How many times have I regretted a shortage of fantasy, flair and fairy-tale imagination in recordings of the Prokofiev piano concertos? Well, here is a disc that takes all those qualities to the top, gleefully goes over it, and ends up halfway down the other side. I don’t want to sound unappreciative, but…

Of course Mustonen is a known property. His ultra-pecky staccato is as familiar as his hide-and-seek antics with textures, semi-randomly highlighting some notes while reducing others to a behind-the-hand whisper. The range and idiosyncrasy of attacks and colours is dazzling, and often in a good sense. At times this disc feels like Prokofiev reimagined by Chico Marx.

And there’s the problem. You might say that Prokofiev asks for it, by his scant regard for the craft of large-scale musical construction, coupled with his genius for thematic invention and for laughing things off rather than psychologising them. But while all this may broadly apply to the apprentice-piece First Concerto, it is only a half-truth so far as the Third Concerto is concerned. Here Mustonen’s urge to dazzle obscures other, more shadowy facets that the music has to offer, while to call his succession of tempi in the second movement capricious or wilful would be an understatement. By pushing characterisation so far towards caricature he ends up diminishing the work, or so it seems to me. I suppose the classic Ashkenazy/Previn set is my template for how to get the best of several worlds. As Mustonen minces and tippy-toes through the Fourth Concerto you might find yourself longing for him just to walk or run like a normal human being. Yet here, as with the First Concerto, I find it hard to take offence; the music itself touches fewer and shallower depths, and the application of colour follows lines already implicit in the musical texture.

To be clear: none of this is done in order to paper over cracks in technique, and, as a composer himself, Mustonen’s agenda can be understood as creative rather than opportunistic. Nor would anyone who has heard Prokofiev’s own recordings dare to call his rubato historically unfounded. Most importantly, the super-light, transparent textures Hannu Lintu conjures from the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra are an excellent foil for his soloist. So if there is room in your collection for several sets of the Prokofiev concertos, this one at least comes with a provocative distinctiveness.