Following his marvellous Ravel and Debussy cycles, Jean-Efflam Bavouzet has turned his attention to Haydn. Who knows how complete a journey this might be, but Vol 2 contains a thoughtful mix of the familiar with the less so. The prerequisites for playing this composer well – wit, unassuming virtuosity, quickness of intellect – are here in abundance. But unlike some pianists (not those listed above, I hasten to add), where Haydn’s humour is apostrophised, here it all feels natural. The harmonic jolts are a subject of delight for Bavouzet but they are never unduly emphasised. He constantly reminds you of the sheer daring of this music, too – the harmonic twists of the finale of the C major (No 35), more impish than in Marc-André Hamelin’s hands, or the fine-spun line of the Adagio opening of the E minor Sonata.

You also get from this selection a sense of Haydn’s place in history. I was never more aware than here of a skittishness that seems to have grown out of Domenico Scarlatti’s sonatas (in the G minor Sonata, for instance, No 44). The slow movement of the D major (No 37), on the other hand, pre-echoes Beethoven in its harmonic writing, which is combined with the grandeur of a Baroque French ouverture, replete with dotted rhythms.

Bavouzet is compelling here, as he is in the opening movement, offering fantastically managed dynamic contrasts amid the gruff humour. It’s a much-recorded piece and there’s no shortage of opportunies for comparison: Hamelin is light, deft, beautifully delineated; Alfred Brendel is also comparatively swift and makes much of the contrast between the chordal textures and the manic figuration; Leif Ove Andsnes is a combination of the two, beautifully lucid but arguably less characterful than Brendel. Bavouzet more than holds his own and, time and again, seems to offer a fresh ear to these sonatas, as if this is as much his great adventure as ours. Time for Vol 3…