It’s been some years since Rouvali’s account of Sibelius’s First Symphony mightily impressed me in these pages (3/19). This, of course, should be his natural habitat – and is. Then again the contribution of the excellent Gothenburg Symphony to this latest release is a major factor (a marked contrast to his disappointing work with the Philharmonia) and they know this landscape better than most. The cool, clean, crystalline clarity presented at the opening of the Sixth (isn’t this one of music’s most exquisite sonorities?) seems to be lit from within – like an illuminated manuscript.

Concision is at the heart of these pieces. Once it’s said, it’s said. It’s there and then it’s gone. No embellishment or prevarication. The Sixth has an air of fantasy about it, a childlike logic and wonder. But the wonder is realised from moment to moment – and the rest is silence. Rouvali and the Gothenburgers really fill those silences where and whenever they occur. The darkening squall which descends towards the close of the first movement is menacing – but more so is the icy stillness in its wake.

The last movement is especially effective here. The cleanness of the rhythm, the clarity of inner parts, has been key throughout but here it sounds to be building towards some glowing apotheosis (the depth of the lower string sound is another factor) but instead it looks back to the opening and dissipates poetically.

The drama (and mystery) of the Seventh is well chronicled here. It feels, and is, organic. The sound seems to come up through the bass lines (terrific engineering) and again the rhythmic precision of the playing in the scherzando passages conveys a sense of imperative between the monolithic climaxes (great first trombone sound, by the way – just a hint of vibrato). I always love that moment of high intensity in the upper strings as the final ascent, so to speak, is abruptly cut short. And with nowhere else to go Sibelius arrives at the most unconvincing eleventh-hour C major in all music.

The collection of cues from the composer’s incidental music to The Tempest are the strangest mixture of catchily folkloric and strangely elusive – as typified by the shadowy Intermezzo. Prospero has a brief but weighty oration, as befits his status, but this whole programme is essentially music on the edge of silence.

A decent album in a highly competitive field.