Impressive
by any standards, Joyce Hatto's recording schedule in her
seventies is comparable with that of an ambitious teenager.
Her Messiaen Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant-Jesus was
gloriously tackled in 2004 and completed at the beginning
of 2006 (see review). This complete Ravel cycle was recorded
in just two days and slots neatly in between the sessions
of
this
mighty
task, but is no kind of light relief. In fact it should be
seen more as something of a milestone. Some of her own personal
remarks on Ravel are included in the booklet of Vol.2, and,
while Joyce never actually met Ravel or heard him play, she
did of course have memories of Alfred Cortot, for whom she
played and from whom she received valuable advice. "Most
pianists play Ravel far too fast" he said, and one of the
features is Hatto's ability to give the music the space it
needs to develop and grow, without ever making it sound stagnant
or mannered. She is not the only pianist to have absorbed
this important point: Angela Hewitt's excellent 2001 Hyperion
set (CDA 67341/2) also comes in at 138 minutes and, as with
most of the other surveys available, doesn't even include La
Valse!
Another
aspect of her playing which is immediately apparent is the
subtlety of her pedalling. This is another historical feature,
the avoidance of a legacy of pianists who 'suffocated' Ravel's
piano music in a misplaced attempt to heighten its
'impressionistic' effect.
Hatto can create the most effervescent, sparkling images,
imitating that aspect of the style of impressionism which
was so important: the effect of light and shade. Like the
best 'impressionist' painting however, those breathtaking
effects are nothing without absolute control of structure,
perspective and depth. The 'impression' is a first glance:
the lifetime of enjoyment comes from the vigour and intensity
of the artist, built on an unshakeable foundation of technical
virtuosity.
With a lifetime of living with these works, Joyce Hatto records
them with the advantage of knowing their every wrinkle and secret
like few others. Each piece has the quality of a precious stone - finely cut in a pattern which catches the light and
reflects it, catching the eye so that we can admire the wearer,
or with the infinitely subtle gradations of a natural crystal,
which exists on its own terms and has inherent beauty. Jeux
d'eau has that sharply etched, eye-catching quality,
the water's swirling, ever-changing nature conjuring images
of reflections and movement. Joyce Hatto's touch in the
extreme treble of the piano range gives the illusion that those
upper notes have as much lyrical sustaining quality as all the
other notes - something which I've heard elude many other
pianists.
The
clarity of classical forms and structures always attracted
Ravel, and these are strong aspects in the Sonatine.
Even with this framework of expositions, subject and second
subject, recapitulations and repetition there is always a
narrative quality, and Hatto teases our senses with inflections
and turns of mood and touch which deceive the ear and give
even anticipated musical events a sense of surprise and wonder.
Ravel worked simultaneously on both the Sonatine and Miroirs,
and although William Hedley disagrees with me in his excellent
booklet notes I do find there is a sense of
continuity in the colours and gestures between the two - even
where the associations are more literary, and their treatment, for
want of a better term, more impressionistic. Hatto toys with the
sense of space Ravel provides in the music, tossing notes into the
air and catching them with acrobatic ease. Every action results in
an equal and opposite reaction however, and balancing and
countering flight with the weight of these works foundations in
harmonic development and gravitas is central to her approach - she grounds the listener in logic
while removing nothing from the extremes of light and genuine
darkness to be found in each movement.
I
have to say at this point that my experiences with Ravel's
piano music has been less with recordings than with live
performance. He comes and goes, but is never far away when it
comes to the piano department repertoire I regularly programme at
lunch concerts in the Conservatoire in The Hague. While making no
direct comparisons, the visceral experience of hearing and seeing
the music being created at close quarters - sometimes while
following it as a page turner - gives one insights
into the demands and difficulties required of the player
by the composer. Le Tombeau de Couperin is one of
the regular favourites, and the opening Prelude is
one of the few movements in this set where I felt Joyce Hatto
fell one or two cents short of perfection. Taken at a suitably
slick pace, the middle register is sometimes a little on
the thick side, and there are one or two places where notes
are missed or don't quite sound. Like all true great pianists
it is of course the flow and the message which is more important,
and there is nothing which doesn't ring true, nothing suspect.
The Fugue is elegant and restrained as it should be,
the Forlane unsentimental and brisk. The Rigaudon has
impact and a dancing rhythmic pulse which urges throughout,
the Menuet a poetic, narrative quality and the Toccata plenty
of fireworks and an entirely stunning ending. It may be me,
it might be the classically restrained nature of the music,
it might have been the weather on the day, but I didn't get
quite the same feeling of involvement from this piece as
from almost all of the others.
While
I am leaping incontinently from one volume to the other I
might as well take in the final track in this set, Ravel's
own piano transcription of La Valse, the original
having been written in 1920, and not 1898 as is given on
the CD cover for some reason. Hatto digs into this unbelievable
pianistic beast of a piece with true gusto, thumping the
low notes with the equivalent of a closed fist and darting
through the twists and turns like a dancer possessed by demons
unknown. The only other version I could find of this was
the two piano version of 1921 in a recording Jean-Philippe
Collard and Michel Beroff made for EMI in 1980. This alternative
sounds tinny and distant by comparison, and Hatto gets more
thud and grunt out of her piano than those two put together,
though I'm sure some of this can be put down to their recorded
sound. As a soloist Hatto seems to have far more flexibility,
and I find the two piano version gains nothing over her heroic
solo performance. If the left hand at 3:20, and again at
9:53 doesn't make you jump it's time to have a doctor
look down your ears with his little torch, but just listen to all
of those secondary voices as well - there's true subtlety at work the whole
time. My mate Johan paid Hatto the compliment of
listening in silent fascination (aside from some awed guffaws
in the most amazing passages) when I played him some extracts
from this set, and summed up the recordings with suitably
laconic Fries dryness: "Zij kan er wat van ..." meaning "She
knows something about it ...", but implying much, much more!
Gaspard
de la nuit has to be central
in any Ravel programme, and with recordings and performances
from the likes of Martha Argerich having almost legendary
status it carries more baggage than many of Ravel's other
solo piano pieces. Hatto can swing from lyrical restraint
to cataclysmic turmoil with Ondine in a way which
I can honestly say I've never heard in quite the same way
either on record or the concert stage. For me there is
no real 'better' or 'worse' in comparing the top recordings
of this amazing piece as, like all truly great music it
has so much to offer through a myriad of interpretations.
The gradations in colour and purity of shapes Hatto creates
in the second movement, Le gibet, defy superlatives
- and
when I run out of superlatives my tear ducts take over. Scarbo
is truly grotesque in this recording, both as a distorted figure
and as a hideous character - one who doesn't mind
letting you know all about it either: he can poison your
day with words alone, and it is almost a relief when he
finally lets go.
Everywhere else you turn on these discs will provide further
delight, and each of the shorter pieces is a nugget of discovery,
each one sounding fresh and newly minted - the joy of the
musician in having such musical gifts (in every sense of
the word) coming through and providing your ears with an
irresistible feast. The Valses nobles et sentimentales pre-date La
Valse, but with Hatto the opening movement has more than
a little of that mad glint in the eye which infects the later
work. The shifting moods sometimes distort those painted
perspectives like the dance viewed through a glass of absinthe,
and from those watery reflections of nature in Jeux d'eau we
are very much more involved in human fallibility, flitting
amorous coquetries and intimate uncertainties, or the triumph
of the dance over all other weakness.
Joyce
Hatto's gift is one of communication. She is of course the
conduit through which we can experience the music of a great
composer, but through her we can also listen within, beyond,
and behind the notes. Character and mood emerge as naturally
and easily as breathing, never forgetting that breathing
can sometimes be a heroically laborious and painful effort.
I sincerely hope and trust that we shall see this Ravel set
placed firmly between the others you might expect to find
on your specialist shop's shelves. Given the choice, and
remembering my days as a record shop lackey, I would place it in
your hands and propel you gently but firmly to the checkout
counter - safe in the knowledge that I would receive
no complaints the day after. Who knows, I might even get
a bunch of flowers!
Dominy Clements
Joyce Hatto
(piano) 
