Though indisputably one of the greatest pianists of our time, Maurizio Pollini’s London appearances have become uneven in recent years, with peerless, supremely authoritative performances interspersed with some that have been much more run of the mill. Through all of them, however, his Chopin playing has regularly provided the benchmark. It was winning the Warsaw Chopin competition in 1960 that launched Pollini on one of the most distinguished of pianistic careers, and while his repertoire went on to become prodigiously wide – ranging from Bach to Stockhausen and Sciarrino – Chopin has always remained central.

The second half of his latest Festival Hall recital was given over to Chopin’s 24 Preludes, Op 28. Pollini’s performance was less svelte than it once was; the sound is wirier, less seductive, some of the rhythms more uneven, and the textures occasionally cluttered. But nothing was contrived or oversweetened. There has never been any room for sentiment in Pollini’s playing, and the fearless way in which he tore into some of the faster minor-key preludes – the G sharp minor, B flat minor, F minor – was thrilling. The musical sense of every miniature was always absolutely clear; the first three minor-key numbers in the sequence became beautifully shaped expressions of grief, each coloured in an utterly different way.

Before the Preludes came Schumann – the Arabeske, Op 18, its inner lines revoiced as if the music were being performed for the very first time, and a rather strait-laced account of Kreisleriana, in which the fantasy element was played down. I doubt that many would get much sleep to the lullaby of the sixth piece when played as sternly as it was here, but then this was a performance more concerned with activity than repose and the energy of it was irresistible.