Armed with generous praise from Pascal Rogé and the astute observation from one American journalist that she possesses “great chops”, Vanessa Benelli Mosell comes with an impressive CV, topped out by scholarship study at the Royal College of Music, and she leaves no doubt of her enviable facility throughout this, her ultra-demanding debut album. Dextrous and cool-headed, she launches Prokofiev’s Seventh Sonata at a cracking pace, preferring rapidity and detachment to the weight and menace of such celebrated exponents as Horowitz and Richter in this “war” sonata. Again, she is off like a rocket in the drum-beat 7/8 Precipitato finale, remarkably maintaining her impetus in the ever-widening leaps of the closing pages. Yet even here she leaves few sparks behind, creating an impressive but slimline Prokofiev.

To an even greater extent, her Haydn is like some graceful figure-skater across the music’s surface. Everything flashes by with an innocuous ease and assurance. And whether in Liszt’s flamboyant tribute to Spain or in Scriabin’s First Sonata (an unduly neglected work, its alternating anger and despondency reflecting the composer’s realisation that an injury to his hand had dashed his future hopes as a concert pianist), music which should burn with an elemental romanticism too often ends up sounding superficial.

Mosell is well recorded by Andrea Alia and I look forward to a time when her outer brilliance is complemented by greater intensity and character.