Once considered musically incomprehensible and technically un- playable, the Liszt Sonata is now part of the repertoire of virtually every pianist of note. Yet even in a crowded market place (where Horowitz, Gilels, Richter, Argerich, Brendel, Pollini and others jostle for attention) Paul Lewis’s recording stands out for its breadth, mastery and shining musicianship.

Eschewing all obvious display, he concentrates on the Sonata’s monumental weight, grandeur and ever-elusive inner poetry. His sense of drama is dark and intense and his reading of the central Andante sostenuto alone puts his performance in the highest league. Lewis’s octaves in the final Prestissimo blaze before the retrospective coda are of a pulverising strength; with him the Sonata regains its stature among music’s most formidable milestones.

Moving to the music of Liszt’s final years (hardly from l’exuberance de coeur to l’amertume de Coeur as the sleeve suggests; the Sonata surely bestrides both worlds), Lewis ranges from Nuages gris, much admired by Stravinsky, its language anticipating Debussy, Bartók and even Schoenberg, to Unstern (literally, and in Shakespearean terms, ‘unstarred’), music of a sinister violence. If there is solace in the relatively benign world of the four Little Pieces and En rêve it is quickly shattered by La lugubre gondole II, a desolate elegy anticipating Wagner’s funeral.

This is not music for late-night listening, more an invitation to ‘sleepless question and answer’ (Lewis’s penultimate, nightmare offering). But these pieces are played with a rapt and haunting sense of their attenuated beauty, making this one of the finest, most intelligently planned Liszt recitals to have come my way for many years. Harmonia Mundi’s sound is of demonstration quality.