Hearing the Prokofiev sonatas in chronological order is always a fascinating exercise, as the enthusiastically embraced Scriabin influences of No 1 give way to his self-identified lyrical, motoric and classicist specialisms (Nos 2-4), an interlude of less easily characterised neoclassicism (No 5), the mighty symphonic aspirations of Nos 6-8 and a final unpigeonholeable new venture.

Dinara Klinton approaches the cycle fully equipped with technique and temperament, determined never to undersell the less often-played sonatas and undaunted by the athletic flights of the more familiar blockbusters. It takes special affinity to bring out the bloody-mindedness of the finale of No 2 and the second movement of No 9, or the bustling energy of the finale of No 4. She also lavishes a great deal of care on No 5, but it’s a pity she doesn’t give us the revised version to compare with the original (Boris Berman on Chandos is the place to go for that). Nor does she follow Berman in offering the 44-bar fragment of Sonata No 10. Why not include these, at least as postscripts? There would have been plenty of room.

As for the three wartime sonatas, Klinton certainly lacks nothing in steely clamorousness – their treacherous last pages are firmly and uncompromisingly in place. Their slow movements are less convincing, however. The poetic shaping that works rather well in the early sonatas detracts from the epic scale of Nos 6 and 7, because personal expression is less important here than speaking on behalf of humanity. Here super-leaguers such as Cliburn, Pollini and Richter are unchallenged. And brilliantly accomplished though the finale of No 8 is, the lyrical exposition of the first movement feels too present, lacking in quiet tenseness. Nor am I sold on the persistent middle-voice emphasis and dry detachment of the left-hand accompaniment in the deceptively innocent middle movement.

Klinton makes a passionate case for the elusive Ninth Sonata. I greatly admire her subtle expressive weighting in the first movement, her determination in the second and her uncompromising drive in the finale. The acoustic nicely balances clarity and warmth, and all in all there is sufficient playing of distinction here to mark Klinton out as a pianist who deserves to be heard, without her Prokofiev necessarily displacing cycles by the likes of Ovchinnikov, Donohoe or Berman