’s light, characteristically nimble finger work brings a touch of extra brightness to the first movement. The two remaining Classical works, Mozart’s K387 (DG, 1956 mono) and Beethoven’s Op 59 No 2 (Westminster, 1959 stereo), combine sweetness of tone with a certain sobriety, always mindful of the larger canvas.

In all, one senses security of technique, concept and teamwork, with rarely as much as a semiquaver falling out of place. Occasionally I found myself craving a freer, more malleable line, but then a second or third hearing would confirm the musical good sense of the Janácek’s relatively controlled approach. Above all, this set is an object lesson in quality quartet playing, phrasing ‘as one’ most notably in the two DG Dvorák recordings, whether in Op 51, with its folk-like resonances, or the symphonic-style arguments in the first movement of Op 105. Both are more live-sounding than anything else in the collection, real performances that just happened to have been recorded. They’re among the brightest gems in a collection that shouldn’t be missed on any count. Note that this volume, like others in the same series, is described as a limited edition.