Christoph Croisé gives an exceptionally free account of Kodály’s monumental Solo Sonata, applying rubato copiously throughout. It’s a somewhat risky move that pays off handsomely in the first two movements, at least, because he inhabits the music so completely and uses this rhythmic and metric freedom to sculpt phrases into urgent, passionate gestures. Croisé really makes the cello sing, too – try in the opening movement’s coda at 6'35" or, even more arrestingly, at 7'58" in the Adagio, where he so memorably realises the composer’s sonoro molto espressivo marking. Indeed, there’s a feeling of lonely desolation in the slow movement here, not least in the final bars, where his tone is so fragile it suggests a last breath. In the finale, however, I find his pushing and pulling ultimately robs the music of its propulsive force. Yes, he digs deeply into the strings with the extra time he takes – as at 6'44", where the whole instrument seems to be vibrating – but I miss the feverish dancelike quality János Starker brought to this movement in both his Nixa and EMI recordings (3/52, 11/58).

As for the remaining 40 minutes of this recital, I have nothing but superlatives. Croisé’s interpretation of Giovanni Sollima’s imaginative Concerto rotondo is as much a thrilling musical adventure as Sollima’s own (Universal Music Italia), though where the composer’s performance is vividly pictorial, Croisé’s seems more of an interior voyage. I certainly prefer Croisé’s colourful, dynamic way with Péter Pejtsik’s Stonehenge to Pejtsik’s more rough-hewn account (on the Hungarian ensemble After Crying’s 1996 album ‘De profundis’). Croisé tears into Thomas Buritch’s bluesy Some like to show it off (written for the 2020 Antonio Janigro Competition) with appropriate grit, and, as in Spring Promenade – his own first composition – the sense of joy in his playing is palpable.

His plaintive, quietly intense performance of Ligeti’s compact Sonata is not unlike his Kodály, although here I have no reservations whatsoever. For all its fine detail – listen, say, to the shivering tremolandos at 0'42" in the Capriccio – the music’s impetus is never in doubt.

With this programme, Croisé shows he’s got it all – technical chops, impeccable musicianship and imaginative daring.