Reviewing his earlier recording of Josef Suk’s Asrael in the context of a Collection (6/18) on this work prompted the thought that Jakub Hrůša might well come up with something special when revisiting the piece. For the greater part, his current traversal proves to be exactly that.

Not entirely, though, as the first movement lacks a last degree of cohesion – Hrůša seeming a shade cautious as its sombre introduction unfolds into a main Allegro which only takes off in the fraught development, yet how intently he marshals his forces heading into a truly seismic culmination – fate comes a-knocking with visceral import. The tailing-off into the Andante is finely judged; and if Hrůša’s pacing of this ambivalent intermezzo is almost too deliberate, its martial undertones and speculative gestures are unerringly caught. Nor are these musicians at all fazed by his headlong tempo for the Scherzo, its acute malice heard in greatest contrast to the aching regret of a Trio thrown into relief by the chilling reappearance of the ‘death’ motif; after this, the initial music resumes its fractious course through to an electrifying conclusion.

Others, among them Rafael Kubelík with this orchestra almost four decades ago, have found greater rapture in the Adagio but Hrůša feels never less than attentive to its mingled pathos and plangency. He also catches the febrile mood at the start of the finale, the Bavarian Radio players audibly outdoing their former selves during its contrapuntal intricacies on the way to an explosive climax which duly subsides toward a heartfelt epilogue – Hrůša mindful that its bestowing of the ultimate benediction needs to be shot through with the pain of experience.

This performance is ably served by the spacious and well-defined sound courtesy of Munich’s Philharmonie im Gasteig (a relatively high volume is advisable), though the booklet notes are little more than adequate. If Hrůša’s earlier account from Tokyo is undeniably outclassed, top recommendation still rests with the incisiveness of Charles Mackerras or the eloquence of Jiří Bělohlávek in his final, and finest, recording. Hrůša is almost with them – just not quite yet.