Establishing a telling and plausibly individual post-Gouldian solution to the Goldbergs has unsurprisingly come more from the likes of pianists Angela Hewitt and Murray Perahia than a generation of harpsichordists, a view reinforced when one revisits the studied hauteur of Gustav Leonhardt’s pioneering 1964 recording (Teldec, 3/96 – nla). Amongst others, we have since recognised Pierre Hantaï’s decorous 1992 Gramophone Award-winning account for Opus 111, and yet even such a vital and alluring account as this has barely impacted on the ‘mainstream’ consciousness of the work’s interpretative possibilities. For all the technical differences between the piano and harpsichord which have contributed to such divergent lines of enquiry, this remarkable set of 30 Variations badly needs a harpsichord performance which projects the various layers of meaning and characterisation in a cohesive whole and, crucially, which makes the harpsichord sound warm, generous and palatable over 70 minutes.

Ketil Haugsand has produced just this. He is a player whose rhetorical capabilities and stubbornly musical instincts have found a rightful home in this masterpiece. Like his resplendent and woefully under-acknowledged reading of the Six Partitas (Simax, 1/95), Haugsand starts from a position of sonority. This may seem a vaguely dubious observation but it gains credence when one hears how he allows his measured tempi to enrich the harmonic fabric so that melodic articulation moves completely at one alongside his idea of abstract beauty of sound. His vision is no pushover, however, and you’d be excused for imagining in the early stages – of an account which gratifyingly includes all repeats (the only sensible solution unless one has a compelling sense of breaking the music up beyond its natural bi-partite scheme) – that his reading is even-tempered but quite uneventful. A short-lived concern: for as soon as his spacious exposition (say, the first five Variations) is complete, the lovingly considered registrations combine in a momentum of truly incremental pacing.

Haugsand’s inventive and poetic personality also enables each movement to make its presence felt, as with the infectious jauntiness of Variation 10, the spirited carousel of Variation 14, enhanced by the contrast of resigned pathos from the previous movement, or the clarity of voicing of Variation 23 which is as riotously handled as the halting opening of Variation 19 (like that advertisement of a puppy unravelling the Andrex). The great fantasy, Variation 25, is a profound reflection which maintains its shape against all odds; with many harpsichordists, this is where all neuroses emerge in force. The last two variations are joyous and majestic and wonderfully affirm the journey’s end.

Haugsand has clearly had his fingers and mind marinading in this music for decades. It is as genial, engaging and mature a musical imagination as I have heard in the Goldbergs, especially impressive given that the constraints of performing them on the harpsichord appear even greater by the day, as pianists open up ever-new vistas. This performance throws down the gauntlet, especially with Arne Akselberg’s natural and resonant recorded sound. A truly exceptional achievement.