Brahms was careful not to leave much if any evidence of his compositional struggles, thus there’s no score of the original nonet version of his First Serenade. Here, the Linos Ensemble employ a reconstruction by Jorge Rotter – there’s another by Alan Boustead that’s been recorded more frequently, including a vividly characterised account by the Boston Symphony Chamber Players on that orchestra’s in-house label. The Linos Ensemble also characterise colourfully, but they employ a discernibly finer brush so the textures are rendered with exceptional clarity and refinement. That said, the music’s rustic qualities are given their full due, as one can hear, for instance, in the bassoon’s bucolic bounce in the fourth-movement Menuetto.

It’s a sweetly affectionate interpretation, too. Listen, say, at 2'34" in the opening Allegro molto, where the ensemble phrase with an audible smile. Tempos are consistently well judged, and I particularly like the way they allow the expansive Adagio non troppo to flow so naturally. I don’t think I’ve heard a more rapturous reading of that movement’s climactic phrases (starting at 8'38") – although even here there’s still a sense of tender delicacy.

I’ll admit I was sceptical of the ensemble’s decision to reduce the strings in the Second Serenade down to one-to-a-part. Yes, Brahms forgoes violins here, but even the first edition of the score clearly calls for violas, cellos and basses in the plural. What a delightful surprise, then, to discover that this Serenade is even more of a charmer as a work of chamber music (or would it be more accurate to categorise it as Harmoniemusik?). Without that slab-like underpinning of sonorous string tone, one can really appreciate the dark, reedy richness with which Brahms paints the opening of the slow movement, for example, or the Schubertian chiaroscuro of the Quasi menuetto’s central Trio section. And in such an outdoorsy yet still intimate setting, the piccolo part in the finale doesn’t seem out of place to me as it always has before. Now, I’m a firm believer in adhering to the letter of the score, but the next time I feel like listening to Op 16, it’s this exquisitely played (and recorded) recording that I’ll be returning to.