Beethoven, Bagatelles (Hyperion, through Ode Records)

 FIVE/FIVE

 Verdict: “English pianist reveals the wonders of Beethoven’s miniature world”

There is so much more to Beethoven’s piano music than his 32 Sonatas or those monumental chains of variations that so tax interpretative skills and physical stamina.

These two dozen short pieces, bearing the title of Bagatelle, are just as epoch-changing as the composer’s large-scale roars and cerebral intricacies.

The Bagatelles may not carry fanciful titles like “Traumerei” and “Pantalon et Columbine”, but they pre-empt the miniature romantic worlds of Robert Schumann Kinderszenen and Carnaval.

Nigel Osborne’s new CD of the Bagatelles, recorded last July with all the artistry and attention you expect from Hyperion, catches all the whimsy that Beethoven’s title suggests.

The English pianist skims over the keys in the shortest number — the 11 seconds of Opus 119 no 10 —  yet, when the composer lays on a flurry of incident, he is ingenious in making it hang together.

The dotted rhythms of Op 33 no 3 seem to suggest white-hot keys; for the interlude sin between, Osborne balances ambling folkiness with mock serioso intent.

You can hear Beethoven laughing here, whether in the gruff octaves and counterpoint of Op 126 no 4, or in the many others in which textures chop and change so unpredictably that it all borders on collage.

Here we see Beethoven the improv meister of his time, and Osborne conveys all the excitement that comes with such scattergun invention, cleverly using pedal to suggest that simple harmonies might not be as straightforward as they seem.

One of my favourites is Ländler of Opus 119 no 8, a Landler, innocent on the surface but harbouring enough slippery key changes to fuel a few pages of Wagner.

This album comes with two bonuses. One is a half-dozen works without opus number, including an enigmatic 31-second Allegro quasi Andante and the popular Für Elise, delivered with a telling simplicity.

The other bonus is the booklet illustration. Paul Klee’s 1930 House on the Water is perfect, providing echoing the sometimes radical music of another age in its subtle colour shifts and geometric play.

Arvo Pärt, Piano Music (Naxos)

 FIVE/FIVE

 Verdict “Brilliant Dutch pianist reveals Arvo Pärt to be much more than a New Age guru”

Dutch pianist Ralph van Raat is determined to convert the world — or at least those of us who explore his extensive catalogue of Naxos CDs — to what he describes as “the classical music of today”.

The man himself fell under the spell of Schoenberg and Webern in his mid-teens; now, at 43, he can be proud of his many definitive interpretations of such composers as John Adams, John Taverner, Gavin Bryars and, on his latest release, Arvo Part.

The new album includes Pärt’s solo piano music, but also brings in the Netherlands Radio Chamber Philharmonic under JoAnne Falleta for the 2002 salute to the sculptor Anish Kapoor. In doing so, the disc spans almost a half-century of the Estonian’s music.

If you have an inbuilt resistance to Pärt the New Age Guru, fear not – his hardcore chill-out ‘70s minimalist accounts for only a fifth of the CD.

And even here, the translucent resonances of the Variations zur Gesundung von Arinuschka are positively hypnotic; in Fur Aline the radical simplicity of the notes is cleverly coloured by the shadowy sounds of the instrument’s mechanical workings.

Only the minute-long Für Anna Marisa comes across as a little too cute for its own good, dipping perilously into easy-note Richard Clayderman territory. But, even here, Raat’s humour and wafting rubatos lift it it clear of any such tainting.

Two 1950s Sonatinas and a Partita show Pärt can drive a bustling Toccata in the best Hindemith manner. As well, there are slow movements which Raat’s expressive pianism invests with the poignancy of a Mozart Adagio.

The 35-minute Lamentate: Homage to Anish Kapoor and his sculptural Marsyas is a piano concerto in all but name, a work of almost theatrical drama, in keeping with the issues of mortality that Kapoor’s work addresses.

An often thunderous first movement capitulates in a crescendo worthy of the Beatles’ A Day in the Life; within minutes, Baroque patternings shoot through Brahmsian textures.

Balancing such bold style-jousting are moments of crystalline near-silence as these superlative musicians give us a contemporary concerto that cries out to be heard in our concert halls.