There is, of course, a very real sense of ownership when the Czech Philharmonic play these pieces. Everything evolves so naturally, so fluently, as if the music were being created in the playing of it. And Bychkov’s skill – and indeed generosity – is to trust in his orchestra’s inheritance of just how this music goes. Kubelík may be grander, Kertész more brilliant, but there is a collective singing quality inherent in these performances, a shaping and phrasing that comes entirely from within.

So that’s the headline. Let’s look at the specifics. With the dramatic Seventh – a foreshadowing of the Wagnerian influences we find in Rusalka – one might wish for a darker hue and more fire in the belly through the surging first movement. It cries out for a bigger-boned sound. But offsetting that is the deeper melancholy of the slow movement, which Bychkov taps into most affectingly and which positively glows through beautiful horn solos and a sense of well-being, not least in the closing pages.

All the scherzos dance to the manner born – the Trio of this one is dappled with exquisite contributions from that delightful Czech woodwind choir. Their individuality does not preclude a blended sound that cannot be bettered anywhere in the world today. And having perhaps desired more cut and thrust in the first movement, the blood is up in the finale, with strings and timpani really digging in. And finally there is that moment where the horns (somewhat reticent throughout the discs – more on that anon) scoop up to the unexpected but radiant maestoso of the coda.

The Eighth is gorgeous in so many ways. The warmth and geniality of it is immediately established with the songful autumnal glow of cellos at the outset – but there is jubilance in the subsequent allegro and the inevitable moment of triumph when the trumpets ring out the opening theme at the climax. The slow moment again carries a wealth of affection for the music, its closing pages quite lovely. And unusually among Dvořák’s scherzos, this one is a waltz, turned and floated to perfection, with portamento subtly applied in the Trio. The reprise positively wafts in. As I say, gorgeous.

I’ve spoken of the Czech blend and its innate warmth – even in hard-hitting fortissimos there is no ‘edge’ to the sound. But I won’t be alone in sometimes wanting a little more brightness and inner definition (à la Kertész and the LSO), not least with the rollicking horn trills of the finale. They barely register here. Then again, all might be forgiven with the reflective pre-coda passage, where a rapt Bychkov allows himself and his players all the time in the world.

The New World is where you might perhaps want a grander, more cinematic vision – a sense of the ‘spatial’ effect that America had on the composer. That epic quality is a matter of taste, of course – some may feel that the big moments don’t quite peak to their full potential. But the inwardness of the celebrated Largo counts for a lot (a cor anglais solo possessed of an almost unassuming directness), and come the finale there is certainly a sense of the work building towards that fiery peroration.

The overtures are splendid, In Nature’s Realm and Othello sharing the same searching motif and Carnival fizzing with high spirits. So much to enjoy, then, though library choices might take you elsewhere.