WHAT used to be a simple ‘launch’ event to release Ryedale Festival’s brochure for July has morphed into a three-concert, star-studded mini-festival of its own. First up was the Busch Piano Trio, named after the legendary Adolf Busch, whose Guadagnini violin is played by the trio’s leader, Mathieu van Bellen. Despite keeping to a well-worn path of Haydn, Mendelssohn and Dvořák, the group had plenty of insights to offer.

The Busch are a fascinating, if unusual, combination. Van Bellen’s pure, slightly brittle tone, always carefully accurate, is balanced by the full-on sound of Ori Epstein’s rich cello. Holding the line is Omri Epstein’s piano, delightfully light and sensitive, if occasionally a little flip in his nonchalance. Yet these mercurial spirits produce an uncanny blend.

Haydn was well into his sixties when he wrote the third last of his 29 trios, in E flat major (HobXV:29). But it is youthful. The Busch attacked it with immense panache, conversing ever more excitedly in the first movement. The ‘innocence’ – Haydn’s marking – of the Andantino was all the wittier for being delivered deadpan. There were plenty of high spirits in reserve for the finale.

In Mendelssohn’s First Piano Trio, in D minor, the contrast between the minor and major key opening themes was beautifully carved, while the slow movement offered a serene song without words. The piano’s virtual moto perpetuo in the scherzo was fairy-light, contrasting with the passion that followed.

Dvořák’s ‘Dumky’ Trio in E minor, his last, is a tricky piece, not least because of its vacillating dance rhythms. The Busch negotiated its tempo changes teasingly, so keeping their audience on its toes. The essential sadness of its Bohemian, gypsy flavours was balanced by occasional bursts of exuberance. It worked: by now the Busch had us in the palm of their hands.

The final event, after The Sixteen’s appearance in Scarborough, brought countertenor Iestyn Davies to his home town, in company with lutenist Thomas Dunford. Their largely English programme was centred on Dowland, Purcell and Handel.

Countertenors these days boast a wide range, reaching extraordinary heights. What marks Davies out from the crowd, however, is the richness of his lower range. And there is no gear-change in the middle of his voice.

He warmed up smoothly with ‘Ombra mai fu’, which opens Handel’s Serse, and moved easily into the demanding leaps of Purcell’s ‘O solitude’. It was equally polished. Dunford produced an underlay that consistently sounded improvised, not to say authentic.

But it was in Dowland, the first truly great English lutenist-songwriter, that the pairing really hit the target. Melancholy was his watchword. ‘Go, crystal tears’ was affecting, but ‘In darkness let me dwell’ was devastating in its powerful restraint. Dunford’s solo riffs were impressive for their ease of execution. Davies, on the eve of a London operatic premiere, was remarkably poised, polished and professional. They are a finely balanced pairing.