Rawsthorne’s two piano concertos have been very successful on record, although recently they have been poorly served in the concert hall. The First, originally written with just strings and percussion accompaniment, was introduced in its later full orchestral form at a 1942 Promenade Concert by Louis Kentner. The Second was commissioned by the Arts Council for the 1951 Festival of Britain and premièred by Clifford Curzon in the then new Royal Festival Hall. He later recorded it with Sargent and the LSO on a 10-inch LP for Decca, which was well received at the time by the Shawe-Taylor/Sackville-West Record Guide. The authors commented on the ‘open air tune in the finale with an instant appeal’ and suggested the work would achieve the ‘wide popularity it certainly deserves’. Alas that never came about.

The First Concerto’s outer movements coruscate with pianistic brilliance, especially in the dazzling performance from Moura Lympany on EMI, who, helped by a forward balance, plays with enormous dash and spirit. (First recordings always have something special about them, and Dame Moura was in superb form.) With excellent support from Menges, she is also especially characterful in the ingenious central Chaconne. First coolly, then strongly, she brings out a curious affinity of Rawsthone’s restated eight-chord sequence with the slow movement of Prokofiev’s Third Concerto. (Incidentally, on this early stereo EMI disc the important xylophone part emerges with more striking clarity than on either of its competitors.) But Tozer and Bamert are impressive too, with no lack of sparkle, pointing the first movement syncopations boldly, and with typically warm, full Chandos sound bringing out the lyrical weight of the music which underpins the glittering bravura.

On the new Naxos recording, Peter Donohoe plays with an effervescent lightness of touch that emphasises the scherzando element of the first movement. Yuasa provides witty orchestral detail – there is an engaging contribution from the bassoon – and yet still finds the underlying lyrical melancholy. He opens the Chaconne hauntingly, and the following dialogue with the piano has a compelling delicacy. The Tarantella finale brings an infectious élan and splendid momentum. Donohoe’s brilliant solo contribution has all the sparkle you could want, and the gentle pay-off of the brief coda is neatly managed.

In the Second Concerto the fluidity of Donohoe’s playing is particularly appealing, and the overall balance – though the opening flute solo is perhaps a little recessive – is mostly admirable. As the movement proceeds the surge of passion and thrust from soloist and orchestra alike pretty well matches the striking ardour Lympany generates, while again there is some delightful woodwind detail. Donohoe and Yuasa then deftly manage the quixotic changes of mood of the initally ‘rather violent’ Scherzo (the composer’s description) and lead naturally into the wistful Adagio semplice, with its nostagic clarinet cantilena answered so exquisitely by the piano. In the ‘popular’ finale, Rawsthorne almost immediately introduces his catchy main theme, which is in a two-four/three-eight metre and might almost have been written by Copland. Of the three soloists, it is Denis Matthews who introduces it most seductively. Donohoe is more gently lilting, but on Naxos the movement as a whole is played with spontaneous gusto and wit, producing a blaze of virtuosity at the close.

The Improvisations are based on a seven-note theme from Lambert’s last ballet, Tiresias. They are widely varied in mood and style, and, even though Rawsthorne flirts with serialism, the variations are friendly and easy to follow, and the listener’s attention is always fully engaged. Certainly this Naxos disc can be strongly recommended, and especially to those who have not yet before encountered Rawsthorne’s always rewarding music.