When Leonard Bernstein famously proclaimed George Whitefield Chadwick (1854-1931) as ‘the kindergarten period of American music’it was more likely Bernstein the composer and not Bernstein the conductor talking. It’s far easier to see how Chadwick might be damned with faint praise for using African-American melodies by a musical creator using conga drums in his concert works than by a podium figure with his eye on the broader canvas of musical history.

In any case, with enough historical remove Chadwick now appears to be neither ‘the most American of American composers’ (as he was often noted in his lifetime) nor a pre-Ivesian throwback (as he was known only a decade or so ago). Instead, the New England native is just a damn fine composer. Period.

The famous ‘American sources’ that the booklet-notes dutifully cite are no more central to Chadwick’s music than Russian folk material is to Tchaikovsky. Reflecting his own musical education, Chadwick’s language is more Germanic than anything else. What keeps it from falling into mere European pastiche, however, is a New World sensibility that goes well beyond quoting a few local tunes.

Using the language of Schumann and some orchestrational touches of Dvorák, Chadwick unveils a symphonic world in which Romantic sophistication need not necessarily wallow in anguish. With its colourful melodies and crisp rhythms, the music is nearly overwhelming in its optimism.

Theodore Kuchar and the National Radio Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine capture the music’s buoyance brilliantly, directly challenging Neeme Järvi’s reading of the Symphony and Symphonic Sketches and, to these ears, bettering the Detroit Symphony Orchestra on all counts.