Ivan March’s original 1986 review of the Ax/Levine Brahms D minor claimed the pianist to be “clearly happiest in the work’s reflective pages”, while finding the first movement’s thrust “somewhat muted”. Ahem: the Chicago Symphony’s full-throated brass? Their vibrant, shapely strings? Ax’s bottom-up tonal solidity? His fire-in-the-belly trills and powerful scale passages? “Muted” my foot! Yes, the piano tone is a tad monochrome and bloomless, but that’s RCA’s early digital technology talking. Still, it’s obvious that the Levine/Chicago/Brahms trifecta was something special (let’s hope their Brahms symphony cycle will turn up again).

Contrary to Richard Osborne’s B flat Concerto observations, I find nothing “mannered” about Ax’s expansive, purposefully inflected opening cadenza, although the “cloudy” quality RO infers in the sound may have to do with Haitink’s generalised though superficially beautiful blending of orchestral strands (his Concertgebouw traversal with Arrau reveals a higher degree of textural differentiation and linear projection). Ax brings power, forward momentum and steadfast security to the Scherzo’s most gnarly sequences, and takes plenty of time to savour the Andante’s softly rising melodies without overindulging in the least. The solo numbers showcase Ax’s big-hearted, musicianly pianism at its acme.

It’s anyone’s guess as to why Op 119’s first three pieces are on one disc, with No 4 on the other. Had all four been grouped together, disc one still would have three minutes to spare. Ax’s booklet-notes offer salient background information and disarming personal anecdotes about the music.