‘I’d never wanted to write a piano concerto (how to begin?)’, Stephen Hough writes in the notes for this release. Then, during the pandemic, he was asked to score a film set in the 1930s about an ageing Austrian baroness and a young American composer writing a piano concerto. Hough and the film eventually went separate ways, but with ‘a thick pile of sketches’ and ‘the characters as a handle’, the work came to life. Its subtitle, The World of Yesterday, was borrowed from Stefan Zweig’s memoir.

The presence of the film’s American composer can be felt in the bright orchestral introduction, with its unmistakable nod towards Copland, and the baroness in the brief central second movement – a glittering, nostalgic waltz with variations. Structurally, the Concerto is sui generis. That Coplandesque opening leads to the piano’s dramatic entrance and a grandly lyrical cadenza that concludes with a prefiguring of the waltz theme. The finale is an increasingly wild Tarantella appassionata.

The soloist rarely rests after the orchestral introduction, and the piano-writing is dazzlingly intricate, often contrapuntal and rarely merely decorative. Hough is more economical with his melodies, however, preferring to vary and develop rather than parade a stream of tunes. He writes tonally (and polytonally, on occasion), with a sweetness that’s balanced by welcome bursts of sharp acidity. And while his music often displays a strong French accent, there’s something about the cinematic quality of this score that’s deliciously over the top. I’ve often lamented the fact that Korngold never wrote a piano concerto; in his own individual way, Hough has come close to filling that void for me. And of course he plays it with sharply focused clarity, rhythmic verve and seemingly unflappable elegance, while Mark Elder has the Hallé provide warm, vividly coloured support.

The succinct Sonatina nostalgica (2019) is cut from similar cloth as the Concerto’s waltz, flitting flirtatiously from key to key, and the ornate figuration flows from his fingers with a fluidity that makes me think (perhaps incongruously) of Fats Waller. The meatier five-movement Partita (2019) begins with a march-like Overture and concludes with a Toccata that dances as charmingly as Mussorgsky’s unhatched chicks. In between these are a metrically dizzying Capriccio and a pair of bittersweet Canciónes y Danzas that pay homage to Mompou.

In all three works, the richness of Hough’s ideas and their working out handsomely repays repeated listening. Now, will some enterprising director please have Hough write a film score? If this Concerto is any indication, he’s a natural.