With these two life-affirming concertos from 1823 and 1826/32 respectively, and Hyperion’s two earlier volumes (10/03, 2/04), we are now able to hear for the first time all Moscheles’ extant works in this form. Mozart, Beethoven, Hummel and prescient Chopin all contribute to the distinctive voice of this once-revered composer.

You have to hand it to Howard Shelley. It’s one thing to lead a concerto from the keyboard but to do this when the solo part is so demanding and with such insouciance is quite another thing. The outer movements of the two concertos are relentless – thirds, repeated notes, wide leaps, arpeggios, rapid scales and the like. Shelley executes them with the grace of a gazelle and an invigorating rhythmic precision. If, at times, the writing threatens to descend into a parade of technical exercises, Shelley and his crisp, stylish Tasmanians elevate it into an exhilarating roller-coaster ride of seamless and often unexpected invention. The last movement of the E major Concerto is a brilliant rondo treatment of The British Grenadiers. If it doesn’t leave you wreathed in smiles then, really, there’s no hope for you.

In place of Moscheles’ final, Eighth Concerto (no one has been able to track down its orchestral parts) comes the fantasy on Irish airs, a delightfully batty period confection from 1826. The last rose of summer, Garry Owen and St Patrick’s Day all take a turn, the last two treated contrapuntally.

Completed by Henry Roche’s trenchant and engaging booklet notes, this is an issue which I cannot praise too highly. Let us hope that by the time you read this, Hyperion’s legal battle will be over to ensure that music lovers the world over can continue to benefit from the unique recorded legacy enshrined on this label.