Liszt is not a composer one instantly associates with Rubinstein (Harvey Sachs in his quite excellent biography devotes but a single sentence to Liszt in the 37‑page survey of the pianist’s recordings). This blistering account of the E flat Concerto, recorded in Carnegie Hall when Rubinstein was in his late sixties, might change that perception.

Rubinstein considered Wallenstein, after Barbirolli, the finest orchestral accompanist (praise indeed) and you can hear the benefit of such a partnership: the playing crackles with the drama and energy of a live performance. True, the soundscape is very much of its time (think black-and-white B‑movie soundtrack), with the woodwind soloists artificially lit to reflect the forward placing of the soloist and a triangle player who must have been recruited from the New York Fire Department. Somehow it all works – and sends a shiver of delight up the spine.

The solo items, too, generally rise above the often constrained nature of Rubinstein’s studio recordings, though the consistently dry acoustics stifle the full sonority of a concert grand. In the Sonata he eschews the demonic brilliance of Horowitz for dignity and splendour, its emotional climax (truly affecting) coming in the middle of the “slow movement”; “Funérailles”, taken quite fast, is vehement in its despair; the E major Hungarian Rhapsody’s sequence of glissandi, sounding cheap in some hands, is here stylish and witty. And if there are any lingering doubts about Rubinstein’s Lisztian credentials, the final tour de force, the Hungarian Rhapsody No 12, will surely banish them.