From Leipzig to Berlin, itineraries of a sentiment. Initially the son’s hand is confused with that of his illustrious father: it is the G minor sonata, for a long time cataloged BWV 1020, often played on the violin. Manuel Granatiero and Yu Yashima make one forget how much of the Cantor’s touch is present in this work: less cautious than Barthold Kuijken and Bob Van Asperen (Vivarte, 1993), more extrovert than Wilbert Hazelzet and Jacques Ogg (Glossa, 2002), they converse with pungent happiness and sweetness. In Frankfurt-on-the-Oder, where the young man is studying law, the language takes a more personal turn; without losing freshness (Allegro), the flutist sings the Adagio, draws the Minuet from Wq 124; emphasizing the sensitivity, it allows one to assess the current maturation process. Although prestigious, his employment at the Berlin court of Frederick II did not allow Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach to establish himself. Perhaps the monarch played the Sonata Wq 128, whose opening Andante reserves for the flute, his favorite instrument, a nuance of emotion of great finesse? Accademia Ottoboni declines all its colors, from caress to silence, flexibly shows the changing moods of the Allegro, the sometimes whimsical elegance of the Vivace: gallant, certainly, but substantial. A page of maturity, Wq 83, an adaptation of a trio work, is even richer, with a somewhat syncopated Allegro, a Largo in a minor to which Granatiero and Yashima give the character of a dream, of a meditation that would unfold before us with spontaneity. On Martin Wenner’s copy of a Quantz instrument (each sonata is performed on a different flute), the flutist skillfully evades the pitfalls. The formidable Solo Wq 132, so expressively and technically demanding: we are delighted by the fullness of sound he puts to the service of well-understood eloquence. More convincing, with a continuum better inspired than Barthold Kuijken’s integral (Accent, 2006), this first-rate production offers a magnificent gateway into the world of C.P.E. Bach.