Amid the sterile academicism and inflated emotionality which formed the two poles of pre-First World War Russian piano music, Prokofiev's uncouth dynamism struck like a bolt from the blue—at once a reminder of Mussorgsky at his most radical and a premonition of post-revolution constructivism. As an essay in motoric pianism the Toccata in particular was a definitive statement.
There is actually a great variety of character in these pieces, especially the Op. 12 set. Janssen's subtle rhythmic pointing of the opening March augurs well, and he effectively directs the cycle towards the sad-clown poetry and tumbling routines of No. 7 and the entertaining throwaway humour of the two concluding scherzos. The Op. 4 pieces are more iconoclastic and Janssen responds well to the devilry of the famous ''Suggestion diabolique'' (curiously the recording is overloaded in this and several other movements). With the Tales of an old grandmother we are in a more restrained idiom, although it may be no coincidence that the old grandmother at times speaks in accents strongly reminiscent of Rachmaninov and of Schoenberg.
The booklet describes these as live recordings. Yet the audience is as quiet as a mouse, with nary a shuffle, let alone applause, and Janssen's playing generates little of the frisson one might expect from concert performances. Nor does it suggest anything of the enfant terrible rebelliousness or cruel, brattish humour which were Prokofiev's most distinctive trademarks. This reticence detracts severely from the success of the Sonata—however well-prepared it never quite overcomes the choppiness of the opening and the circumspection, rather than poetry, of the first contrasting theme—and especially from the Toccata which hardly gets out of second gear where it should be careering round the bends. Ultimately a disappointing disc.'