Rarely does one come across a pianist with something genuinely fresh and perceptive to say in Brahms, and who manages to do so without affectation or outlandishness. François Chaplin is one of those few. His purview on this new Aparté release is late Brahms, through which he takes a thoughtful if unusual path: beginning with Opp 118 and 119, then doubling back to the Op 79 Rhapsodies and concluding with Op 117.

Most striking in Chaplin’s readings is his ability to create pellucid textures, allowing Brahms’s polyphony to stand out in bold relief. And to a greater extent than many performers, Chaplin defines the distinct individuality of each piece by an extraordinarily apt choice of tempo, organically conceived and embellished by exquisitely refined and pliant rubato. Obviously clarity of texture and appropriate speed are goals of all good piano-playing. Yet among the challenges of Brahms interpretation – in his orchestral and chamber works no less than the piano music – are his proclivity for a thick sound, resulting in opaque textures and limited colour palette, and a certain kinaesthetic deliberateness, diminishing momentum and reducing affective impact and urgency. Chaplin is sensitive to both.

Citing only a few felicitous examples, the achingly tender Intermezzo, Op 118 No 2, unfolds in beautifully contoured phrases, with a grace and melancholy charm that is always understated. The ensuing Rhapsody, Op 118 No 3, in its scrupulous observation of staccato, non legato and portamento, reveals just how much is often lost in this piece, all within a bracingly vigorous tempo. And what a pleasure to find the Intermezzo, Op 118 No 6, not laid out to rest in a shroud of lugubrious pedal but actually alive and, in the sotto voce G flat major contrasting section, willing to reminisce about older, better times. A tear may escape in the rich harmonic explorations of the Intermezzo, Op 119 No 1, but the whole is anything but soggy. Finally, if the swaggering Rhapsody, Op 119 No 4, pauses for moments of introspection, it has no intention of bogging down in them. When the lubricious serenade in A flat interrupts, gliding above its plucked accompaniment, it is the perfect foil for so much robust bluster, subtly suggesting that things may not turn out so well.

Chaplin capitalises on what is best in these Brahms miniatures. Instead of becoming lost in the emotional substrata of these pieces, he teases out the possible implications of their pithy content. Listeners intimately acquainted with this music may be surprised by what Chaplin discovers; for those new to this special repertory niche, I can’t think of a better introduction.