As he makes his first entry after the opening chords of the Schumann, one is immediately drawn into the exciting atmosphere that surrounded Tortelier’s concert appear- ances – this is playing that demands attention. Part of his secret is that he lives the music with such intensity – the flourishes that punctuate Schumann’s opening melody have an amazing, extravagant quality that’s the more striking because they take us by surprise, after the tranquillity of the first bars.

As a recording, this Schumann can’t compare with the late 1970s account where Tortelier is accompanied by the RPO under his son’s baton. It’s a live broadcast, with some audible coughing, the sound is rather glassy, and though there’s the sense of a big orchestra much of the detail is not entirely clear. Nevertheless, the BBC SO plays well and, in front of an audience, Tortelier app- roaches the solo part with more intensity, digging into the obsessive rhythm at the start of the finale, and later on sounding more joyful in his dialogue with the woodwind. In the slow movement, there’s a greater contrast between the more rhetorical passages and exquisitely tender quiet phrases.

The Hindemith was one of Tortelier’s favourite concertos – there’s a splendid 1955 recording with An?erl and the Czech Phil. This 1967 account has better sound than the Schumann, with bright, harmonious wind playing in the Scherzo episode of the middle movement, and in the final March. Tortelier’s bold, sinewy playing seems just right, but he doesn’t quite convince me of the work’s high stature, not even when, on the final track, he talks about it with great charm and enthusiasm.