The Dvořák is the one great Romantic concerto previously missing from the discography of Anne-Sophie Mutter and her record label has spared no expense in presenting her boldly interventionist interpretation in the most favourable light. In physical format you can choose between a standard audio edition and a deluxe version, taking in differently sourced live performances of the longer works on a separate DVD. The camera angles may be limited but the red strapless gown is suitably emblematic. You can also watch an online journal documenting the recording process. It would be churlish not to welcome these, yet the impression remains that Mutter has studied the score so minutely that she can no longer be relied upon to see the wood from the trees.

This exceptional virtuoso is no longer the prodigious natural of the Karajan years. She did not appear at all in Berlin during Abbado’s reign and her first BPO recording for nearly 30 years showcases the rather different player she has since become. It is as if she is reluctant to let her sumptuous vibrato-heavy tone carry the argument lest people think she is merely coasting. As you would expect, there is some stunning playing. The high-lying solo writing (which Mutter believes has hindered the Concerto’s acceptance quite as much as its structural novelty) is dispatched with incomparable courage and fire. On the other hand, the fining away of her sound to a vibrato-less whisper, like the numerous stabs at a distinctively Bohemian mode of expression in the finale, could scarcely be described as unselfconscious. Nor is Manfred Honeck, a frequent collaborator though a newcomer to this ‘Rolls-Royce’ of orchestras, the man to rein her in. Go back to the simpler linearity of the classic 1960 LP recording by the composer’s great-grandson-in-law and you’ll find charm, songfulness and intimacy, qualities absent from the present issue, which even Supraphon’s massively over-reverberant acoustic could not conceal.

Of the remaining items, Mutter refocuses the Romance to project a sense of underlying anxiety, moving forwards more swiftly than the norm, and there are pockets of unsuspected vehemence in the Mazurek, given in its orchestral guise. The piano puts in a surprise appearance for the ubiquitous ‘Humoresque’ arrangement. This final delicacy, now half-lit, now swooning à la Kreisler, now roughed up a bit, gets an ‘encore’ performance such as would bring the house down in live concert. Does such music-making feel right on a 21st-century silver disc? Over to you.