Stephen Waarts paired Schumann and Bartók for his debut recording because, he writes in a booklet note, ‘intense expressivity’ is so characteristic of both composer’s styles. I wouldn’t argue the point but I do find it somewhat perplexing, as his interpretation of Schumann’s A minor Sonata isn’t especially intense. Waarts’s tone is just gorgeous – rich and singing, its sweetness balanced by a dark lustre. In the first movement, he and pianist Gabriele Carcano put lyricism at the forefront, paying scant attention to the myriad sforzandos and off-beat accents that give the music its emotional volatility. They also play the central Allegretto more tenderly, and less playfully, than most, while the finale feels note-heavy and sluggish. It’s admirable how they hew closely to the metronome mark, but I prefer how Anthony Marwood and Susan Tomes, at a nearly identical tempo, seem to lean bravely into the pelting hailstorm of semiquavers (Hyperion, 8/01). The Three Romances (originally for oboe) are played more persuasively, particularly the ballad-like third, where Waarts and Carcano prove themselves imaginative storytellers.

Bartók’s Hungarian Folk Tunes are even more sharply characterised. (These seven pieces from the large piano set For Children are arrangements by Joseph Szigeti, although Rubicon shamefully makes no mention of this anywhere.) Waarts shows his tonal range more fully here. His hoarse eloquence and subtle portamento in the first is as ravishing in its own way as his silken, golden tone he spins in the Andante sostenuto.

But it’s Bartók’s First Sonata that’s the prize here. Waarts and Carcano navigate the work’s varied, often thorny terrain without a misstep, and reveal so much in the score that’s wondrous and beautiful. There’s magic in the slow movement’s delicate atmosphere, thanks to long-breathed phrasing and some breathtaking soft playing. Then, in the finale, they generate tremendous excitement through rhythmic precision and clarity rather than by going on a hell-for-leather rampage, as Kremer and Argerich do in their hair-raising live account from Berlin (EMI, 6/09). I love Carcano’s articulate rumblings at 2'15", so startlingly clear and creepy. Waarts digs in fiercely when called for, yet his control is never in doubt. What a joy to hear even the highest-lying passages realised with such assurance and finesse. I’m convinced he’s the real deal.