This recording of Brahms’s piano quartets featuring the great Hungarian cellist Miklós Perényi, now in his 70s, and a trio of colleagues in their 30s, 40s and 50s puts me in mind of another intergenerational release of Brahms’s piano quartets: the 1991 Gramophone Award-winning set of these same works with the late Isaac Stern (then in his 70s), Yo-Yo Ma, Emmanuel Ax and Jaime Laredo (then in their 30s, 40s and 50s, respectively).

I should say straight away that Perényi suffers from none of the intonation problems that plagued Stern in his later years (although that Sony release caught Stern on his best form). Indeed, Perényi seems absolutely at the top of his game here. Listen to how unaffectedly he sings his glorious solo at the opening of Op 60’s Andante, for instance. I’m not entirely sure that Giovanni Guzzo and Máté Szűcs are ideally matched in their tone quality; Guzzo’s sound is fine and bright while Szűcs’s is dark and full. This contrast can be marvellously effective when they’re in counterpoint, but in passages where they play in unison – which happens with some frequency in the first movement of Op 25 – the result can be a little inelegant. This is a minor complaint, however, as the music-making is otherwise so satisfying.

That said, I find this performance of the G minor Piano Quartet the least successful of the three. There are wonderful moments, to be sure – listen to the deeply expressive string passage at 6'29" in the slow movement – but overall I’d like a little more character and daring, particularly in the finale. Op 26, on the other hand, is sublime. I love how the players unfurl the first movement as if in a single, unbroken line with each section flowing seamlessly into the next, while the finale abounds with swagger and rhythmic flair.

But it’s Op 60 that’s the real prize here. What grim determination these musicians bring to the opening Allegro ma non troppo. Brahms laboured over this work for decades, and in a letter about an early version of the score wrote to a friend: ‘Now imagine a man who is going to shoot himself, because there is no alternative.’ Perényi and his partners play it as a matter of life and death, which is exactly as it should be. And there are times when I wondered if Brahms ever considered this material for a symphony, as certain passages are given an almost orchestral grandeur – try, say, starting at 4'22".

Hungaroton’s recording is well balanced, and although it can’t hold a candle to Hyperion’s set with Marc-André Hamelin and the Leopold Trio in terms of sonic beauty, please don’t let that stop you from giving it a listen.