Two recent large-scale scores by Magnus Lindberg embody one archetypal 21st-century response to 20th-century music: the echoes are all-pervading, but it’s probably pointless to try to decide whether they are ironic, serious or a mixture of the two.

Seht die Sonne (2007) alludes to late-Romantic Schoenberg, whose Gurrelieder text provides the title, but other memories of magical nature music, from Strauss’s Alpine Symphony to Henze’s König Hirsch – and not forgetting Sibelius – can also be sensed. There are considerable risks (as Henze discovered) in opting for expansive orchestral opulence when parody is not the aim, and when densely intertwining rhapsodic lines teeter on the edge of banality. Lindberg’s conviction, and technical resourcefulness, in creating this sound world can inspire rapturous enjoyment or alienated bafflement: and wherever on the continuum between these extremes you find yourself, Graffiti (2009) might well leave you in a similar location.

A choral work using brief wall texts from Pompeii could be a bracingly austere collage of fragments switching between the mundane and the philosophical, the bawdy and the spiritual: yet Lindberg pursues continuity, and a neo-late-Romantic symphonic idiom, as intensively in Graffiti as in Seht die Sonne. There are Stravinskian as well as Straussian associations here but the overall result seems to me to have more in common with Carmina Burana than Les noces, and some of the instrumental writing could be taken as parodying (or celebrating) Hollywood conventions of a Korngoldian Ancient Rome. Whether or not Lindberg is consciously mocking such lush aestheticisation of the primitive and the barbaric is impossible to tell. But the effect is always upbeat, exuberant and laid down with immense panache by the Finnish forces involved, in spectacularly vivid sound.