The two masterpieces Rachmaninov composed at his summer mansion in Lucerne in the mid-1930s make an obvious coupling and have been issued as such before, not least in estimable accounts from Sudbin and the Singapore Symphony on BIS. But never before, to my knowledge, has so much care been lavished on the complete product.

The headline-grabber is Rachmaninov’s own piano (donated to him by Steinways in 1934), which fully lives up to its billing, just as it did in Pletnev’s 1998 recording of solo works for DG. The tone is not drastically different from that of a 21st-century model but it is noticeably less metallic, a touch ‘woodier’, and not quite so long-lasting, all of which, when handled as intelligently as here by the young Uzbek-born, American-trained Behzod Abduraimov, allows for more subtle dialogue with the orchestral lines. This is in many ways the performance’s USP. But hear, too, how finely Abduraimov points the references to the ‘Dies irae’ chant in the inner voices, leading up to its final crushing appearance – just one highlight among many. Nor is there any lack of power or acrobatic fluency when called for.

That same chant is, of course, one of the main connections with the Symphony. Here the first movement’s languid opening and lovingly shaped lyrical themes offer rich promise, and little in what follows disappoints, unless you are expecting revelations comparable to those of the Rhapsody. Once again, the attention to accompanimental detail impresses, albeit at the cost of a certain constricted impression to the soundscape, as though the extra detail needed more space on stage to accommodate it, and, in particular, more unashamedly full-blooded string tone to complement it. The finale, especially, feels to me a little too reined-in, lacking a degree of headlong urgency.

But that was just a first impression. On repeated hearing, I more or less adjusted to the sound and warmed rather more to what is undoubtedly a performance of youthful enthusiasm, energy and affection. In fact the entire CD, distinguished by expert essays on the Swiss connection with Russian culture and by a panoply of photographs, feels like the product of exceptional devotion. Its outcome is new dimensions of understanding, even for those who would already claim to know this repertoire inside out. The piano justly has the last word, in a delectable rendition of Rachmaninov’s arrangement of the first of Tchaikovsky’s Op 16 Romances.