Whatever weight you place on Mahler’s Bohemian and Moravian connections, his discography contains surprisingly little that can be described as unambiguously Czech. Rafael Kubelík, who set down the Fourth Symphony with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra (DG, 12/68), shares with Jakub Hr≤≈a working in Bamberg (Accentus, 4/21) a certain al fresco lightness of approach that may or may not be thought idiomatic. Only one version featuring the Czech Philharmonic has received substantial international distribution, that directed by Václav Neumann in 1980 (Supraphon, 12/85). Michael Kennedy admired the quality of the principal clarinet and the cellos but found the interpretation somewhat pedestrian. Forty years on, the orchestra majors on its traditions – not unlike the Vienna Philharmonic its players remain predominantly local – yet the regional accent is arguably less evident than the distinctive sonic profile of its Prague home. The Dvořák Hall of the Rudolfinum has a long reverberation period and a rounded tonal quality most obvious in the mid-range and lower frequencies. The violins sound leaner on top. All this is well caught here and aficionados of fine audio need not hesitate, but has Semyon Bychkov produced a rendition for the ages?

The conductor, not always considered a Mahler specialist, has known the music since childhood and is now embarked on a complete cycle for the Pentatone label: you may have caught one of his recent live performances of this seemingly modest work. Smaller in size is not the same as smaller in meaning and Bychkov plainly knows what he wants and how to get it. The first movement is nicely de-clogged if scarcely artless. The Mengelberg-ish treatment of the first three notes of the melody in the violins is expectantly Viennese, a sign of things to come. Skies do darken but the mash-up of Boulezian forensics with comfy-chair Gemütlichkeit didn’t totally work for me. The playing as such is wonderful. The Scherzo is again closely observed rather than directly experienced, the Trio festooned with more string slides and abundant woodwind detail. Not that Bychkov is remotely precious in a long-breathed, still fluid account of the slow movement, never somnambulant in the manner of Michael Tilson Thomas (SFS, 7/04), nor quite so rapt. The big sky-opening climax can boast perfectly tuned timps, their potential boom skilfully contained in all that resonance, the aftermath heartfelt. On to a straightforward finale where eager, pure-toned Israeli soprano Chen Reiss permits no untoward matronliness despite close microphone placement. The music recedes into infinity, the harp (unfashionably) subdued. Determined to reconcile the contrapuntal linearity of Mahler the creator with what we know of the impulsiveness of Mahler the interpreter, Bychkov sometimes undersells the emotional arc of the journey. Not so here.

Generous annotations include Bychkov’s own observations on Mahler’s dichotomous mission ‘to express the polyphony of life, its nobility and banality, its reality and its otherworldliness, its childlike naivety and inherent tragedy’.