'This could well be a Haydn series to relish’, wrote Mark Pullinger of the first volume of Paavo Järvi’s ‘London’ Symphonies, coupling the Clock and the Drumroll (6/23). Well, here’s round two – four symphonies this time – and MP’s prophecy would appear to be coming true. Richard Wigmore suggested that Järvi’s Clock might be ‘too fast and fierce for some’ but commended that recording for its ‘elfin quick-wittedness … sure control of symphonic tensions and a wide eyed delight in Haydn’s sheer unpredictability’ (5/24).

There’s plenty of that here, all unfolding with a seemingly effortless naturalness. Yes, there’s drive and virtuosity to spare, with dextrous string-playing augmented by the piercing gleam of trumpets and the crack of hard timpani sticks, but nothing comes across as forced or affected. Järvi might take greater heed of the Allegro than the moderato at the head of Symphony No 95’s opening movement, for example, but this adds an extra injection of excitement to its dark C minor shading. He exploits to the full the Allegro vivace marking atop the Surprise’s Minuet – you certainly wouldn’t want it any faster. But rather than making the livelier movements feel over-driven, this approach imparts a vivacity that reveals true affection for these wonderful pieces. Nothing is mannered or manhandled, as is sometimes the case with conductors keen to make their mark in this music.

You know you’re in safe hands right from the beginning, with the plumpness of the woodwind in the slow introduction to the Surprise Symphony. Then there’s the heft of the string tone at the outset of No 98, belying the sleek chamber dimensions of the Kammerphilharmonie. Little tweaks to details of phrasing or dynamics, along with attention paid to Haydn’s markings, are symptomatic of the deep engagement of these Bremen town musicians with the nuts and bolts of Haydn’s invention, while the freedom of tempo in Trio sections – such as the cello solo in No 95 – is similarly far from dogmatic. And when Haydn suddenly takes off on his flights of contrapuntal fancy (notably in the finales of Nos 95 or 99), you really feel these performances lift on to another plane altogether.

Järvi’s readings could perhaps be described as occupying ground somewhere between the urbanity of Colin Davis with the Concertgebouw and the electricity of Eugen Jochum with the LPO, while avoiding the temptation to highlight or underline too blatantly Haydn’s anarchic side à la Norrington or Harnoncourt: the composer’s witticisms and streaks of humour come over all the more effectively for being delivered with a poker (but not a po) face. The fortepiano in the finale of No 98 isn’t identified in the booklet – nor is its player – but subtly introduces its gently rounded tones a touch earlier than scheduled, with the solo violin on the approach to the recapitulation.

Järvi is now halfway through his ‘London’ journey, and once again these are performances to relish, and to revisit with increasing pleasure.