Recent anniversaries have undoubtedly raised the profile of Bernd Alois Zimmermann (1918-70). Stopping short of full maturity, his solo piano output provides a viable overview of his formative years, right from those three emotionally poised miniatures written at the outset of war. The pithy vignettes of Extemporale (1946) seem more personal in the clarity with which mood and texture have been delineated, while the robust charm of the Capriccio (also 1946) belies the ingenuity of this ‘improvisation’ in weaving its folk themes into an effective showpiece.

Capriciousness and introspection are hallmarks of the studies that comprise Enchiridion. The seven pieces of this first ‘handbook’ (1949) form a dance suite, whose rhythmic tensility does not stint on more evocative qualities, whereas the five exercises of its successor (1952) are audibly more abstract in their emphasis on subtlety of technique. From there to the stark aphorisms of Konfigurationen (1956) is to find Zimmermann venturing upon terrain whose expressive inscrutability he was to open out in many and varied ways over the next decade.

Easy to overlook in the context of Zimmermann’s radical later work, these remain distinctive and characterful pieces to which Eduardo Fernández responds with evident commitment and insight. Sample the wistful charm of ‘Intermezzo’ (track 2), ominous intensifying of ‘Bolero’ (7), inward musing of ‘Meditation’ (14) or atmospheric remoteness of ‘Matutin’ (25) to hear how completely he immerses himself in this rapidly evolving sound world. Admirers of this composer will already have Andreas Skouras’s vividly and idiomatically realised collection (NEOS, 5/16), yet the greater emotional space that Fernández allows himself is its own justification. His Steinway D superbly recorded, and with decent annotations, this is a most desirable release.