Paul Lewis, Wigmore Hall

Worst hit in his onslaught of po-faced musical Calvinism were the many daydreams that litter Schubert's scores. We received a change of scenery at the watery hole (that should have been a black hole) that is the middle section of the first of the Drei Klavierstücke, D 946, and we got an over-choreographed moment of drama in each coda - most satsifyingly in the Reliquie Sonata, where three gaping caesuras followed three impotent shakes of the fist. But we always remained on dry land, on earth, our souls unstirred, our mind unruffled.

Boredom set in. Several times. Overpedalling swamped the first movement of the Reliquie; poor voicing ruined the Scherzo of the Piano Sonata in D, D 850. Phrasing throughout was upset by flimsy execution. He was indulging the broader arcs at the expense of the note-to-note drama.

Since last year's Proms, Lewis has learnt how to rumple the musical surface a little. I had even thought he might have loosened up a tad, perhaps hoping we'd at least end on a high. Surely, even po-faced Lewis could see the brilliant possibilities of the child-like capering and daydreaming of the Rondo finale of the D-major Sonata D 850. But no.

We skated through it, everything smothered and smoothed by ceaseless pedalling. The musical line tick-tocked without a flicker of a smile. Character came in the form of indulgent ritardandos and sentimental decrescendos and a middle section that plodded about like Dawn French pretending to be the Sugar Plum Fairy. An unintentional lapse into humour.