Sometimes a recording comes up for review which, when you listen to a particular piece that you know well, is so wayward that it raises an eyebrow and sends you scurrying off to check the score and other recordings. Such a one is Emmanuel Despax’s Dante Sonata (from the Années de pèlerinage Book 2). Despax is a fine pianist, so I was puzzled how he arrived at this concept of the piece. Only a few bars in and you notice a lack of energy and forward momentum, as though the work were being deconstructed, examined and reassembled. There are several times in the course of the performance where everything stops. Tension evaporates. Interest quickly dwindles. This Dante Sonata lasts over 19 minutes – that’s an entirely different concept of the work to Earl Wild, Leif Ove Andsnes (both 15'58") and (my other favourite) Lazar Berman (16'59").

In ‘Bénédiction de Dieu’, tempo becomes a problem for different reasons. It is true that Despax plays the first few pages up to the D major section slower than some but it is, admittedly, rather beautiful in its introspection and prayerfulness. But then the long cantabile line of the B flat major part (marked quasi Preludio and sotto voce e legato) is fragmented, the ecstatic climax is robbed of its urgency and fervour (rinfz. molto e sempre appass. instructs Liszt) as it rises (twice) to a triple-forte declamation before the music subsides … Marc-André Hamelin (Hyperion, 5/11) is my benchmark for this wonderful work.

Conversely, it does ‘Funérailles’ (like ‘Bénédiction’ from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses) no harm to be played at a funereal pace. Despax summons up a mighty wall of sound in the ardent pages just before the ‘cavalry charge’ makes its appearance. And few can fail to admire the rich, full-bodied tone he conjures up from Saffron Hall’s Steinway (Andrew Keener, Mike Hatch and Tom Lewington at the desk). Sadly, though, the great B minor Sonata suffers the same fate as the Dante – moments of revelation (the opening pages are announced with rare depth and clarity) and admirable pétillance give way to places where everything stops – the transition into the central F sharp major section is a case in point – leading to an unusually lengthy 34'41". It’s a point of view, of course, but one that does not convince me. I shall stick with, inter alios, Argerich (25'49") and Arrau (29'27"), the latter of whom Despax is a grandpupil.