Steven Osborne’s assured mastery in a wide range of repertoire continues to expand and amaze. At first hearing, the pianist seems to be imparting a fresh spin to these frequently recorded sonatas. Closer scrutiny, however, reveals the extent to which Osborne takes Prokofiev’s texts seriously. His attention to accents and careful textural layering brings refreshing lightness and mobility to the frequently hammered-out repeated notes in the più mosso section of the Sixth Sonata’s Allegro moderato, while the Allegretto’s steady staccato chords take on the character of a finely honed woodwind ensemble. Listeners accustomed to Sviatoslav Richter’s lilting third-movement tempo might find Osborne’s more inward yet eloquently sustained reading comparatively slow, yet Prokofiev himself marks lentissimo. Osborne tellingly characterises the finale’s emotional contrasts and observes the composer’s gradual acceleration to tempo when the main theme returns, unlike Richter, who simply forges ahead.

The outer sections of the Seventh Sonata’s Allegro inquieto take on a driving, slightly aggressive tone on account of Osborne’s avoidance of legato where Prokofiev doesn’t indicate it, yet I prefer Pollini’s faster flexibility and variety of articulation. Despite its breathtaking rapidity, Osborne’s Precipitato is musical to the core, where melodic phrase-shaping takes precedence over motoric momentum. Yet the same can be said for a more viscerally engaging recording on the Dux label from the relatively unknown Wojciech Kocyan, who gives one of the most inspired and imaginative versions on disc.

Osborne is at his best in Sonata No 8. He holds attention in the long and difficult-to-sustain first movement through his meticulous organisation of dynamics and gauging of climaxes. The central Andante sognando can absorb Osborne’s affectionate yet never indulgent lyrical inflections (Gilels and Bronfman are more straightforward and businesslike); in this sense he’s a slower Ashkenazy. However, no pianist in my experience has matched Osborne’s finale for acuity of touch, pinpoint transparency and airborne suppleness. The music dances off the page, tickles the ear, engages the mind and, for once, sounds far shorter than its nine-minute duration. In addition to Hyperion’s sound at its finest, Christina Guillaumier’s booklet notes provide valuable historic and analytical contexts for all three works.