You can tell a lot from an initial chord, its weighting, its colour, its dynamic: all these set the scene, and nowhere more so than in Schubert’s later sonatas. Andreas Staier promises much in his hushed yet sonorous opening, grounding us in G major as evocatively as does Beethoven in his Fourth Piano Concerto. It’s evident throughout that Staier has the full measure of this quietly remarkable work, from its Molto moderato opening movement onwards (an unusually leisurely tempo indication Schubert revisits for his final sonata). He also understands well that the momentum of this drama comes not from extreme contrast but from organic growth, and that when Schubert does hurl the listener into stormier realms – at the start of the development of the first movement, for instance – Staier shows us how it relates to what has gone before. Similarly, while the martial dotted figures and fz outbreaks in the slow movement in no way lack drama, they don’t – as in some readings – sound as if they’ve landed from a different piece entirely.

He has the advantage of a superb instrument, a modern copy of an 1827 Graf fortepiano by Christopher Clarke. Not only does it offer the ideal degree of mellowness, but the sounds Staier coaxes from it at the quieter end of the spectrum (fading almost to inaudibility in the winsome Trio) are a joy indeed. The upper registers, too, have enough transparency to allow the burnished lower octaves to be heard to full effect.

The Impromptus are equally persuasive, matching Uchida in the sense of journeying within each work, matching Lupu in beauty of sound in the poignancy of No 2, and finding an even more unbridled approach to the Hungarian inflections of No 4.

Regardless of your attitude to fortepianos, if you love this music, you’ll want this interpretation. Staier is unquestionably one of the most probing and thoughtful of musicians around today.