National PO Bernard Herrmann Symphony

Jarvi directs a characteristically warm and urgent performance of this exuberant inspiration of the 24-year-old composer. It is by far the longest symphony that Dvorak ever wrote, and was longer still in its original form, before the composer revised it. As Ray Minshull put it, when commenting on the Kertesz/LSO issue, which he had produced for Decca, Dvorak ''later learnt to be jubilant more concisely''. The jubilation is what matters, and there is plenty of that on this record yet the issue brings my first significant disappointment in Jarvi's Dvorak series.

The first of Dvorak's nine symphonies and the last of his symphonic poems come here in a generous coupling, both of them among the longest works he ever wrote in each genre. The only rival version of the symphony on CD is the Kubelik, and that only comes in the six-disc DG set of the complete cycle. As for The Hero's Song, this is a real rarity. It is in fact the very last orchestral work that Dvorak wrote, in 1897 some seven years before his death. Unlike earlier symphonic poems, it has no specific programme, though the journey from darkness to light in the unspecified hero's life is clearly enough established.

The melodious Andante is the longest of the four movements [of Alfvén’s Third Symphony], deftly written and beautifully performed (particularly by the RSNO’s woodwinds and their delightful contributions). The piece enjoys an expansive climax, given all the space in the world by Willén.

From the unique trajectory of Scriabin’s career – two decades of ecstasy in its old-fashioned sense and of egotism in its timeless one – come the Second and Third Symphonies plus the two Poems: music raised through the engorgement of sumptuous timbre and chromatic harmony to the richness of foie gras.

Gibson’s virile, plain-speaking account of Elgar’s glorious Second Symphony refreshes in its directness and honesty. Included also is a sumptuous rendering of the rare Crown of India suite.

The selections begin with the Festival Overture, a somewhat blustery, bombastic piece that, nevertheless, makes a good, rousing curtain raiser. So, it works in the capacity for which the composer doubtless intended it. Maestro Niklas Willen and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra give it their all, and if one doesn’t expect something more substantial, it does its job.

When you listen to The Poem of Ecstasy', Scriabin advised, 'look straight into the eye of the Sun', and he made sure that Ecstasy was orchestrated in such a way as to burn itself onto the consciousness. Whether by design or not, and without leaving you with tinnitus, this new performance, in its moments of joyful - and finally tintinnabular - climactic clamour, does just that. There is a sensational resolve from (and resolution for) the horns as they eventually take over and expand the trumpets' assertions and reach for the heights. And, thankfully, Pletnev, his fearless players and his engineers have left room to maximize this moment of arrival.

While Mike Nichols' 1966 film of Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? gets more frightening every time you watch it, Alexander North's score to the same film gets more consoling every time you hear it. Nichols' film, particularly the performances by Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, has scenes of terrific intensity, but North's score, though faithful to what's on screen, has a tenderness, even a sweetness, that transforms the ultimate meaning of the film. Part of it is North's characteristically evocative orchestration with some cues delicately scored for guitar, celesta, bass clarinet, harpsichord, and a pair of harps, while others are scored for spare almost spooky winds arrayed against soothing strings. But most of it is North's soaring melodies and brooding harmonies – and especially his big-hearted main theme. By prefiguring the film's reconciliatory ending, the solace offered by North's score transfigures all the horrors enacted between Taylor and Burton.