The opening of Grigory Sokolov’s latest recorded recital takes me back to Horowitz’s 1986 Moscow recital (DG, 12/86), partly for the accompanying coughs, sneezes and shushes, but more importantly for the way the other-worldly music seeps in and makes time stand still. Sokolov’s choice of the largely neglected keyboard music of Purcell also recalls Horowitz’s popularisation of Scarlatti. But as far as temperaments go, Horowitz’s affectionate romanticism is replaced by a glassy classicism and a peerless yet (to quote the sceptical Alex Ross) ‘surgical’ precision of articulation and voicing. Like it or not, sustained melodic lines are wrapped in rippling ornaments, with minimal pedal further showcasing the crystalline clarity.

Three of Purcell’s keyboard suites are interspersed with a handful of miscellanea, which include ‘A New Irish Tune’ and ‘Round O’, originally a rondeau for strings from the incidental music to Abdelazer and familiar from Britten’s The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra. All are highly characterful, and even if the texturing is at times on the bulky side, in the suites the music grows organically and continuously reinvents itself. A highlight of the Purcell section is the Allemand of Suite No 7, where Sokolov creates an almost Dido-esque lament – a journey through sighs towards quiet resignation.

For some time now, Sokolov has abandoned the recording studio in favour of live music-making, touring a single programme throughout the concert season. The two halves of this latest venture are from two different concerts on his current Spanish home turf: Purcell from the Santander International Festival and Mozart from the Quincena Festival in San Sebastián two day days later. The Mozart half pairs the late B minor Adagio with the B flat major Sonata, another Horowitz speciality. But where Horowitz imbues his Mozart with childlike wit and mischief, Sokolov sets his sights on an elegant, quintessentially classical tradition. There is still plenty of subtle flexibility, without straying into excess intervention, and plenty of affection, too, without ever smothering the music. Repeats, all observed, become a source of renewed delight, as Sokolov subtly hints at new colours and characters, keeping the music fresh and improvisatory.

The Adagio is a harder sell. The almost Tristan-like opening immediately ushers in a whiff of opera. But where Brendel (Philips/Decca, 6/76), for instance, favours dramatic urgency, Sokolov goes for spaciousness, especially in the repeat of the second half.

Numerous encores have become a staple of Sokolov’s concerts, eagerly awaited by his fans. The two Rameau pieces effectively point back to Purcell and are correspondingly sprightly. But then come two Chopin encores, presumably inspired by Chopin’s love for Mozart. Perhaps Sokolov was making the case for a classical take on the romantic repertoire, but the ‘Raindrop’ Prelude sounds drought-stricken, and despite the peerless control of voicing, the Mazurka is severe to a fault. Nor is Siloti’s arrangement of Bach’s E minor Prelude a saving grace, despite showcasing Sokolov’s masterful textural layering.

A positive balance sheet, then, but the experience is more likely to inspire admiration than affection.