This performance, from a Royal Festival Hall concert, is powerful, direct and unassuming yet it is also the reverse of free or rhapsodic: there are times when, for a live occasion, both Guy and Berglund sound imprisoned within their notions of correctness or musical decorum. As solid and dependable as the Rock of Gibraltar, Guy, breaking away from his dazzling success on disc in Prokofiev, sounds oddly constrained. You may admire his consistency and integrity but you will look in vain for the revelatory touches of an Arrau, Serkin or Gilels, from the youthful, breathtakingly ardent Zimerman or the gleaming trajectory of Pollini.

The second movement Allegro appassionato is launched with an impetuous thrust but quickly settles into a dependable but hardly thrilling momentum. The hallucinatory octave cadenza at 5'05" sounds opaque and ill-focused and Berglund and his cello soloist do not impress their character on the Andante’s opening tutti (try Bernstein and the Vienna Philharmonic for Zimerman as a comparison). Is Guy’s first entry – that slow spiralling ascent in the same movement – truly magical or breath-taking and does the ‘great and child-like finale’ (Tovey) resolve this epic concerto in ‘a glory of tumbling gaiety’ (Edward Sackville-West)? The answers to these questions remain sadly negative, and so I am left crossing swords with Naïve’s annotator, who cites this performance as in the great tradition of Schnabel and Fleisher. On the contrary, broad generality is a poor substitute for acuteness, and Naïve’s lacklustre sound only compounds this impression.