In the Brahms Concerto, speaking metaphorically, the soloists’ courtship takes a little time to reach marriage status. The opening cadenzas seem to mark more differences than similarities, violinist Lisa Batiashvili bright and overtly lyrical, cellist Gautier Capuçon tonally full-throated but fairly formal. Then, once past Christian Thielemann’s straightforward opening tutti, things warm up, the wonderful passage at 12'09" (in this context) where the two players follow each other on a celestial upwards climb being especially memorable. In fact, throughout the performance soloistic perception is a given. I just wish that Thielemann and his superb Dresdeners had provided a more emphatic account of the orchestral score. This is big, muscular music and needs to sound that way. Still, the Andante is lovely (especially the questioning envoi at its close) and the finale – which follows on from it attacca – really dances. The (mostly senior) pre-Covid audience is appreciative enough to warrant a dazzling encore by Ervín Schulhoff, the playful ‘Zingaresca’ second movement from his Duo for violin and cello, which draws a second storm of audience approval.

But the best is yet to come, a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet fantasy overture where Thielemann’s perfect pacing, sensitivity, deeply musical phrasing (with physical gestures to match) and obvious love for the piece make for one of the most gripping performances I’ve heard in recent years. The warring Montagues and Capulets (with their cymbal-capped sword fight) cut through generally mellow sound to create a real sense of tension; the love music is romantic but never soupy; and when it comes to the coda beyond the explosive timpani roll (61'56"), Thielemann’s chilling grimace tells how the tragedy is affecting him. The coda itself is truly noble (the closing chord is expressively elongated), which makes the audience’s initially lukewarm response after a few seconds’ worth of silence all the more perplexing.

The programme ends with the variegated world of Liszt’s Les préludes, its opening pizzicatos played impatiently on the heels of some welcoming applause, the performance vivid and skilfully navigated, the work’s close suitably majestic. A rather more demonstrative show of appreciation this time (again after a suitable pause), justly deserved – but in my view the real highlight of this well-produced DVD is the Tchaikovsky, which is a winner from start to finish.