Mark Viner’s fourth volume in his complete Alkan odyssey is artfully conceived and astutely ordered. He opens with the only two works the composer designated ‘paraphrases’: Salut, cendre du pauvre! (‘Hail, ashes of the poor’) and Super flumina Babylonis (‘By the waters of Babylon’), neither of them paraphrases of other composers’ works but of literary subjects, the former an elegy entitled La mélancholie by Gabriel-Marie Legouvé, the latter an interpretation of Psalm 137. These are dramatic tone-paintings with unpredictable twists and turns, memorable themes and capricious turns of phrase, a gift for any pianist who has dismissed the inveterate pooh-poohing of Alkan in conservatoires. Viner responds to the composer’s unique voice with great sensitivity and imagination.

He then gives us five marches: the Trois Marches quasi da cavalleria (only the first has been recorded previously), the last of which is a jolly affair that might put you in mind of Percy Grainger’s Children’s March; and the pairing of the Marche funèbre, Op 26, and Marche triomphale, Op 27, both of them dedicated to the delightfully titled (and powerful) Duchess of Montebello. The two march sets are separated by the brief, extraordinary Alleluia, Op 25.

Viner ends with the masterpiece that is the ‘Symphony for Solo Piano’, four studies which are themselves part of the masterpiece that is the Douze Études dans tous les tons mineurs. The average pianist might struggle for years to get the outer movements of the Symphony under their fingers and still come nowhere near what is required. (Raymond Lewenthal’s advice if Alkan’s metronome mark seems too fast: ‘Do not think for a moment that you know better. You will only bore your audience and lull them to sleep.’)

The finest performances on disc of this amazing work are by Raymond Lewenthal (albeit closely recorded and sadly shorn of the first-movement repeat – RCA, now download only), Jack Gibbons, the phenomenal Paul Wee (the best option if you want Alkan’s Symphony and Concerto on the same disc) and, my benchmark, Marc-André Hamelin. It is one of the great Canadian’s finest recordings and one which, incidentally, inspired the young Mark Viner to investigate Alkan. If I say that the newcomer bears comparison, then that should be sufficient indication of its merit. Hamelin’s lighter touch and greater expressive range give him the edge in the first movement (the coda is simply breathtaking). All five pianists give you a fist-clenching roller-coaster ride to remember in the fiendish Presto finale – ‘a wild ride in hell rather than to it’ (Lewenthal again).

Hamelin’s disc also has the two paraphrases and Alleluia. The Piano Classics booklet is an exceptional and detailed 20-page essay (English only) by Viner himself that even includes the text of the Legouvé elegy; Hyperion’s is their customary high-quality three-language note. In short, another exceptional release from this outstanding British talent.