By now, one could assemble a pretty little discography of well-known works (from Allegri’s Miserere to Stravinsky’s Mass) presented in unusual contexts. Here then is a ‘Neapolitan’ Stabat mater from a version transmitted in a manuscript from mid-18th-century Lyon, where it was performed with the solo alto part transposed for a baritone and the distribution of a few other sections rearranged (the choral fugues are for five voices). So far, so unusual – but where does Naples come into it, I hear you ask. Franck-Emmanuel Comte’s booklet notes provide the answer: the movements of Pergolesi’s best-known work are interleaved with musical ‘scenes’ recalling his experiences of the metropolis and surrounding area during the Holy Week processions, where ornamented plainchant rubs shoulders with tarantellas and decidedly secular-sounding laments, grief and mourning at times indistinguishable from exhilaration.

Are there more polished readings to be had of the Pergolesi? This particular baritone doesn’t always convince; and after a moving penultimate duo (at ‘Quando corpus’) the final ‘Amen’ falls a bit flat, so I’m sure there are, but that’s hardly the point. Attempts at crossover involving medieval and Renaissance repertories often fail for want of boldness, typically when the connections between juxtaposed materials are overly literal and obvious; here, the affects of different provenance (albeit with multiple points of contact) demonstrate how the thing ought to be done. Pergolesi comes out of it very well but it is the extraneous matter that holds the attention, culminating in a rendition of the opening verses of the Stabat mater, in plainchant ornamented according to local custom, of hair-raising intensity.