Still, Saariaho has always understood the voice and allowed her music to hang on the Velcro of words. As such it’s Gerald Finley’s wondrous delivery of a restrained but soulful vocal line that makes the song-cycle True Fire (2014). The booklet goes big on the composer’s intense reaction to non-musical stimuli but the work was well under way before Saariaho sought out texts she could graft on to it, discovering later that they unified perfectly with one another and the music. That’s handy.

It’s a dichotomy because where the vocal line is focused, the orchestral writing would be nothing without its surface effects. There is not the tension of some Nordic song-cycles of the past decade and whenever a device emerges underneath it is short-lived and impulsive. You could make similar claims for the harp concerto Trans (2015), where – predictably enough – gestures from the solo instrument are almost invariably met with reactionary shards of orchestral activity that become repetitive. Saariaho was fascinated by the instrument but her gestural language is relatively small, favouring downward glissandos and cyclic finger-picking which Xavier de Maistre offers up with appropriately misty eyes.

The dark corners of the second movement’s (‘Vanité’) orchestral hinterland take us to a more interesting place and are nicely set up by the disc’s filler: Ciel d’hiver, a downsized version of the central movement of Saariaho’s Orion (2002) which is patiently, broodingly and richly played by Lintu and the FRSO. This was the composer in good vintage delivering a chilling, slab-like crescendo with a clear focal point, features that happily coexist alongside her mesmeric exploration of colour. Those were the days.