About 10 years ago, I did something exceptional: I walked out of a concert. It was a piano recital, and the performer was Olli Mustonen, a 30-year-old Finn. He was playing Beethoven’s Sonata in D, Op. 28, known as the “Pastoral.” At least that’s what the program said — that he was playing the “Pastoral.” He seemed to be playing something else.

He took liberty after liberty, basically remaking Beethoven’s sonata. Tempos, dynamics, phrasing, rhythm — all were distorted, all were personalized. And, to add insult to injury, Mr. Mustonen conducted himself, whenever he had a free hand. (Frederick Chiu is another pianist who is guilty of this.)

This was one of the most self-indulgent and wrongheaded musical displays I have ever witnessed. Mr. Mustonen was obviously a talented man — but badly confused, or hopelessly egotistical. I wanted to say, “If you want to be ‘creative,’ compose your own darn music.”

And Mr. Mustonen does indeed compose his own darn music. He is also a conductor — not just of himself, in recital, but of orchestras.

I have not checked in much with Mr. Mustonen since that gross recital — but he is now about 40, and I gave a listen to his new CD. It happens to contain music of Beethoven. And it begins with the Concerto No. 3 in C minor, Op. 37. Mr. Mustonen is recording all five Beethoven piano concertos, plus one other work (about which, more in a moment).

His orchestra is the Tapiola Sinfonietta, a Finnish group whose conductor Mr. Mustonen used to be. Now he’s called its “Artist in Association.” In any case, Mr. Mustonen does the conducting, as well as the playing, on this CD. And the label is also Finnish — Ondine.

The first several pages of Beethoven’s C-minor concerto belong to the orchestra, alone. And, in his conducting, Mr. Mustonen is very, very free: free in his dynamics, free in everything else. Sometimes he is choppy, sometimes he is swooningly Romantic — it depends on his whim.

Viewed negatively, this opening is ridiculously dramatic. Viewed positively, it is infused with life. In either case, the Tapiola Sinfonietta plays well.

When the piano comes in, the real bizarreness starts — Mr. Mustonen wastes no time. He clips notes, he plays funny accents, he imposes strange ritards, he indulges in extreme dynamics. There are about 10 misjudgments in five measures. And we have barely begun.

Mr. Mustonen plays so waywardly — so “freely” — he loses Beethoven’s thread. His worst liberties are downright grotesque. And yet he does some interesting things. He sometimes shows a startling musical spirit. Again, to put it positively, you could say that Mr. Mustonen is an “imaginative” pianist. But one can be imaginative without being perverse.

Something else on the positive side: Mr. Mustonen’s passagework and turns are exceptionally clean and crisp. The guy has technique — physical chops — in addition to musical talent.

But his instincts can be ruinous. Slow movements, in particular, are vulnerable to those instincts. Slow movements, perhaps more than others, need pulse and structure. And the Mustonen treatment does them no favors.

What about Beethoven’s last movement, the Rondo? I’m afraid it is farcical. Accents are absolutely weird — unnatural, unmusical. Mr. Mustonen picks the perfectly wrong note to jab. And then he sprinkles in unwanted staccatos. The tiny cadenza that Beethoven includes in this movement is full of bravura, Lisztian — I found it hilarious (and kind of impressive).

The other work on this CD is that sixth work in the Beethoven cycle — the composer’s Violin Concerto, arranged for piano and orchestra by Beethoven himself. This concerto is one of the great works in all of music. And you can’t blame pianists for wanting to play it now and then.

That is a switcheroo: Usually, other musicians covet what pianists have. In this case, pianists covet a violinist’s treasure. And it is to Beethoven’s credit that, in his arrangement, his Violin Concerto sounds like a piano concerto.

Mr. Mustonen gives it — the Mustonen treatment. Oh, well. But to say a final time, he is a very, very talented man. And I confess to being somewhat fascinated by this disc — appalled and fascinated. I want to see what Mr. Mustonen will do next. In this, he reminds me a bit of Lang Lang — and of Ivo Pogorelich, before that unfortunate man crossed from eccentricity to unfitness for public display.

And at least — at least — Mr. Mustonen composes his own music. He has his own catalog. Whether he should be performing other people’s music, I’m not so sure.