'The trifle [Der Schmarrn] is ready, and you’ve only yourselves to blame if it flops.’ Lehár seems to have been positively flippant when he handed the newly completed score of Der Graf von Luxemburg over to the Theater an der Wien in 1909. But of course Kaiserschmarrn, when fresh, is about the most delicious treat Vienna has to offer. And Der Graf von Luxemburg is Lehár at his imperial height, post-Merry Widow, pre-Tauber: champagne operetta at its gorgeous, glittering best.

We’re in Paris, and opera star Angèle Didier needs an aristocratic title so she can marry the Russian millionaire Prince Basil. Count René of Luxembourg has a title but no money: problem solved – well, almost. An incognito marriage, a lost glove and the fragrance of Angèle’s perfume all play a part in the ensuing romantic complications, and Lehár responds with a score which some might argue surpasses even the Widow for sheer melodic richness.

Complete recordings (as against highlights discs) have been fairly rare, and while you won’t want to replace your Gedda/Popp set under Willy Mattes just yet, this spirited new version is extremely welcome. Taken from performances at the Frankfurt Opera, it’s got the immediacy and momentum of a live occasion. And, most importantly, everyone sounds like they’re loving it, starting with the conductor Eun Sun Kim, who never wallows, even in numbers as seductive as the waltz song ‘Bist du’s lachendes glück’. She enjoys all the orchestral details: the woodwind players in Angèle’s big Act 2 opening aria really sound as if they’re part of the musical conversation.

Camilla Nylund is an engagingly nuanced Angèle, hitting her high notes in grand style but with a plangent, more shaded tone in intimate passages. Daniel Behle is a graceful René (listen to the easy, weightless lilt as he pushes off into ‘Trèfle incarnat’); and Louise Alder and Simon Bode strike sparks off each other as the young bohemians Juliette and Brissard (Alder, in particular, makes a brilliant foil to Sebastian Geyer’s gruff Basil). The only serious disappointment is Margit Neubauer speaking, rather than singing, the cameo role of Basil’s old flame Countess Kokozow.

All in all, though, it easily outclasses its closest modern rival: Daniel Inbal’s rather cooler account on CPO, which tinkers with the order of individual numbers and includes all the spoken dialogue (non-German speakers might not see that as an advantage). This new release gives you just the music, in the published order, and with performers who clearly enjoy both Lehár’s escapism and his tenderness. If only the presentation was better! There’s a perfunctory, pretentious booklet note but no text or translations. These artists treat Der Graf von Luxemburg like the jewel it is: why can’t the label follow suit?