By combining so thoroughly the two strands of song and symphony that form the backbone of Mahler’s output, Das Lied von der Erde has a strong claim to be the composer’s crowning masterpiece. Its atmosphere – a mixture of joy in the world’s delights, search for self-knowledge and leave-taking – reflects the professional and personal blows that Mahler experienced in the summer of 1907, including the loss of his eldest daughter and his diagnosis with a congenital heart defect which would kill him just four years later at the age of 50. Feeling the need to completely reinvent himself and go back to basics, he composed this six-movement ‘Symphony for Tenor, Alto (or Baritone) Voice and Orchestra’ to texts from a recently published collection of Chinese poetry, Die chinesische Flöte, in German versions by Hans Bethge. In its combination of robust earthiness and delicate, often fractured textures, it was quite unlike anything he had previously composed (Henry Wood, who conducted the work in London in January 1913, thought it ‘excessively modern but very beautiful’).

Since Bruno Walter’s pioneering 1936 Vienna recording (made 25 years after he had conducted the work’s posthumous Munich premiere), there has been a succession of recordings, many of them great ones, from the likes of Krips, Bernstein and Giulini, to Rattle and Ivan Fischer. At their head, however, stand Walter’s own accounts, as well as Otto Klemperer’s legendary 1964 recording with Christa Ludwig and Fritz Wunderlich. Informed by their direct experience of working with Mahler, Walter and Klemperer still loom large in the work’s discography. Any new recordings have much to live up to.

The newest to appear, however, is highly distinctive in that it is played on instruments of the period, most of them of German or Austrian provenance. The players of Les Siècles under François-Xavier Roth have at their disposal Viennese oboes and horns, as well as beautifully woody clarinets, and Heckel bassoons that can really cut through the textures. The colourful layering of textures, splendidly captured by Harmonia Mundi’s recording team, is evident right from the heady opening of ‘Das Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde’ (The Drinking Song of Earth's Misery), but is perhaps most telling in the more introspective numbers, such as the wandering violin lines against woodwind solos in ‘Der Einsame im Herbst’ (The Lonely One in Autumn), or the charmingly evocative openings of ‘Von der Jugend’ (Of Youth) and ‘Von der Schönheit’ (Of Beauty). There’s also an appropriately rasping immediacy to the instrumental attack in ‘Der Trunkene im Frühling’ (The Drunkard in Spring).

Roth’s singers, meanwhile, are from the top drawer. Both contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux and tenor Andrew Staples are experienced in a wide range of music from the Baroque to the modern, and feature on several outstanding recordings. Staples has little to fear even in comparison with such legendary names as Patzak and Wunderlich. He has the latter’s strength of tone, with perhaps a tad less body, but confronts the jaw-dropping challenges of the opening movement head-on; he’s equally at home in the perky good-humour of ‘Von der Jugend’. Among recent contenders, he has few equals.

Meanwhile, Marie-Nicole Lemieux is up against memories of such greats as Thorborg, Ferrier and Baker; while having all the requisite depth of tone where needed, she brings a radiant brightness which is instantly appealing, and which reveals much more light in Mahler’s vocal lines than is normally apparent. Hers is by no means a ‘lightweight’ voice, but its focus and brightness brings new perspectives which many will find attractive, and she is as keenly attentive as Staples to the nuances of text and phrasing.

Any recording of Das Lied ultimately stands or falls by its account of the final movement, ‘Der Abschied’ (The Farewell), which, at some 27 minutes, is almost as long as the other five movements combined. Here, Mahler combines Bethge’s versions of verses by 6th-century poets Meng Haoran and Wang Wei with lines of his own devising, and the result is one of his most affectingly intimate and personal creations. This performance, more than any other I’ve heard, stands out for delineating the various strands and details of Mahler’s uniquely imaginative orchestration. From the tolling tam-tam and harp and aching horns to the tart Viennese oboe, every layer is astonishingly clear, yet without ever feeling unnecessarily highlighted. The extended orchestral interludes in particular take on fascinating new hues. The bleak double basses, mournful bassoons and lone flute that accompany the alto’s first entrance have rarely felt so bleak yet simultaneously so vivid. Again and again, Lemieux and the orchestra, ranging in mood from desolation to ecstasy, shine new light on familiar passages, aided by Roth’s subtle deployment of rubato. His pacing throughout the work is exemplary, and only occasionally in the second movement did I feel that some of the woodwind phrasing was a little clipped.

If you still doubt that the use of sensitively-played period instruments can make a difference in mainstream repertoire, go straight to the last movement; its abundance of colour is a true ear-opener. It’s like going back to the world of pre-exile Walter, or indeed Mahler himself, but with all the advantages of exceptional modern sound. There’s no need to part company with Walter or Klemperer, but no-one who loves Mahler’s music should fail to hear this revelatory new recording. Recommended with the greatest enthusiasm!