In her booklet-notes, violinist Miranda Cuckson claims a personal connection to this all-Slavic cocktail: ancestors of her Viennese grandfather apparently came from Slovakia. Tenuous? Somewhat, especially given that no Slovak or indeed Czech composer appears on the programme. Never mind. Cuckson and her stage-fellow Blair McMillen sound almost as though they had this music in their blood.

That’s certainly true of Bartók’s Second Violin Sonata, which showcases their vast colour palette. They manage to sound assertive but not unkempt, ponderous but not lugubrious, bringing plenty of dignity, in particular to the creeping opening. They smoothly negotiate the many technical hurdles, not least the pesky tempo shifts in the second movement. If only they managed it with the same easy charm and spontaneity of, say, James Ehnes. This doesn’t quite sound like music created on the hoof.

Nor does Schnittke’s Second Violin Sonata, whose key ingredient – humour – never quite surfaces. What we get instead is a sabre-toothed interpretation, which seems to take all the tongue-in-cheek conceits – long silences, heart-stopping crashes – in deadly earnest. More’s the pity, because there is plenty to value here: energy, incisiveness and an ability to commit wholeheartedly to every note.

So it’s just as well that Lutosławski’s Partita puts those traits to better use. This, after all, is music of raw emotion, notwithstanding its debt to Baroque gesture. Cuckson and McMillen’s playing acknowledges that debt, along with its meticulously considered structure. But theirs, above all, is a propulsive, urgent, dizzyingly virtuoso performance, and one that leads to a climax of thrilling intensity.