Another month, another Mozart sonata cycle, or so it seems. Following on from Mao Fujita’s largely impressive cycle, here’s one from Yeol Eum Son, whose only previous foray into this world was on Neville Marriner’s last recording, where she rounded out the 21st Concerto with a couple of solo pieces, including K330 (Onyx, 6/18).

What is immediately striking about her playing is the finesse of her technique, and throughout the cycle she brings to each work a telling transparency, well captured by the recording, and an elegance to her phrasing. These qualities work best in the earliest sonatas, though even by the time of No 6, K284, her way with the theme of the variation-form finale seems a little stiff, lacking the easy conversational style of William Youn or the subtle insights of Mitsuko Uchida. Similarly, as the variations progress, there’s a slight arbitrariness to her dynamics and articulation, rather than the clear sense of purpose that can be heard potently in Fujita’s account.

Turning to Son’s newer reading of K330, this one is a touch more mannered, with a tendency for agogic pauses between phrases in parts of the first movement; on the other hand, the Andante is affectingly solemn, its turn into the minor quietly pained. The finale, though, is a little tame, especially alongside the fleeter Fujita, who truly lifts the music off the page.

The more I listened to this set, the more I was struck by a nagging feeling that these are not yet fully formed interpretations, as if Son has not yet fully assimilated them. And that sense was confirmed by the booklet interview in which she admits: ‘I had zero intention of making this recording at first’, although she goes on to say how comfortable she feels playing Mozart. Maybe therein lies the problem: the result is simply too comfortable – the C minor is particularly emotionally pallid, the fervency of its opening movement passing for little. A moment or two with Víkingur Ólafsson (DG, 10/21) and you’re propelled into a far darker world. Son’s slow movement also misses the mark, her phrases too short-breathed, the accompaniment at times too present within the balance. By contrast, Ólafsson and Maria João Pires turn this Adagio into pure song. The finale takes some moments to get into its stride, its energy only coming through as we reach the explosive forte.

Son is on firmer ground with K545, the misleadingly dubbed ‘easy sonata’, bringing a more natural feel to the first movement than Fujita, whose ornamentation here I found distracting – hers is much more sparing – while its final sign-off has a pleasing simplicity. After a slightly deliberate-sounding Andante, her accompaniment less varied than Ólafsson’s, she brings a litheness to the finale, its tempo perfectly judged.

By the last two sonatas, again there’s plenty of impeccable playing on display, but in their different ways they still short-change on characterisation. The opening Allegro of the B flat major, K570, has a grace that beguiles, but the G minor chords that disrupt its serenity (from 0'24") sound a touch too mild-mannered. Interestingly, her slow movement is steadier than Fujita’s (whom I found a bit sluggish), akin in speed to Uchida’s. But, unlike the latter, Son doesn’t sound convinced, so the effect is hesitant, disjointed. The closing Allegretto lifts things with a good, lively pace, even if she doesn’t conjure the panoply of characters that emerge in Pires’s reading. There are issues with K576, too: I want the trilled phrases that respond to the hunting-horn opening to come across as call-and-answer, as Fujita does wonderfully. But here Son introduces a slight delay between them, which sounds fussy and interrupts the flow of the narrative. And although her slow movement has plenty of elegance, she is less reactive to Mozart’s subtle shifts of mood than many. The finale rounds off the project with a fine crispness but without coming close to the high spirits of Youn and Fujita.