These performances of three of Dvořák’s late symphonic poems are by no means the swiftest on record. In fact, compared to (say) Rattle or Neeme Järvi, the longest of the three works recorded here, The Golden Spinning Wheel, is on the expansive side. But it doesn’t feel it at all. Bolton’s interpretations are so vital, so freshly coloured and so lovingly characterised that they simply dance by.

That’s not always the case in this repertoire, and it wasn’t so long ago that even quite credible critics maintained that in these orchestral retellings of Erben’s macabre folk-ballads, Dvořák had slightly lost the formal plot. Perhaps Bolton’s most impressive achievement is that you never forget that these are symphonic poems. From the opening bars onwards – the galloping rhythm of The Golden Spinning Wheel, the spiky bustle of The Water Goblin – there’s a tension; a sense of forward momentum that carries you through the many changes of colour and mood in a single persuasive narrative arc.

At the same time, there’s never any doubt that we’re being told a story. Rhythms are crisp, string tremolandos prickle and shimmer like autumn frost and the Basel woodwinds, in particular, have a wonderfully supple way with Dvořák’s melodies. Bolton and his players are masters of atmosphere: the arrival of the Noon Witch is properly chilling and the aquatic world of The Water Goblin is as translucent and as fluid as Debussy or Ravel. If you’ve ever doubted Dvořák’s mastery as a colourist, as well as a compelling late-Romantic storyteller, you should dive straight in. If Bolton doesn’t persuade you, no one can.