Liszt’s performance of Carnaval led Schumann to say that he ‘failed to take into consideration that the musical moods change too quickly for an entire audience to follow’. The composer probably meant that ‘the many different mental states’ (as he also called them) weren’t depicted as kaleidoscopically as he’d have wished.

Sigurd Slåttebrekk makes the most of these 22 states, invariably honing in on their subjective implications. So it is that ‘Arlequin’ (No 3) has a waggish sense of fun that neither Claudio Arrau nor Mitsuko Uchida quite capture, while Schumann’s imaginary companions, the introverted ‘Eusebius’ (No 5) and passionate ‘Florestan’ (No 6) are appropriately characterised. But Slåttebrekk isn’t predictable. He adds a sense of disquiet to the bare bass notes of ‘Sphinxes’ (No 9), though here a different ambience and wow to the tone suggest electronic cheating. A powerful recording (with some breathing noises and occasional hardness) helps to project a sagaciously planned performance.

Kreisleriana is sagaciously planned, too; and Schumann’s view of the mad Johannes Kreisler – plus ‘a thoroughly wild love’ for Clara, as he told her – speak very directly through Slåttebrekk. He doesn’t flinch at either the turbulence or inwardness in this work of extremes. The first two movements alone illustrate this. Nor does he flinch from giving full value to expressive demands within a movement, as for example in No 6 where Schumann marks many changes to a basically slow pace. The result is a no-holds-barred interpretation, even more tempestuous than that of Jerome Rose. The calmer Arabeske that follows doesn’t dim its impact.