Subtitled ‘acts of emancipation’‚ both these works shared a critical reception: one of scorn and incomprehension for their novelty. Endlessly played and recorded‚ they remain a severe test for any pianist‚ particularly the Liszt‚ which Fazil Say‚ the widely publicised young Turkish pianist‚ plays with a fizzing‚ eager virtuosity. Subtle or low­key it is not. Indeed‚ it would be difficult to find a better performance for those who like their Liszt on the wild side. His opening is alive with menace‚ the climax at 6'24" in the central Andante sostenuto extravagantly retextured and of a pulverising force. And why not play split‚ rather than unison‚ octaves just before the final thunderous reassertion of the theme if you prefer them? (Liszt‚ with his improvisatory genius‚ may well have done the same.) Audibly singing and sighing his way from one rhetorical thrill to the next‚ Say’s is essentially a live rather than studio approach. He may lack lyrical introspection (Hough) or architectural strength (Pollini) but he is tumultuous and exciting. And who is to disagree when he is quoted on the sleeve as judging his recording ‘a success’? The Tchaikovsky is less convincing‚ largely because Say sounds confined by a surprisingly lacklustre Temirkanov‚ whose approach to the first movement’s second subject is hardly the last word in eloquence. Throughout‚ it is difficult to sense a close engagement from either pianist or orchestra. True‚ Say has an attractively peppery way in the contrary­motion octave outbursts in the cadenza‚ and the Andantino’s central Prestissimo flight darts and flickers vivaciously. But elsewhere this is hardly a performance ‘stewed in Russian juices’ (Claudio Cassidy on Gilels)‚ and the overall effect is oddly impersonal. The recordings faithfully capture Say’s percussive sonority‚ but this is very much for lovers of Liszt rather than Tchaikovsky.