Of Annie Fischer’s pianism, the word vibrant comes to mind. Note-spills count for nothing when she presses the ignition switch. That she thought deeply about the music she played is self-evident; her re-creative fire seems of the moment, when poetry and declamation meld. Her Brahms sonata is dramatic, the slow movement inward and smouldering. The Bartok returns her to native soil, Hungarian plains conjured, souls of composer, artist and compatriots bared, inflections and emphases, the ’swing’ of numbers 9 and 10 innate. Liszt and Dohnanyi, fellow Nationals, are at one remove here in these salon pieces: Un sospiro is emotionally aflame, the study after Paganini dazzling, Dohnanyi’s febrile and gloriously expansive Rhapsody played without inhibition.