Stevenson’s Passacaglia is one of those works which, like Ulysses, David Copperfield and À la recherche, I have never got round to. I have not heard Ogdon’s recording, nor Stevenson’s later version for Altarus, nor Raymond Clarke’s on Marco Polo – and I am glad I had not because I cannot imagine a more convincing, spontaneous and illuminating performance than this. Stevenson brings it home in just under 75 minutes (his 1988 account, apparently, lasts slightly over 88 minutes).

His Passacaglia is a series of continuous variations above a seven-bar ground bass founded on three permutations of the musical monogram “D Sch” of Dmitri Shostakovich: the notes D, E flat, C and B (German nomenclature calls E flat “Es” and B natural “H”). Its 21 sections (many of which are themselves subdivided) are organised in three parts which are played without a break. True, it is a daunting and intense work, one that is essential to hear in a single sitting (without the interruption of turning over LPs); but it is also a meaty, modern classic that, as Malcolm McDonald observes in his lucid essay, extends the tradition of works like Bach’s Goldberg Variations and Busoni’s Fantasia contrappuntistica. The composer’s note from the original LP and a much-needed “Plan of Work” are further helpful guides for the virgin listener.

What sounds like a half-size (Petrof) grand piano (and one situated in a less than gorgeous acoustic at that) is no bar to Stevenson’s extraordinary pianism – the whole performance needed just one retake – or his ability to conjure up a range of keyboard colours that astonish; keyboard textures as well (try the Reverie-Fantasy section or the amazing African drumming effect in “To emergent Africa”). In all, a coup for APR and a timely 80th birthday present for Ronald Stevenson, that most generous, kind-hearted and modest of men.