Prodigy Clara Schumann (Wieck at the time) was 14 when she wrote the third movement of her Concerto, and 16 when she premiered the full version. As a composer, she didn’t yet have the technical polish that Mendelssohn (who conducted that first performance) had as a teen, but she was more adventurous. In its combination of improvisatory freedom and tight thematic organisation (looking ahead to Liszt), in its jarring replacement of the second movement with lengthy cadenza (where, to add to the surprise, the soloist is joined halfway through by a solo cello), and in its unexpected modulations, the Concerto throws you off balance even today.

Beatrice Rana has been no stranger to accolades in these pages since her silver medal at the Cliburn Competition a decade ago; and she’s on top form here. Most obvious is her superb touch, a combination of dynamics, colour and vertical balance that’s of special value in this bel canto work laced with filigree that can easily turn into cobwebs. Yet for all its graciousness, you couldn’t call the interpretation reticent. Her rubato matches the youthful daring of the composer, and her power in the bravura passages reminds us of the prowess that made Clara one of the century’s great virtuosos.

Robert Schumann’s Concerto makes an apposite disc-mate. Clara inspired, encouraged and premiered the work, and it poignantly reflects his passion and appreciation. It also borrows several of her ideas. Here, though, competition on record is far greater; and as sumptuous as this reading is, Rana’s indulgent tempo-bending (just listen to the opening of the cadenza) and her tendency to lean heavily into the peaks of phrases may strike some listeners as bordering on the fussy.

Those who don’t feel the need to hear another recording of Robert’s Concerto might want to seek out Clara’s Concerto with Isata Kanneh-Mason on an all-Clara collection (Decca, 8/19) or Howard Shelley’s version (Hyperion, 5/19), slightly less supple but fully committed and joined by rollicking rarities by Herz, Ferdinand Hiller and Kalkbrenner, all tossed off with abandon. Make no mistake, though: if you pass up Rana’s performance – buoyed by exemplary support from Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the Chamber Orchestra of Europe and the unfortunately unnamed solo cellist – you’re missing something special.

The encore, Liszt’s arrangement of Robert’s ‘Widmung’, makes a touching closer – although Clara’s own less florid transcription, included on Kanneh-Mason’s programme, would seem more appropriate. Warner’s sound is first-rate and the excellent notes by Jed Distler are supplemented by an informative conversation between Rana and Nézet Séguin.