From the very first bars of Beethoven’s F Major Piano Sonata Op 54, it was obvious that this was an evening when Jean-Efflam Bavouzet was in no mood to compromise. The relatively unassuming two-movement sonata was projected with real vehemence, the second theme of its first movement building up such a terrific head of steam that it seemed to anticipate the storm that would be unleashed in the Appassionata Sonata Op 57, which came immediately after it, both chronologically in Beethoven’s sonata sequence and in this recital. But when the Appassionata arrived, it seemed surprisingly contained, with Bavouzet resisting the temptation to throw everything at it, and keeping the outer movements on a tight leash.

Both sonatas certainly showed off the strengths of Bavouzet’s forthright, technically faultless playing, but it was all a bit heartless and charmless too. While it was impossible not to admire the way in which he attacked Bartók’s rampaging Piano Sonata – perhaps the most expressionistically extreme work he ever wrote – at the end of the recital, one needed a little bit more than immaculate textures to make the complete set of Ravel’s Miroirs glisten and engage as they should. The Lisztian flourishes of Une Barque sur l’Océan were beautifully even, but the sultry evocations of Oiseaux Tristes, and the rustic humour of Alborada del Gracioso were harder to find.

In the middle of it all, Bavouzet introduced a piece that Bruno Mantovani composed for him five years ago. Le Livre de Jeb is an organic single-movement, which grows out of, and over, the lingering, growling chord with which it opens; the virtuoso flourishes that follow gradually cohere, becoming more protracted and ornate, until eventually they encompass the entire keyboard. It seems perfectly tailored to the strengths of Bavouzet’s playing, to its brilliance and immediacy.