Three pianists, three sets of ideas about Das Wohltemperierte Klavier; and though echoes of their predecessors from Edwin Fischer to Rosalyn Tureck are heard, these musicians follow their particular dictates through distinctive sound worlds. Daniel-Ben Pienaar is boldly etched with little hall ambience. At the other extreme is Michael Levinas in a reverberant setting that is suspiciously synthetic because piano tone is variable and doesn’t always ring true. Till Fellner is equably balanced, in an acoustic that has the right degree of space.

With the exception of four pieces – two in each book – Bach didn’t mark tempi, and dynamics are not specified at all. He left these matters to performers, and just how their judgements can influence the end result may be heard in the F minor Fugue, Book 1. There are three different views of this piece yet all are valid. Fellner is subdued and contemplative yet smoothly mobile, Levinas is slow and grand, and Pienaar swift, bright and crisp. They all use the sustaining pedal, Levinas for an unusual purpose. He believes in the need for ‘an extremely round touch contrary to the more common conception of Bach interpretation (because) the roundness of sound creates the spatial feeling and gives the instrument an almost vocal emotion’. In this instance thickened lines compromise a good conception; and a poor conception spoils the C minor Prelude. Levinas is fast and unsubtle, his prominent pedalling turning the music into a garbled mess.

Fellner is not given to extremes. His playing has a sense of devotional simplicity, notably so in the G minor and A flat major Preludes. He pedals to maintain continuity without altering tonal character and there is a gently pulsing lyricism in his approach to these pieces. He doesn’t undermine established conventions but his quiet eloquence gives them a voice of his own. The downside is that so effortless a flow can also turn into a drone, as it does in the A minor Fugue.

Pienaar clarifies the subject matter in greater detail and he builds to a taut climax. It is one of the many highlights in his set that includes a magnificently profiled F sharp minor Fugue, an E flat major Prelude where unsynchronised hands are used to enhance the melody of the chorale section, and an audacious altered version of its companion Fugue. Pienaar finds in this piece ‘a hint of the 4ft registration of the high flutes’. So he plays it an octave higher than written, and an impression of tootling flutes is heard in the upper reaches of the piano.

None of the musicians evades responsibility for singularity by hiding behind the template of ‘this is how it was performed’. Instead, they tackle the pertinent question, ‘how might it be performed?’ Levinas makes valuable suggestions and the ‘vocal emotion’ he aims for is heard in a number of Preludes though the wash of sound often imparts a dreamy quality that tends to blunt individual character. He can also be crassly insensitive: other examples of this puzzling aberration are the unremittingly loud performances of the C major Prelude and E minor Fugue, both of Book 2.

Fellner is never harsh and his impeccably voiced playing handsomely serves interpretations that generally circumspect if occasionally a tad nondescript. Pienaar doesn’t allow the odd slight insecurity to stop him from throw-ing down the gauntlet. More often than not, he offers answers that push the music to the brink though the bounds of credibility aren’t breached. His is a tough but thought-provoking opinion that readers are urged to listen to and ponder.