Chopin’s 24 Etudes remain among the most cruelly elusive as well as formidable challenges. Pragmatic at one level (the mastery of thirds, sixths, octaves etc), they transcend such basic considerations, turning prose into poetry. And it is surely this crossing of the Rubicon, this sense of a magical and original transformation into something rich and strange, that separates the artists from the artisans. Alas, Freddy Kempf, while able enough, rarely suggests such a transition, never venturing far from the notes in Op 10 No 2 (why so loud when it is marked piano?), failing to suggest Chopin’s coruscating wit as he sports with the pentatonic scale in No 5 or to rise to the nationalistic eloquence and fervour of No 12 (the so-called Revolutionary). In Op 25 the insinuating nature of the central melody of No 5 is absent, and Kempf brings a heavy touch to the vivace of No 8 (the same applies to Op 10 No 7, Chopin’s Toccata, if you like). The slower Etudes (mistaken for a soft option by most competition organisers) expose Kempf’s musical limitations; Op 10 Nos 3 and 6 and Op 25 No 7 are self-conscious and prosaic.

So, for all their outward assurance these are run-of-the-mill performances lacking in delicacy and poetic ambition. Horst A Scholtz’s booklet-note is admirably to the point, but the recording is cold and one-dimensional and the sleeve mistakes Op 25 No 12 for the Winter Wind Etude (it is No 11). No competition here, then, for the likes of Cortot, the early Ashkenazy and, more recently and memorably, the Gramophone Award-winning Murray Perahia.