Fans of Ms. Hewitt,
rejoice. Although Chopin is not exactly
an under-recorded commodity in the catalogue,
many listeners will no doubt welcome
Hewitt’s highly thoughtful takes on
these pieces, and this is easily one
of the finest recordings I’ve heard
in the last few months. I’m a fairly
recent fan of her artistry, ever since
my brother bowled me over with some
of her Bach Toccatas about a
year ago – and this from someone who
generally prefers a more regular diet
of Bartók and Shostakovich. Hewitt
has developed a reputation for illuminating
Bach with as much intelligence as technique,
and then went on to achieve similar
success in Ravel and Messiaen.
And now she turns her
considerable talent to Chopin, with
lovely and engaging results. The very
word "nocturne" implies introspection,
quietude, and a bit of a dreamy state,
and this recording has all of this in
spades. In her superb notes, Hewitt
describes the day she first explored
playing the pieces faster, slightly
more flowing than some pianists do,
"enforcing" Chopin’s metronome
markings. The result preserves what
everyone enjoys about these works, but
with a swirling energy that may give
admirers of these works a fresh new
viewpoint. Hewitt’s interpretations
never sound rushed to my ears.
The Nocturne in
B flat minor, Op. 9, No. 1 made
an immediate impression, with its glittery
top registers, and Hewitt plays this
so beautifully, with the clusters of
notes seeming to just drip from her
fingers. But everyone will have favorites.
In the later E flat major, Op. 55,
No. 2 she writes "how far we
have come from the early Nocturnes,"
and then demonstrates this by matching
Chopin’s masterly writing with seemingly
effortless grace. This is gorgeous and
subtle piano playing. The one that follows,
in B major, Op. 62, No. 1, ends
with some sensuous trills that Hewitt
dispatches with the kind of ease that
marks the entire enterprise – not that
any of these works should be characterized
as "easy," mind you.
Her technique is very
clean, and seems relatively unstudied
in its clarity. This is not heart-on-sleeve
Chopin, but played with an appealing
modesty – not that Hewitt’s virtuosity
is ever in question, let’s be clear.
But as with her Bach, it is straightforward,
without artifice and in this case, highly
evocative of dusk and perhaps mild sleeplessness.
The remaining pieces,
the Impromptus, almost serve
as encores to this generous recital
(two discs’ worth). Their fluttery textures
soothe the ear after the somber, shadowy
Nocturnes, and couldn’t be better
placed at the end of this programme.
I particularly like the final Fantaisie-Impromptu
in C sharp minor, with its delirious
opening that gradually gives way to
the broadly satisfying theme that is
probably familiar to many music lovers.
My first exposure to
the Nocturnes was through old
LPs of Artur Rubinstein and (if I recall)
Alexander Brailowsky. I probably owe
it to myself to acquire these on disc
for a rehearing, but I still recall
these pianists’ delicate shadings and
colors. But Hewitt’s intimacy here is
most ingratiating, and I really can’t
imagine piano lovers, Chopin devotees,
or Hewitt admirers being even mildly
disappointed. And as mentioned earlier,
Hewitt’s notes are a model of good writing
and helpful erudition – admirably clear
without being pretentious. She wears
her scholarship as lightly as her technique.
Hyperion’s sound, as
usual with this fine label, offers little
room for complaints. The concert was
recorded in Neumarkt in der Oberpfalz,
an (apparently) idyllic town in Germany,
and from the sound of Hewitt’s playing
this must be a divine setting in which
to perform and record music. Even the
cover art, Reclining Nude by
Jean-Jacques Henner, adds luster to
a very appealing package. I can tell
already that this recording will be
finding its way back to my player quite
often.
Bruce Hodges
Angela Hewitt (piano) 
