Anthony Collins’s 1952-55 Sibelius cycle with the LSO for Decca has acquired something approaching cult status over the decades. Personally, I’ve long held mixed feelings about this much-vaunted venture so was profoundly grateful for the chance to renew acquaintance and see if my reactions would alter. Of course, Kenneth Wilkinson’s hugely vivid and tastefully balanced Kingsway Hall sound (complete with the occasional gentle, oddly reassuring rumble from the Piccadilly Line) remains an enormous pleasure in itself. Beulah’s thankfully non-interventionist transfers are slightly less smooth but have marginally more body and projection than Tony Hawkins’s exemplary previous efforts for this same label (though there’s a momentary disturbance at fig L – or 5’44’’ – in the first movement of No 2 that isn’t present on the earlier single-disc release).

A disappointingly tentative, undermotivated Fourth aside, Collins’s readings possess a red-blooded fervour and thrusting energy to which many will rightly respond. Sometimes he’s just too bluff and hasty: No 3’s twilit, haltingly wistful centrepiece is dispatched in record time. Now and again string-tone has a whiff of the big-screen soundtrack about it, which you may or may not deem a boon; ditto the theatrically tweaked timpani part in No 2’s peroration (apparently fashioned at Koussevitzky’s behest). What I miss most, however, is the crucial ability to convey the bigger scheme: for all the undoubted professionalism and physical excitement on show, too many of Collins’s interpretations fail to add up to a grippingly coherent, organic whole. Returning to the late Sixten Ehrling’s pioneering integral cycle with the Royal Stockholm PO from the same period, I found it offered rather more in the way of trenchant observation, architectural strength and sheer temperament.

If Collins can seem breezy and uncomplicated almost to a fault, then Segerstam is the volatile magician. Ondine has wasted no time in repackaging at mid-price the Finnish maestro’s deeply pondered Helsinki PO cycle, throwing in for good measure his stimulating 1996 partnership with Pekka Kuusisto in the Violin Concerto. Less happily, Segerstam’s penetrating Pohjola’s Daughter (one of the best things in his survey) has now disappeared (it could have fitted comfortably onto disc three with Nos 3 and 5).

Provocative, big-hearted and occasionally just plain bonkers, Segerstam is at his flexible best in Nos 1 and 7, where raw emotion, recreative spark and edge-of-seat drama combine to often revelatory effect. Both the Third and Fourth also serve up heaps of food for thought: textures are sifted with luminous poetry and there’s some particularly fine wind playing, though neither account is devoid of fussy mannerisms. The Fifth’s closing stretches are likewise scuppered by too many erratic gestures – a crying shame, for there is much that is genuinely inspired in the two preceding movements. Despite some imaginative touches, I still find Segerstam’s Second and Sixth curiously self-conscious and wanting in spontaneity. The sound throughout is very good, if not ideally ventilated.

So, despite intermittent insights, neither set would feature on my short list. Novices are advised to seek out Sir Colin Davis’s distinguished Boston SO series (still available on two Philips Duo compilations). Dropping down a price-range, I also have a lot of time for Paavo Berglund’s characterful Helsinki PO survey (newly restored on a pair of EMI Gemini twofers). And remember that Kurt Sanderling’s rugged and thoughtful Berlin SO cycle can still be snapped up for well under £15 from Brilliant Classics (2/05).