Heinrich von Herzogenberg dedicated the three quartets of his Op 42 (1884) to Brahms, his friend and musical idol. Hearing any of them alongside Brahms’s C minor Quartet, which fills out the Minguet’s two-disc set, is instructive as well as more than a little bit unfair. Like Brahms, Herzogenberg’s language is rooted in motivic concision and developmental variation – and his technical facility is considerable – but there’s nothing here that remotely approaches the unwavering emotional grip and feeling of inevitability in Brahms’s work. Still, if you’re attracted to well-wrought 19th-century chamber music, these are worth a listen, particularly as the Minguet Quartet are such passionately committed advocates.

The first quartet of the Op 42 group, in G minor, is by far the most satisfying. There’s a delightful air of lilting melancholy wafting through the first movement, and although the formal structure is daringly expansive, Herzogenberg manages to mould his wealth of ideas into a reasonably coherent whole. The slow movement is a series of variations on a theme that seems dully predictable at first but is relieved by an accretion of increasingly inventive detail. A tuneful and metrically playful scherzo is followed by a high-spirited, folk-inflected finale that’s only slightly blemished by an overlong coda.

There are charming moments in the two other quartets of the set, though these come conspicuously fewer and farther between. It’s not only the melodic material that’s less inspired but the composer’s sense of proportion seems off, too, so that some of the movements are prolix and prone to meandering. Then, just when your patience begins to wear thin, there’s a delicious dab of instrumental colour, or a demonstration of contrapuntal legerdemain that reminds you of Herzogenberg’s worth.

At first glance, I thought it unwise of CPO to offer yet another recording of Brahms’s C minor Quartet but I’m happy to have been wrong. This is a tremendous performance, full of fire and imagination. Listen to how violinist Ulrich Isfort makes the transitional passage in the opening Allegro (at 1'50") feel improvisatory without ever losing the essential pulse, or to the heart-achingly sweet, glistening tone of all four players (beginning around 4'13") in the Romanze, and the expressive use of portamento in the swooping lines of the finale.

The New Zealand Quartet benefit from a slightly clearer, richer-sounding recording, yet their interpretation of Op 51 No 1, while genuinely expressive, is far less gripping. There are standout moments, including some rapturous playing in the Romanze (sample beginning at 3'30", for instance), but overall – and in the companion A minor Quartet, too – leisurely tempi and slack phrasing generate insufficient emotional force. The New Orford Quartet opt for similarly relaxed pacing in their account of the two Op 51 quartets, yet dig into the music in a way that gets us closer to the music’s vulnerable heart.