Paul Lewis’s second volume of Haydn sonatas features, like the first (which I reviewed in 5/18), four strikingly different characters. I like very much the way he has programmed it, opening and closing in a quizzical frame of mind.

He begins with the C minor Sonata (HobXVI:20), and in the Moderato draws out a melancholy undertone, tending to linger over phrases where Bavouzet is more terse in his characterisation, though there’s a nice rambunctious energy to Lewis’s dotted rhythms. The slow movement finds him dwelling on Haydn’s long-breathed lines, the ornamentation growing out of them with complete naturalness. His approach is not dissimilar to Brendel’s, which has a good sweep to it, whereas Bavouzet is a fair bit faster, casting it more as a recitative. In the finale Lewis allows the music to breathe, delighting in the detail of every phrase.

The E flat major Sonata (No 52) is a far more extrovert work and from the start Lewis reveals its sweeping grandeur, but he’s just as receptive to the playful elements. Hamelin is a touch less spacious in those opening moments, creating instead a more febrile narrative. The majestic Adagio unfolds at a slightly more flowing pace than Brendel. There’s contrast again in the finale as Lewis lets rip at a fast tempo, giving a vehemence to the repeated-note motif so the rare moments where the music softens are highly effective; Hamelin, on the other hand, sees this more as mock ire than the real thing – but both are masterly, and choice comes down to personal taste.

The gnawing unease of the E minor Sonata (No 34) is beautifully brought alive, too, with some subtle touches of pedalling from Lewis. Hamelin is faster and focuses more on clarity, while Bavouzet strikes a middle ground (and is wonderfully responsive to Haydn’s rests). The Adagio, with its heavily ornamented lines and Mozartian dissonances, demands an artist of real poetic imagination to bring it alive, and Lewis does that unerringly, while his finale is fraught and propulsive, compared to which Bavouzet finds more playfulness.

The D major Sonata (No 51) is contemporary with the E flat but is as brief and intimate as that work is symphonic in scope. It may be technically relatively simple but, as Lewis demonstrates, there’s more to it than meets the eye and he balances to perfection the different elements of the opening movement – from the mock-military opening motif, via the lyrical cantabile writing, to the wistful turn to the minor. His view of the closing movement is more lyrical than the fleet-fingered Hamelin, similar in tone to Brendel, which is no bad place to be.