Tchaikovsky’s opulent G major Sonata has all too often been seen as inflated and over-long. But in the right hands the Andante’s ultra-Russian melancholy, the playfully syncopatedScherzo and the finale’s virtuoso chase erase such criticism. But if Freddy Kempf’s brio and propulsion make a laudable attempt at lightening the first movement’s potentially clangorous and opaque textures, he is too often inclined to push ahead regardless. What I missed, too, was the sort of firm rhythmic grip exemplified in Richter’s legendary recording. Kempf’s freedom at 0'45" (to take one example) seems to me a decorative view of Tchaikovsky’s risoluto demand, and he is oddly perfunctory in both the opening and close of the Andante and dismissive of dotted rhythms that have their origin in Schumann (always the ghost behind much of Tchaikovsky’s piano-writing).

Tchaikovsky’s dim view of his keyboard works has been contradicted by many pianists who have taken the more domestic Seasons to their hearts. Warmth and charm are of the essence here, and although there is a greater sense of engagement than in the Sonata, Kempf’s way is more detached than inviting. There are relative successes in the more extrovert numbers (the hounds and horse of ‘September’ are in full cry), but you only have to listen to Pavel Kolesnikov’s recent sensitive realisation of the complete cycle to hear artistry of another order.

Richter and Pletnev are hard acts to follow in the Sonata, and so is Joseph Moog, whose recording alerted us to a young pianist of high voltage and imaginative scope. BIS’s sound is clear but colourless.