Sex-crazed nuns and a Swedish trombonist’s tribute to Wollongong headline a month of new takes with plenty of surprises.

Järvi and his Scottish forces provide 80+ minutes of Gallic sunshine.

Bohuslav Martinů is surely one of the most underrated composers of the 20th century. His unique brand of neoclassicism is addictive: a vivid celebration of folk dance and classical tradition, spiced with pungent harmonies and rhythmic verve. It’s a wonder his music is not performed more. Kudos then to the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, whose recent release of the composer’s two suites from his ballet Špalíček bursts onto the scene with breathtaking élan. A testament to Martinů’s innovative approach to genre, Špalíček was conceived as a hybrid work: a ballet with operatic elements. Translated as ‘Chapbook’, a collection of literary subjects in pamphlet form, Špalíček is a charming conglomeration of fairytales. Familiar characters like Puss in Boots cavort with lions, mice and sparrow hawks, while a princess is rescued (with the aid of a butterfly) by a cobbler from the grips of a terrible giant. There are magicians and mysterious shadows, enchanted castles and even a catchy waltz at Cinderella’s palace ball. And the music is just as imaginative as the stories. The vibrant orchestration shows an early 20th-century predilection for woodwind and brass, with plenty of percussion and piano punctuating the bubbly score. Martinů’s musical subjects are mostly of Bohemian…

The Slovak composer Eugen Suchoň (1908-1993) possessed a rich, distinctive voice that drew as much on the diatonicism of late-Romanticism and the modality of Slovak folk music as on Impressionism and chromaticism. But what most astonishes when listening to these three impressive large-scale orchestral works from the mid-1930s and mid-1950s is Suchonˇ’s subtle yet expansive orchestrations and fulsome narrative drive. It’s easy to be reminded that he did a lot of piano improvising for silent films. Metamorfózy (Metamorphoses, 1953) is quasi-programmatic, the portrait of the artist around the time of World War II. Each of its five sections is exquisitely crafted but the final Allegro feroce, with its rushing strings and explosive brass and percussion, steals the show. The earlier Baladická Suita opens in a mood of bustling energy through which one can glimpse the gorgeous lyricism of the following Adagio, which in turn submits to a frenetic Allegro molto that is itself conquered by the final movement’s lush impressionism.  Completed in 1956, Symfonietta Rustica is adapted from parts of the composer’s Sonata Rustica for solo piano and is dominated by the spirit of folk song and dance. The Estonian National Symphony Orchestra under Järvi play this music as though…

The first thing I noticed about this CD was what fine form the Suisse Romande is in nowadays. Marek Janowski and Neeme Järvi have created a better orchestra in a short time than Ansermet did in 40 years! A century ago, Raff’s output was regularly featured in concerts but gradually fell into neglect.  The second striking thing here is Järvi’s duration for the symphony at 40’. Bernard Herrmann’s 1970 self-financed recording takes 56! Herrmann ranked it with the Symphonie fantastique and Lizst’s Faust Symphony, and he was right.  Lenore is a young girl whose sweetheart dies in battle but whose spirit returns and carries her off on horseback. As usual, the whole thing ends, gothically, in tears. The wild ride doesn’t conjure up anything like the visceral terror of the ride to the abyss in Berlioz’ Damnation of Faust, but it’s still impressive. The March, however, miraculously anticipates Mahler’s militaristic songs in Des Knaben Wunderhorn: I say miraculous, because Raff was born in 1822, almost 40 years before Mahler. It has a tune I couldn’t get out of my head for days. The excellent liner notes describe the work in terms of a single tempo, ingeniously manipulated by altering note…

Jules Massenet has an unfair reputation for sentimentality at the expense of originality – perhaps the legacy of becoming the heir of Meyerbeer. Maybe his most enduring operatic works, the lengthy, and at times sugary Manon and the overwrought Werther are partly to blame, exposing him at his most emotionally heart on sleeve. Massenet at his best, however, could be nearly as masterful an orchestrator as Bizet and almost as original as Chabrier. For those prepared to delve deeper there are delights in store, as this delicious French soufflé of a disc from Neeme Järvi and the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande amply demonstrates.  We start on familiar ground with the sparkling, Spanish-inflected ballet music from the opera El Cid. The orchestra is absolutely spot on with stunning woodwind solos (listen to the flute in the twinkling Aubade) and rattling castanets aplenty. The Estonian-born Järvi corrals his forces as if to the chateau born. The final Scènes Pittoresques are similarly joyfully realised.  In between come the rarities. The most fascinating is the very fine Fantaisie for cello (the only other recording in the catalogue being Richard Bonynge’s with the same orchestra). It’s a cracking work that deserves to be in…