This interesting new recording of Liszt concertante works with the Czech National Symphony Orchestra under Julien Masmondet is the orchestral recording debut of the Swiss pianist Beatrice Berrut. Although she is amply equipped with the requisite virtuosity, Berrut distinguishes herself as a musician with bold ideas of considerable originality and possessing the courage of her convictions. Clearly conversant with Liszt’s ways and means, she imbues each of these three formidable works with distinct character and atmosphere.

For Berrut, phrasing is paramount and her sense of the long line is inerrant. In Totentanz, for instance, from the beginning of the canon variation (4'03") through the clarinet solo (7'30"), Berrut describes a seamless expressive arc, as persuasive as it is affecting. From the presto eruption that prepares the repeated-note fugato through the elaborate cadenza evoking the trumpets of the Last Judgement, Berrut’s reading is fleet and lithe, exhibiting admirable rhythmic acumen and tensile strength.

Throughout the E flat Concerto (No 1), in addition to those predictable moments in the Quasi adagio, Berrut refreshingly keeps the recitative elements of the musical discourse centre stage. The high-flown rhetorical gestures of the first movement, given plenty of space and emphasis, readily transition into a genuine dialogue between soloist and orchestra which culminates in undulating gossamer runs, holding the clarinet aloft as the timpani quietly signal closure. Thus the stage is set for the operatic scena of the slow movement, with a sensuously placid cantilena that only becomes agitated by degrees. For once, at the climactic cadenza (3'12"), it seems as though the soloist has collapsed from an excess of ardour rather than as a victim of hostile fire. A cunningly covert scherzo dissolves into a finale that is more a tempest of colour than a shouting contest between piano and orchestra.

Many of the same strengths evident in the Totentanz and First Concerto are prevalent in the more languid contours of the A major Second Concerto. Refusal to rush, shapely phrasing, passagework that sounds shimmering rather than notey, beautifully paced transitions and, above all, a convincing emotional logic conspire to create an interpretation remarkable in its insight and authenticity.

Even for a piano concerto recording, microphone placement seems unusually close to Berrut’s Bösendorfer. Unfortunately the orchestral bass levels are boomy and often indistinct, blurring the precision of Liszt’s undergirding bass lines. Despite the recording’s technical flaws, it is obvious that Berrut is both a pianist who warrants continued attention and a Lisztian to be reckoned with.