As pairings go, Mozart and Silvestrov is pretty inspired. And within each half of Hélène Grimaud’s programme the works are thoughtfully chosen: Mozart in the minor mode, followed by a series of typically nostalgic Silvestrov miniatures, all suggesting an imaginary dialogue with the past. But another pairing on the disc is more problematic: that of Grimaud’s ego and her programme.

Self-indulgence served up as spirituality is a not uncommon trend these days and ‘concept albums’ are a prime symptom. For some time now Grimaud has been purveyor-in-chief: ‘Credo’, ‘Reflection’, ‘Water’, ‘Memory’ and now ‘The Messenger’. Of course there is no problem with themed programmes as such; some even, as Jed Distler wrote of Grimaud’s previous album, are ‘perfect for calm background music or a massage session’ (10/18). But some, like ‘The Messenger’, are so much about the performer’s image that the music is sacrificed.

It starts with the album’s babbling booklet notes, which offer a string of quotes and thoughts from Grimaud but no useful insight into the works. This feels like a lazy way around the problem of there being so little Silvestrov scholarship in the West. Even so, perhaps self-regard could be forgiven if the music-making itself was profound. Alas. From stabbing fortes in the fantasies, to lack of communication with the orchestra in the concerto, to random asynchronisations and over-pedallings, Grimaud’s Mozart seems to be bad-tempered and steroid-fuelled. Intensity and tempestuous temperament, which some indulgent critics associate with her, are no excuse for uglifying Mozart. Argerich (with Abbado), for instance, shows that it is possible to have a hurricane-like temperament but still to retain charm and stylishness.

One fortunate outcome of Grimaud’s over-robust Mozart is that her Silvestrov at least sounds comparatively peaceful and still. Possibly for a newcomer to his musical universe, her interpretations would be intriguing enough. But her failure to exercise restraint betrays her lack of affinity with the composer’s language, at least in these extraordinarily introvert and enigmatic works. While The Messenger alludes to Mozart, in Two Dialogues with Postscript Silvestrov turns to Schubert and Wagner. Alas the Schubertian ‘Wedding Waltz’ in the hands of Grimaud and the Salzburg Camerata substitutes drunken lurching for lilt.

In fact there is nothing enigmatic about what Silvestrov demands from his performer: the score of The Messenger, with nuances ranging from mp to pppp, is replete with meticulously detailed instructions. For a rendition that follows these to the letter, and respects Silvestrov’s request to make the piano as muffled and quiet as possible (keeping the lid closed, using soft pedal), Alexei Lubimov provides the most authoritative interpretations available, both of the piano solo version and the one for piano and strings. Here is an artist truly in the service of the composer, acting as his messenger between the here and now and the beyond and bygone.