A musically interesting coupling, given that for the Strauss the soloist is (or should be) a first among equals, whereas in the concerto Dvorák places him very much in the spotlight. Mischa Maisky’s earlier DG account of the Dvorák had Leonard Bernstein at the helm, quite different to the urbane and thoughtful Zubin Mehta, a superb accompanist in the sense that he so often makes chamber music of the score, delving behind the notes even when the cellist hogs the limelight. He also handles transitions well; for example, the shadows that fall among lower strings at around 8'20" and the fluttering woodwinds that emerge out of them. Maisky’s ensuing solo work has a hushed, almost fragile feel to it. Elsewhere he’s unremittingly intense and takes a fairly liberal view of note values, lingering here, pushing forth there, much as he does for his first entry after the opening tutti.

Maisky claims that ‘some “improvisations” have escaped into traditional performing practice. I think that I am now restoring the concerto to its origins – out of respect for Dvorák. The only liberty that I allow myself is that that of the spirit as opposed to the letter – but this works wonderfully well within the straitjacket of the specified tempi and notes’. That may be so, though I’m not certain whether some of Maisky’s interpretative affectations will bear much repetition. Still, I enjoyed the finale’s rustic thrust and the rapport with Mehta is real enough.

We’re told that Don Quixote was programmed alongside the Dvorák at the original Berlin concerts; it’s another nicely judged performance if occasionally somewhat under-characterised from the rostrum. Again, Mehta employs his famously fine ear: you only have to sample the lyrical hub of ‘The Dialogue of Knight and Squire’ (at around 3'59") to hear how his sensitive approach to orchestral balancing pays off. The brass and woodwinds excel and violist Tabea Zimmermann is an exceptional Sancho Panza. This is relatively lean Strauss, mostly transparent and feelingly played by Maisky (rather less wilful than the Dvorák) with a poignant, lightly touched account of Quixote’s Death.

A worthy pairing then, notably demonstrative, skilfully conducted, generally well recorded but in the wider scheme of things not one to trouble Fournier and Karajan in the Strauss and Maisky’s teacher Rostropovich with Karajan in the Dvorák. For all its virtues this newcomer doesn’t really compare with either.