You might call the Mozart concerto recordings ‘the lost sessions’ because they are making their first reappearance in nearly half a century. The soloist is forwardly placed, yet the orchestra is not at a disadvantage and Krips’s approach is clearly heard. He is gentle in K488 where Curzon is assertive. Roles are reversed in K491 and Curzon is reticent. He rethought both interpretations later but these performances – with cadenzas in K491 by Nina Milkina and George Szell – are desirable reminders of his beliefs at the time.

Reticence is swept away by bravura in the Grieg, particularly in the coda of the first movement, until the long, lyrical poco più tranquillo section of the last. The same restful quality touches the slow movement of the Brahms concerto; but despite his composure, Curzon is a touch distant. Not so in the outer movements, however, which are conceived on an immense scale with Van Beinum backing him to the hilt. All told, this is a redoubtable account.

These four recordings were once scarce so they are most welcome. But the others are equally important. Curzon’s grasp of the Brahms sonata is as comprehensive as that of the concerto while his empathy with the Schubertian spirit is frequently in a class of its own. Much insight in the impromptus (once available in Philips’s Great Pianists series) notwithstanding, Curzon is at his most sagacious in the sonata, cutting deep to the core without affectation or mannerism.

The last disc displays another facet of Curzon – a cooperative yet penetrating chamber musician in the Dvorák and Franck quintets. And though the string playing is not always up to modern standards, the quality of the collaboration is undiminished. There are some technical flaws (small changes in level in the Mozart, lopsided imaging at the beginning of the Dvorák and what sounds like tape wow and flutter in the last movement of the Schubert) but the transfers mostly explain why Decca’s engineering was often held in awe when these recordings were made.