Discs by the Italian composer Franco Donatoni, who died in 2000, come along rarely enough that each one of them feels like a treat. Donatoni was Yoichi Sugiyama’s composition teacher; and although that’s not a prerequisite for conducting his music, Sugiyama’s inbuilt composerly toolkit helps him assemble these pieces with fluid understanding.

I use the word ‘assemble’ advisedly. Donatoni’s music dwelt inside a fantasy world of his own making where rigorous, controlled mathematical process co-existed with harmonic disappearance tricks and stylised instrumental flourishes that, once unleashed, were pure Alice. Prom, written in 1999, gets to the essence of his late style. The piece was eventually performed at the Proms, although rumour has it Donatoni assumed that every commission from the BBC was for the Proms and delivered an improper title for a piece that was premiered at the Barbican.

But part of the old Donatoni magic was his knack of finding poetic resonance within words that were, even if tenuously, connected with the circumstances of a commission. Thus Prom begins with the strings plodding amiably, walking up to the woodwind section to see if they have anything remotely interesting to say. Typically, Donatoni operated by splitting ensembles into sub-groups, and here the ensuing dialogue between woodwind and strings – is that really a hint of Beethoven’s Fifth I hear? – suddenly falls down a rabbit hole as harp and pitched drums unexpectedly amble into view. This ragbag assortment of fragments finds its harmonic direction as Donatoni walks with his lines and the piece ends with a wry gag – double basses playing walking-bass patterns, promenading perhaps from the Barbican to the Albert Hall.

Rewind 30 years and Donatoni’s Maderna tribute Duo pour Bruno sows the seeds – the same tactile obsession with shaping material, the same games with illusion. Sugiyama and the Tokyo Philharmonic play Donatoni’s music with an appropriate poker face and clean attack, and three pieces from his late-period In Cauda cycle include some of the most crazily virtuoso contrabassoon writing you’ll ever hear: a treat, unless you have to play it.