It is worth quoting the conductor-pianist’s thoughts on the genesis of this recording dedicated to his late teacher Anisia Campos (1928-2020), with whom he studied from the ages of 13 to 22. Not only is it a heartfelt tribute to the person to whom ‘I really owe most of my musical knowledge’, it is also a lockdown album. Nézet-Séguin is not the first, during this period, to return to scenes of his youth. ‘As a conductor, unable to make music with an orchestra, the piano was a kind of salvation – a way of self-expression. But it also gave me an opportunity for introspection, something that I think most of us did – not only artists and musicians, but every human being: recalibrating our priorities, what our purpose is in life, and what our aspirations are.’ ‘Introspection’ is the title of the album. ‘Epicedium’ might be another.

Debussy’s ‘Sunken Cathedral’ is a clever choice to open a debut piano album, offering as it does myriad opportunities to demonstrate tonal colouring, imaginative phrasing and structural grasp. Nézet-Séguin does not disappoint. It also tells us that he is playing a beautifully voiced instrument (a Steinway D superbly recorded in Quebec last September under producer François Goupil). This is followed by Chopin’s G minor Nocturne (Op 37 No 1) – Nezet-Séguin does not shy away from its tear-stained gaze, tending to fall back at phrase endings, lending a funereal pulse to the music – and a sequence of works in doom-laden B minor by Brahms, Scarlatti, Rachmaninov and Mozart (his Adagio, K540, one of only two instrumental works where the composer used this key, here given with all the repeats at a protracted 14'14"). As a result, I dropped off during the sparsely notated six and a half minutes of D’après Hopper by the Canadian composer Eric Champagne and had to come back to it.

The Bach rejuvenated me somewhat but the Shostakovich and Schubert pieces fell back into the same doleful melancholy. I was glad to be introduced to Berio’s brief ‘Wasserklavier’ (the third of his Six Encores from 1965), a wonderful evocation of dripping water, but by the time I got to the Haydn sonata I realised that what I was listening to was a fine pianist revisiting his student repertoire more than adequately but who, when it comes to repeated listening, is in quite a different league to the likes of Hamelin (how his Haydn sparkles and teases in comparison), Gould or Hewitt (in the Bach) and Bavouzet or Freire (in Debussy).

Don’t expect notes on any of the music. In achingly trendy fashion, the album (a lengthy two hours and eight minutes) is available for download and (from August) on vinyl only.