After an early career which, through no fault of his own, had confined him to a virtuoso repertoire – limiting his public image to that of a technical prodigy – Arcadi Volodos has, in recent years, turned his attention to the great classical repertoire. For the pianist, this represented a quest for depth and truth, essential for someone who, whilst a pianist of genius, has always thought of himself as a musician. Since then, Volodos has put his virtuosity at the service of his unique imagination, offering deeply personal and strikingly authentic interpretations of Schumann, Schubert, Beethoven, Scriabin, Rachmaninov and even Brahms, to whom he dedicated a magnificent album – released by Sony.

Thus, Volodos returns with a programme that is certainly traditional, yet one of dizzying artistic vision: Schubert’s Sonata in D major, D.850, and Schumann’s Kinderszenen.

From the very first movement of the Sonata D.850, risk is ever-present. Volodos offers his own distinctive interpretation, as always, of a work that has already been recorded time and time again – and to great effect – by artists including Curzon, Richter and Schnabel, amongst others. Through constant interplay of textures – even drapery-like layers – Volodos adds ever finer nuances to the colours, with remarkable finesse and delicacy. Yet the tension does not suffer in the slightest, thanks to the absolute fullness of the sound and this incredible realisation of the keyboard’s possibilities. Above all, it is imagination that drives the music – which is no doubt why the transition to the Kinderszenen feels so natural. Each phrase is a world unto itself – so luminous! The range of expression is perhaps unprecedented in this work, serving an absolute, ecstatic joy! The touch is, of course, a miracle. Yet this does not detract from a well-judged sense of humour – evident throughout the recording. For every detail is perceptible, thanks to impeccably crisp attacks, whilst retaining the roundness and incredible depth of tone characteristic of Volodos. Admittedly, the tempo is, on the whole, very slow, but the breadth of the performance is such that this is not felt at all. The ‘Con moto’ is a true marvel of tenderness and nostalgia, whilst of course preserving the breadth and precision of the touch. And, above all, as has been the case from the very start – and which continues throughout the album – it never ceases to sing; lyricism is everywhere! The flow is seamless, achieved through the juxtaposition of different atmospheres, soundscapes and textures, to return to what I was saying earlier. But the revolution comes into its own in the final Rondo! With a touch of irony, whilst remaining fully committed to this highly complex journey – where each vista is perhaps even more beautiful than the last – the musical discourse remains utterly natural. It is so narrative, yet full of contrasts! Some passages are once again incredibly tender, others display epic heroism! To make such entirely separate worlds seem natural, to weave them into a single narrative, to make them appear as though they were innate – so much so that it feels like one and the same journey – is a feat of absolute genius, that of one of the greatest pianists of our time, if not the greatest. This is a performance that completely reverses that vision of a Schubert already ill, swept away by his dark dreams that draw him ever closer to the end. Volodos looks towards a brighter future, whilst never denying the dreamlike quality of the journey.

The Kinderszenen reflect this perpetual dream. ‘One must dream this piece’, not play it, as Cortot once said of Der Dichter spricht. The delicacy of the touch works wonders here, whilst the way he plays with the texture of this perpetually shifting fabric constantly restores a sense of continuity. Here too, the slow tempo feels perfectly natural, although, as throughout Schubert’s sonata, rubato is present absolutely everywhere! Certain phrases are true revelations! Light radiates, and nostalgia is adorned with a smile that is as amused as it is tender. The bass notes vibrate with depth, and the rounded attacks do not detract from their precision.

Having seen this programme on CD and heard it in concert, I was afraid that the harmonies and the subtlest nuances – which are unique to a live concert, to a real, flesh-and-blood piano – might not come across, and that the narrative would be lost. But this is not the case at all; Volodos has adapted to the very particular medium of recording. And he has succeeded in doing so whilst preserving the story he was telling – the narrative content, as it were – which was that of the concert. The Kinderszenen seem to follow a kind of emotional ascent, culminating in these last two pieces, in which every silence is also a world unto itself. The nuances are infinite, and the phrases perfectly embody an emotion, bringing a new one to the fore each time.

Volodos delivers a masterpiece, perhaps the greatest of his entire vast discography. What does this Sonata D.850 have that Curzon, Richter or Schnabel might envy? Nothing. Different, it charts a new course, one that is not only valid but so natural that it seems to merge with the work itself. And, whilst each of the pieces in these Kinderszenen – Träumerie, Ritter vom Steckenpferd and the final three in particular – is a model of empathy, the collection as a whole must be ranked amongst the very best, alongside those by Cortot, Horowitz and Haskil. What more is there to say, when everything is already in the music?