There’s a neat symmetry here, with some of the earliest Tippett recordings, made between 1941 and 1948, balanced by the 88-year-old composer conducting two of his symphonies in 1993. By the same token, it has to be admitted that none of the performances can be classed as definitive. Even so, they possess considerable musical as well as historical value.

‘Remembering Tippett’ easily counters the claim that early performers, faced with the rhythmic and textural complexity of his scores, betrayed insecurity and incomprehension. In the Fantasy Sonata (the original version of what became ‘Sonata No 1’) Phyllis Sellick conveys a genuine sense of joy at the music’s quirky exuberance, and the rather light bass imposed by the recording strengthens that spirit of delight. The sound is also extremely confined in the Concerto for Double String Orchestra and the String Quartet No 2, but there’s a case for saying that the drama of this music’s contrapuntal interplay is actually enhanced when the wide-open spaces of stereo placement are not available, and neither of these accounts lacks richness of texture or vivacity of interpretation. The sense of apotheosis Walter Goehr achieves in the Concerto’s marvellous finale, and the needle-sharp reactions of the Zorian team in the Second Quartet’s extremely tricky Scherzo as are fine as anything you’ll hear in later, sonically more polished recordings.

The performance of Tallis’s 40-part motet commemorates Tippett’s work as Director of Music at Morley College, and although, as Anthony Burton’s extensive documentary notes explain, Tippett was never the most technically proficient of conductors, the rich, rolling sound – more 19th than 16th century in character – is remarkable. The Morley amateurs had some professional stiffening for the occasion, and presumably this large choral body was kept on track by being given pitches before each 78rpm side was recorded separately.

Martin Cotton’s fascinating report on the 1993 recordings of the Second and Fourth Symphonies reveals how close the project came to collapse, and the result is not ideal in either interpretative or recording terms. In the end, however, Tippett’s down-to-earth good humour, coupled with the orchestra’s determination to do their best by this well-loved grand old man of British music, ensured that the recordings were completed in the three days allocated: and although these versions don’t displace Richard Hickox’s estimable recordings (Chandos 11/93, 10/94) of these works – part of his complete Tippett cycle – they are certainly well worth hearing.

Perhaps the Fourth Symphony simply wasn’t given enough time to gel. But the Ivesian associations of its collage-like design are clear, and the moments when the brass burst out with their exuberant fanfares and roulades have a splendid panache. The Second has a better balance between singing melody and stamping dance, and although the scherzo – taxing for the most expert conductor – sounds a bit tentative, the overall effect is bracing, heroic, radiating that supremely positive spirit which was Tippett’s special gift to 20th-century music.