Martyn Brabbins rounds off his Vaughan Williams symphony cycle for Hyperion with a most impressive account of the Ninth. His is a memorably lucid conception: textures are sifted with judicious skill (how gratifying to hear the flugelhorn registering so naturally), RVW’s bass lines (always worth paying close attention to) tread with reassuring solidity, and there’s an enviable sureness of purpose from first bar to last. Magnificently recorded by Simon Eadon and Dave Rowell in Watford Colosseum, the BBC Symphony Orchestra are at the top of their game throughout, responding with all the freshness of new discovery. I especially enjoyed the delectably spry contributions from the three saxophones and xylophone in the Allegro pesante Scherzo (which agreeably combines tonal heft and rhythmic point). Meltingly tender string-playing, too, in the second movement’s ravishing secondary material both times round. Above all, the symphony emerges as a newly minted, profoundly organic whole; indeed, there’s an exploratory zeal and infectiously questing spirit about this powerful performance that I feel confident will stand the test of time.

The Sinfonia antartica, too, brings plenty to admire in its clear-headed cogency, scrupulous preparation and big hearted commitment from all involved. I love the element of playful fun Brabbins locates in the second movement (the composer’s scherzando markings really make their mark), while the fourth-movement Intermezzo is an unusually reflective, deeply wistful affair in which Brabbins finds an affinity with much earlier RVW masterworks (above all, perhaps, the Pastoral Symphony). Again, the engineering possesses striking amplitude, range and detail (especially in the lower reaches). In fact, the only thing I’m not entirely sold on is the inclusion of audio samples of actual wind sounds – Elder’s recent Hallé version (7/22) with its offstage wind machine gets it about right. Still, I wouldn’t want to deter anyone from investigating this notable pairing, and Brabbins’s glorious Ninth in particular strikes me as a reading of genuine stature.