This is the first instalment of yet another Prokofiev symphony cycle in what has lately become a hotly competitive field. When Vladimir Jurowski previously recorded a stand-alone Fifth for the same label (1/08), its main selling point was the addition of the Ode to the End of the War, a Prokofiev rarity scored for a complement including eight harps, four pianos and eight double basses. Nowadays the Moscow-born, German-trained conductor has his own Russian orchestra of which he has been artistic director since 2011 while retaining sundry Western appointments. Fortunately he brings more to the table than residually authentic Russian-Soviet sonority. Tempos are spacious and textures spruce, suggesting a simultaneous repudiation of the coarse, gabbled effect produced by less carefully prepared performances of this repertoire.

Looking again at Prokofiev’s oeuvre in recent years, his partisans have sometimes been keener to laud his stylistic experiments in the West than acclaim his uniquely tuneful, more settled Soviet style. Whatever Jurowski’s thoughts, he has chosen to plunge in at the modernist deep end. Prokofiev’s Second is a machine-age artefact of ‘iron and steel’ designed to re establish his reputation as a futurist at the cutting edge of Parisian musical life. It didn’t work for him in the 1920s but does it work for us? Though refinement may not be the first word that comes to mind when assaulted by the opening trumpet calls, I doubt whether so much significant detail has ever been coaxed from the prevailing din. The main theme of the second movement – one of only two in a structure superficially modelled on Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No 32 in C minor, Op 111 – is most beautifully handled. Apparently made live at the opening concert of the orchestra’s previous Moscow season, the recording sounds shallower than I was expecting. String tone lacks the unforgettable fullness of the Svetlanov era, even if the blare of the brass contributes a Soviet-era sense of living on the edge. Applause is excised.

The Third Symphony is studio-made and feels richer in timbre, its surround sound as lifelike as James Gaffigan’s on a rival audiophile label. The Symphony is an operatic spin-off full of great material however randomly stitched together and it can certainly take Jurowski’s detailed rethink. While some will miss the hysterical conviction of Valery Gergiev who, like Jurowski, has conducted The Fiery Angel in the opera house, it’s worth remembering that Prokofiev wanted us to disregard its convent full of panic-stricken nuns. In this sense Jurowski’s relative solemnity is by no means misplaced and he coaxes real magic from sonic clutter left unexplored by Gergiev or Gaffigan (both brisker), though the latter has the best bells. Even if Jurowski’s band is flattered by the range and depth of the recording, it is rare to hear chamber poise from an orchestra this size in any music, let alone Prokofiev’s.

Is it all a little too cerebral? You might think that; I couldn’t possibly comment. Collectors loyal to physical format will know that Pentatone has lately improved its packaging: the booklet boasts a helpful introduction from the conductor himself as well as the usual notes and aptly suprematist artwork.