If Can Çakmur’s recordings so far have shown anything, it’s that this rising star of the Turkish piano scene has no shortage of individualism, intelligence and sensitivity, not to mention enviable technical command. This second instalment of what is promising to be an impressive survey of Schubert’s major completed piano works is no exception. Each disc juxtaposes Schubert with another composer, the pairings being designed, as Çakmur puts it in a recent interview, to keep the audience engaged and stop them from drifting away as a result of too much of one kind of a good thing. For this disc it’s Brahms’s Op 119 Piano Pieces that provide the alternative perspective, placed between Schubert’s D935 Impromptus and Drei Klavierstücke, D946. The latter set is also a conceptual bridge, since Brahms was the editor of these posthumously published gems.

Throughout the programme Çakmur is fearless in revealing his personal voice, opting for a thoroughly romantic take on the music, without traducing the Schubertian spirit. His pianism is imbued with a natural instinct for elegant phrasing and sensitive voicing, alongside an ear for orchestral textures. But there is also quite a bit of pushing and pulling, and, arguably, over-interpreting. While this freedom offers some heartbreaking moments (such as the return of the fragile third theme in the second of the Drei Klavierstücke), it can all too easily become tiresome and predictable, as squeezing the romantic heart of every single episode risks diminishing returns.

In the third Impromptu, for example, Çakmur follows a hesitant, albeit charming rendition of the theme with yet another tiptoeing first variation, rendering the music simply too static. Compare this to Mitsuko Uchida’s harp-like flow of interwoven waves. Uchida’s Impromptus are a masterclass in seamless changes of character and clarity of architecture. Structures are less convincing in Çakmur’s readings, with mood shifts coming across at times self-consciously.

In the second Impromptu I much prefer Uchida’s subtler shadings and dreamier approach. But this could have to do with Çakmur’s choice of piano (a Kawai), or perhaps the recorded sound or a combination of the two, which imparts a tinny and unyielding quality, particularly in the treble. The lack of glow is particularly damaging to the Brahms pieces; the falling tears of the first Intermezzo are beautifully shaped but so shallow and brittle in timbre. Taken at a hyper-risoluto marching pace, the last Intermezzo’s lack of élan is another unsatisfying experience, for which the piano sound can only partly be held responsible.

The next album of the series is due to be issued in May and pairs Krenek with Schubert. Here’s hoping the piano sound is more persuasive.