Penderecki reminds me of the late Kenny Ball, the British trumpeter who played jazz for people who weren’t remotely interested in jazz. Penderecki’s Piano Concerto was completed in 2002 and revised five years later but its gestures – Rachmaninov-like swells, Shostakovich chase sequences, Prokofiev sarcasm, film-score emoting – could have appeared at pretty much any time post-1945. Penderecki deals up neo-nostalgia; he’s a career Romantic composer.

And yet it’s difficult not to admire his Piano Concerto, albeit very much on its own terms. To write a Piano Concerto in 2001 subtitled Resurrection, a nod apparently to the September 11 terrorist attacks, that begins with a jaunty bass ostinato, a comedy chromatic ‘wrong’ note coming as standard, and that embraces boldly orchestrated quasi-religioso chorales and archetypal flashy concerto passagework takes a very special sort of chutzpah. Are we supposed to take it seriously? You do wonder if Penderecki, who in a different compositional life created striking orchestral works like Anaklasis and De natura sonoris I, could possibly take it seriously himself.

Well, I’m not certain he does. There’s a sincerity about Penderecki’s Piano Concerto that, while naive, is sincerely naive. Listen closer and you begin to appreciate what a canny structural operator Penderecki remains: his 10 movements railroad through each other with any transitionary material discreetly nudged out of the way. Major climaxes arrive without preparation, reflective passages without narrative scene-setting. Barry Douglas, Antoni Wit and the Warsaw Philharmonic don’t hold back; their performance is appropriately hard-selling and over-the-top. Łukasz Długosz makes a decent enough job of Penderecki’s sadly bland 1992 Flute Concerto.