I’m all for this super-budget Oehms ‘Documents of the Munich Years’ series; it shows James Levine on the wing – unfettered, spontaneous, taking risks. How utterly unlike the charismatic but calculated music-making of his predecessor at the Munich Phil, Celibidache, whose unwavering control bred insight at a price. Where Levine lets the beast off the leash, Celibidache pulls it towards us for a live autopsy.

As to the present release, Bluebeard’s Castle is given a big, theatrical reading, more redolent of Puccini and Grand Opera than of later Bartók. John Tomlinson is less vocally secure than he was for Haitink (also live), but still portrays a creditable, human and at times tortured protagonist. Both recordings include the opening spoken narration, Levine’s Ors Kisfaludy very OTT, Haitink’s Sándor Eles, quieter, which suits Haitink’s inwardly probing interpretation.

Kremena Dilcheva’s Judith sounds more insistent and needy than either the sophisticated Anne Sofie von Otter (for Haitink) or Kertész’s homely Christa Ludwig, her voice tremulously feminine if at times a little edgy. As to Levine, he pulls no punches: listen to the forceful attack of the strings as the first door, the Torture Chamber, opens, or the epic vistas suggested by the fifth, Bluebeard’s Realm, the organ magnificently present. The encounter with Bluebeard’s former wives and Judith’s imprisonment build to an ear-splitting climax and although one misses the tangy instrumental inflections favoured by the likes of Eötvös, Dorati and Ferencsik (on his 1956 recording), Levine’s graphic reportage has its place, provided you’re not a stickler for fine detail. This is, after all, a live recording and inevitably there’s the odd ragged edge to contend with.

The rest of the programme is enjoyable. Jonathan Biss has a light, flexible way with the Third Piano Concerto, though he’s less expressively generous than Hélène Grimaud under Boulez (DG, see page 58). The Miraculous Mandarin Suite parades many extremes, the build-up to ‘The Chase’ fairly languid, even laid-back, ‘The Chase’ itself hectic and rowdy (great brass and tam-tam), and the more forceful episodes in between writ very large. Again, there are minor slips and smudges, but newcomers in search of a real performance will discover the humanity and physical thrust that underlie Bartók’s score, if not the subtlety.

I played this set two or three times, testing it on others, always with a positive response and while none of the performances would outshine superior rivals in a Gramophone Collection, taken as a group, they offer a vital picture of Bartók at his greatest, Bluebeard especially. Excellent sound.