Lindberg’s vision of a male character ‘wearing a bow tie and chequered blazer’ came to him in sleep; he named the fellow Mr Grönstedt after a Swedish cognac brand (go figure). Don’t worry about concerto form or movement titles, suggests Lindberg. If you follow that advice, both the titles (‘Grönstedt looks for treasures on a rubbish heap’ among them) and some idea of concerto form slip into place.

This is not music at the vanguard of innovation but in its directness of utterance, sharp evocation and keen interplay between soloist and tutti it is a joy. Lindberg can certainly write for orchestra but is never in demonstration mode despite the music’s panache. Emil Jonason is impeccably smooth and suave, except when Lindberg asks him not to be (the pained screeches of the final movement).

Nor has Jonason any problems with the different sound world of Golijov’s score for klezmer clarinet and quartet. The little cantor-like touches in Jonason’s playing and his fizzy, serrated edge are highly evocative. Golijov imagines blindness as a key to musical intensity (‘probably the key to great quartet-playing’) but to my ears the intensity of his reflection on a 13th-century rabbi’s prayers and dreams needs tightening. Science tells us that what we remember of a dream our brains tend to edit and sharpen. Lindberg appears to embrace that concept. Golijov doesn’t.