Rediscovered in 2000 among the papers of Richard Austin (son of singer, teacher and self-taught composer Frederic Austin), the latest find in Richard Hickox’s Vaughan Williams cycle for Chandos is the earliest of four Nocturnes from 1908, all settings of the composer’s favourite poet, Walt Whitman (in this instance, ‘Whispers of heavenly death’ from Leaves of Grass). Possibly, as annotator Michael Kennedy suggests, VW sent the manuscript to Frederic Austin in the hope of a performance, or perhaps he was merely seeking an independent assessment. Now we have this beautiful first recording with baritone Roderick Williams and the LSO under Hickox’s sensitive lead bringing out the brooding mystery of VW’s eight-minute setting. Initially, what we hear is an intriguing mix of Debussy, Bax and Cyril Scott; in fact, it’s not until the second stanza (‘I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses’) that we get the first glimpse of the composer’s voice (try from 3'17").

Similar insights are frustratingly absent from the hush of the Sixth Symphony’s epilogue, where too often the reverberant acoustic inflates VW’s spare textures above the sempre pp e senza crescendo marking. For all the classy poise and sheen of the LSO, Hickox’s bluff manner makes for a less involving experience than I had expected: certainly by the side of Boult, Handley and Haitink, I don’t register a comparable unanimity of purpose, intellectual fibre or taut concentration. The slow movement in particular lacks the necessary remorseless grip and menace, its fff pinnacle falling short of intensity and clinching resolution, while the trio section’s grinding reprise at fig 39 (5'06") for once fails to quicken the blood.

Hickox’s Eighth is more to my liking, although there’s still a danger that the velvety sophistication of the playing might prove too much of a good thing: notwithstanding the melting tone of the strings in the Cavatina (and the sound here boasts extraordinary clarity and richness), the finished article never quite plumbs the depths. The less fussy, homespun manners of Barbirolli or Handley are far more touching; Haitink is different again, patient and raptly serene, yet shrewdly avoiding Hickox’s tendency to gild the lily. Elsewhere, the scherzo and finale strut with impish swagger and tintinnabular pomp respectively, but the symphonic sinew binding the first movement Fantasia’s progress remains largely unflexed.

In the wake of competitors like Sir Andrew Davis’s admirable – and bargain-priced – Sixth, this can only be recommended to VW completists or those collecting Hickox’s cycle.