It may be more usual for a young artist to dip their first toes in the recording waters with a recital disc than with a concerto programme. Listen, though, to the opening seconds of this Bruch First Violin Concerto from young Norwegian violinist Sonoko Miriam Welde – currently being mentored by Janine Jansen – and you’re unlikely to need any convincing over the logic of her diving straight in with the latter; and indeed her Bruch is thoroughly embedded, her many onstage forays with it including a 2018 tour with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. In this particular reading with Tabita Berglund and the Oslo Philharmonic you instantly notice the silvery, slender, mellifluous, lyrical freedom of her sound and the way that her first double-stopped presentation of the theme is both firm and fiery, running like quicksilver. There’s also a great sense of partnership with the orchestra, whose own pleasures include the constant stream of beautifully voiced wind solos and the lively balance struck in all three works between metrical fluidity and precision, featherweight lightness and rounded richness, and driving impetus and the feeling of time being held suspended.

The Lark Ascending provides further opportunity for Welde to show how she can make her violin effortlessly dip and soar, and she tips from a notably improvisatory initial ascent into one of the most weightlessly floating, effortlessly legato first statements of the principal theme I’ve yet heard on disc. This, later, is satisfyingly counterbalanced by plenty of warmth in the tutti swells, and later again by the shimmering puckish caprice from one and all in the folk music-redolent Allegretto tranquillo episode and its following scherzando section. Welde herself constantly draws on what appears to be an endless well of fresh colouristic possibilities. For the hushed return of the allegretto tranquillo melody, now recast as molto tranquillo, my ears hear a markedly slower tempo than before; and whether you view that as an uncontroversial interpretation or as slight poetic licence, the sudden serene calm they create at this moment is incredibly effective.

The Barber, crammed with similar qualities to the previous two works, equally hits all the right spots, with its Andante a particular knockout: for the orchestral introduction’s poised expression and lucid textures (the oboe solo is everything one could wish); for conductor Joshua Weilerstein’s architecture; for an ardently lyric Welde, who delivers the expressive goods while bringing tonal beauty and all manner of colours to the writing across every register of her instrument; and given that there’s a lot of serene singing and romance in this programme, I love that the Barber’s Presto in moto perpetuo finale allows them to go out with a virtuoso bang. A hugely impressive debut for Welde.