Aldo Ceccato is not the most inspiring of partners for John Ogdon. Even the excellent playing of the Philharmonia cannot compensate for lacklustre direction and, in the slow movement of the Mendelssohn D minor Concerto, little interest in watchful balance. Mendelssohn’s Molto sostenuto marking brings a thickened string texture and stilted rhythm.

He is outclassed by Eugene Ormandy, who conducts with tremendous flair for Rudolf Serkin on Sony; and Ogdon is, in his own way, the equal of that ‘golden oldie’. His bravura is aristocratic – he is particularly fine in the finale of the G minor, seeming to break free of Ceccato’s influence – and is most tender in the ruminative sections. The Rondo Brillante is similarly uneven in pairing.

Ogdon is discerning about applying the sustaining pedal in Mendelssohn, and in the Etudes-Tableaux, too, where Rachmaninov largely left matters to the discretion of pianists. Ogdon uses his discretion to telling effect in Op 39 No 3, seeing in its asymmetric phrases a fractured, harassed line where Ashkenazy pedals to suggest continuous desperation. No 2 is a slow and ascetic Lento assai in Ashkenazy’s hands, while Ogdon prefers a slightly faster tempo and a more cantabile tone. Ogdon’s dynamic control is very good, though his control of dexterity is sometimes fallible. But that doesn’t debase his keen understanding of Rachmaninov; or Scott and Ireland, even if The Holy Boy doesn’t flow as easily as it might.

Ogdon’s empathy for the music of Busoni means he is at his best, a spot of insecurity early in the Variations and Fugue notwithstanding. The recordings are good, too, allowing Ogdon’s deep insight and superlative pianism to emerge with pristine clarity. His interpretation of Turandots Frauengemach, with its mixture of virtuosity and serenity (the distant trumpets towards the end beautifully recreated) is enough to tell us just what we lost when psychological demons destroyed John Ogdon.