There are precious few orchestras in the world with a sound and an identity as distinctly their own as the Czech Philharmonic. The passage of time has not changed that. And, of course, that identity, that DNA, is irrevocably tied into their place in history and the world. Small wonder that they yearly pay homage to those roots through Smetana’s enduring and popular cycle of tone poems so simply and proudly entitled Má vlast – ‘My Homeland’.

We can all identify with both that title and its sentiments, not least Semyon Bychkov, whose great skill and sleight of hand here is to let his players tell their story. From the strumming of harps signalling songs of remembrance in ‘Vyšehrad’ (‘The High Castle’) to the stirring resurrection of the Czech nation depicted in ‘Blaník’ it is the relationship between sound and spirit that shines here. There is an honesty and homespun modesty about the playing that truly invites you in. The playing sings. And even where the scenario is one of blood and thunder – as in ‘Šárka’ – it dances too.

It all feels so effortless and unmanufactured and in a tableau like ‘Vltava’ which is so familiar and so ‘in the air’ of our experience it sounds like it’s being composed in the playing of it. The polka at its heart is such a natural departure from the ebb and flow of the music from eddying streams to its majestic surge into the capital Prague and such turbulence as is encountered on the way does not disproportionately strive to thrill. The excitement is there without being ratcheted up. Nothing is overcooked, everything evolves.

I think it’s Bychkov’s ability to relate phrasing to sound that is at the heart of his success here. He plainly relishes the orchestra’s natural blend while celebrating the beauty of its soloists. That gorgeous idyll at the heart of the final tableau ‘Blaník’ where the young shepherd’s song finds kinship with the solo oboe is both haunting and poignant and when solo horn echoes its sentiment the effect is as inevitable as it is touching.

Nor can one take for granted the cross-fertilisation of material that elevates Má vlast from seeming to be a succession of tone poems to becoming all of a piece. That, too, is Bychkov’s achievement. But above all it feels authentic and that has me thinking back to the glory days of Rafael Kubelík. High praise indeed.