DG is making the most of its signing of Grigory Sokolov, one of the world’s greatest pianists and perhaps its most frustratingly elusive, recordings-wise. This recital, captured live in the opulent setting of the Haydnsaal of Esterházy Palace in 2018, is a rich affair both aurally and visually. The DVD, though, can distract, as we pan out from keyboard to the gilding, medallions, stucco work and ceiling paintings, all of which scream power and money as much as beauty.

It’s a programme that could have been slightly underwhelming in the hands of a lesser artist – three of the less obvious Haydn sonatas, Schubert’s second set of Impromptus – but this is Sokolov, and everything he does fascinates, even if musical decisions can initially seem wayward. Haydn’s B minor Sonata (HobXVI:32), for instance, sets off at an unusually modest tempo (at the opposite end of the spectrum to Víkingur Ólafsson’s), yet this allows him to emphasise its gnawing quality, and, as we set off into the development, the landscape is both new and familiar, the sound always cushioned, repeated notes never becoming jabby. There’s a winsomeness to the Menuetto, and its Trio sounds needling yet devoid of aggression. Again, the finale is usually faster (Ólafsson, for instance), but Sokolov reveals a menace that comes from its obsessiveness. He observes both sets of repeats – which many omit – through the Haydn, using them to reflect and sometimes ornament what has gone before.

Haydn’s G minor Sonata (HobXVI:44) with which he opens is similarly striking, with a fluidity combined with a complete mastery of rubato, articulation and silences. Even the abrupt sounds-off (track 1, 3'18") only momentarily disrupts, and in fact the audience are beautifully quiet and don’t applaud at the end of each work, as per Sokolov’s wishes. In the second movement he’s at the opposite end of the scale in terms of speed from Jean-Efflam Bavouzet but there’s an almost operatic quality to his way with the melodic line that is very telling. The C sharp minor Sonata (HobXVI:36) is just as potent, Sokolov revealing a rare whimsicality to its Moderato, a Scherzando that doesn’t lose sight of its minuet-style origins and a finale that balances nobility and luxuriance.

His Schubert Impromptus eschew the shiny songfulness of some, finding in their place something altogether more searching. He also imbues them with a sense of the epic – the first is elevated into something akin to a late Schubert sonata movement, with its journeying tread, its major-minor prevarications and its quietly grave close. The second is strikingly slow, Sokolov exquisitely unpeeling each phrase to awestruck effect. It’s much more still than Lupu (whom I love) but effective in a different way. And in the third, the Rosamunde-like theme on which the variations are based has little of the guileless charm usually displayed, with Sokolov instead hinting at something more disturbed. The variations emerge entirely naturally from it – Sokolov’s rubato in the second bringing out its grace and whimsy, while the switch to the minor has a powerful sense of collective suffering (Lupu much more withdrawn here). The final variation has a rare poise, right down to its solemn coda. And in the fourth, the Hungarianisms come from within rather than sounding merely applied, and passages such as the driving scales that beset the inner section here have a desperate emotional edge. The audience have been made to wait, but their applause is heartfelt.

And then the encores: no fewer than six. Here the applause is left in between each one, adding to the sense of occasion. Highlights include Rameau’s Le rappel des oiseaux, exquisitely delicate, an E minor Waltz by Alexander Griboyedov, Schubert’s almost exact contemporary, and last of all, Debussy’s spectral ‘Des pas sur la neige’, which Sokolov imbues with the softest of touches, quietly bidding his audience goodbye.