The Henselt Concerto has been recorded only three times previously, remarkable when you consider it was an almost de rigueur mainstay of the repertoire in the last half of the 19th century, premiered by Clara Schumann (conducted by Mendelssohn, no less) and espoused by many famous names including Gottschalk, de Pachmann, Scriabin and Busoni. When it went out of fashion, to be replaced by the Grieg, Tchaikovsky No 1 and Rachmaninov No 2, pianists, it is said, heaved a collective sigh of relief, for its hugely demanding solo part is one of those where the great difficulties are not readily apparent without reference to the score. You also need stamina: the last 22 pages of the first movement, for instance, black with allegro semiquavers, do not relent for a single bar. Someone wrote that it was ‘akin to a figure skater having to perform endless triple and quadruple jumps and land them perfectly and gracefully every time’.

Michael Ponti was the first to brush off the dust (1968, fast and fiery in less than adequate sound – 5/93) followed by Raymond Lewenthal the following year (noisy, dashingly theatrical, poorly recorded – 1/70). Then nothing till Marc‑André Hamelin in 1993 (dazzling in its clarity and pianistic finesse, superbly accompanied and in Hyperion’s sumptuous sound). This latest iteration, three decades later, has the same producer, Andrew Keener. The soloist is the remarkable Paul Wee, the lawyer-pianist who has won universal plaudits for his three previous recordings for the BIS label. His debut disc of Alkan’s Concerto and Symphony for Solo Piano (11/19) matched (and in some ways surpassed) Hamelin’s accounts – and that is saying something. Wee’s Henselt combines the dashing theatricality of Lewenthal with the dazzling clarity of Hamelin – but with this extra element: an emotional engagement with the musical narrative that will surely win over Henselt virgins and (who knows?) might even lead to the concerto returning to the regular repertoire. Of the many memorable moments conjured by the combined forces, it is the magical introduction of the first movement’s chorale and Wee’s exultant entry after it that will stay long in the memory.

Its companion piece is Bronsart’s F sharp minor Concerto (a better and more substantial coupling than Hyperion’s minor Henselt and Alkan works). This has had an even more limited recording history: Ponti (again – 12/74) and Emmanuel Despax for Hyperion in 2017 (producer Andrew Keener is once more the common link to the BIS release). Neither of them is as persuasive as Wee. A first movement that has always left me less than whelmed, I now see as having a magisterial scope and ambition that I had not appreciated before. It bears repeated listening. The slow movement is meltingly lovely but it’s the finale that is most striking, an exuberant tarantella that, in Wee’s hands, grabs you by the throat. Thrilling stuff, which will leave you breathless with admiration.

The recorded balance between soloist and orchestra strikes me as about ideal, the warmly lit Swedish players against the glittering brilliance of Wee’s bravura. But it is the energy he injects into his role as primus inter pares and his complete understanding of what it takes to make this music work that outshines his rivals, ably abetted by Michael Collins, whose own solo forays into this highly virtuosic genre of repertoire have given him a special understanding of what is needed in support. Another triumph for Paul Wee who, to top it all, provides his own illuminating booklet. My first contender for next year’s Awards.