I expect many readers have become wary of successfully established pianists-turned-conductors with nothing in particular to contribute to what Hans Keller stigmatised as one of the world’s phoniest professions. Zoltán Kocsis is emphatically not of their number. Indeed, his work in transforming the hoary old Hungarian National Philharmonic since the autumn of 1997 is at least as remarkable as his more celebrated achievements at the keyboard. True, he has been assisted by a massive injection of state funds, to the detriment of the rival Budapest Festival Orchestra which he himself helped to found.

The team is pretty much unbeatable in their recent studio recording of Bartók on Hungaroton. Whereas what we have here is a sort of fabricated live concert spliced together from Hungarian Radio tapes. There are noises off, inconsistencies of balance and some abrupt fades between movements. Even so, it would be churlish not to welcome music-making so consistently fresh and vivid. The orchestra’s sonority is lighter and lither than that of bigger names and its instruments sound cheaper, too, yet Kocsis makes even this seem like an asset. String lines, seldom heavily weighted, are always carefully nuanced. Individual wind solos are inflected with rare spontaneity.

Thickly scored and tub-thumping as it is, the Dohnányi rarity (composed for Budapest’s anniversary junket in 1923) will intrigue his admirers. Some will find Kocsis’s own Debussy transcriptions over-egged or tinkly. It doesn’t help that Júlia Hajnóczy, young, sensuous and vibrant, if obviously not French, is given her own cavern of resonance which tends to swamp what Kocsis has done with the accompaniments. But throw away your preconceptions and you’ll probably enjoy the experience. In which case you’ll want Kocsis’s Hungaroton disc of Debussy and Ravel orchestrations. One black mark, though: this designer-led BMC package contains no song texts.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from a repertoire piece like the Rachmaninov, although Kocsis’s own commitment to this music is not in doubt and I really took to this tense, ardent performance. Should you be put off by Kocsis’s characteristically pointed observation of the slurs in the cellos and basses near the start, I should add that the first movement kicks into higher gear at the beginning of its development section. The second movement has an airy lightness that is appealing enough to have you forgiving some scratchy and inconsistently miked detail. The finale is so thrillingly fast that at one point it almost comes to grief. It is, at any rate, the least bombastic rendition of the symphony I have heard and the clearest indication that there is something special going on in Budapest.