Both these releases share a common work
– Tippett’s First Piano Sonata. The earlier
recording is the first ever, by its first performer,
Phyllis Sellick. The second, by Margaret Kitchin
is of the post-1954 revision. Both are formidable
performances given by two musicians of pioneering
stature and tremendous technical reserves. Both,
for that reason, will be mandatory purchases
for specialists in the repertoire – but they
actually have wider attractions as well.
Let’s start with the tribute
to Phyllis Sellick, who is here represented
by a diverse collection of pieces recorded
during wartime or in the case of the pieces
by Harry Hodge, undated. The early French
baroque and later pieces are very much Lazare-Lévy
repertoire – in fact much of her repertoire
here is just the kind of recital that the
great French player and teacher would have
given. The echo effects in the Couperin Le
Pavolet Flotant are delightful and the
sole example of her Rameau is warmly and convincingly
voiced. Needless to say she summons up the
requisite wit for Ibert and for Poulenc. Her
Ravel and Debussy avoid heaviness and find
clarity and directness. I don’t know anything
about Harry Hodge but his baroque-sounding
pieces are curiously moreish. The Waltz is
delightfully Chopinesque, and the Gavotte
and Musette are charmers with a grand final
reprise. The Variations last nine minutes;
some Rachmaninoff here, more Chopin, waltz
themes and frolicsome fun.
The Tippett is a rather different
matter of course and is the focus of things.
She premiered the work in 1938 and made this
recording of it – her first – for Rimington
van Wyck in 1941 at the Decca studios. The
composer was present and, impressed by her
performance, dedicated his next work, the
Fantasia on a Theme of Handel, to her. This
sonata recording was a semi-private release
and has always enjoyed important status, despite
or because of its relative scarcity. She conveys
the folkloric substratum very finely indeed,
is confident in the first movement variations,
and evokes Ca’ the yowes in the second
movement with warmth and refinement. The fizz
of the scherzo poses few problems and she
clearly enjoys the unstuffy jazz laced finale.
The sonics are perfectly reasonable for the
time and have been adeptly engineered for
this release. A fine salute to a much-admired
musician.
The other disc – discs actually
as there are two – is by Margaret Kitchin.
Her recording of the revised Tippett Sonata
is actually not dissimilar to Sellick’s. Timings
are consistent, though clearly advantageous
recording quality ensures that Kitchin’s performance
is heard with far grater depth and colour
and dynamic range. Eloquently controlled and
digitally sure she too makes something valuable
of the first movement variations – a shade
wittier than Sellick, perhaps. She’s actually
slower than Sellick in the slow movement;
reflective and noble, and a rather different
take on things. The finale is laced with verve
and freshness.
Iain Hamilton’s Sonata was
dedicated to Mátyás Seiber and
first performed by Kitchi in February 1952.
It opens in frank dissonance and some not
inconsiderable chest-baring. But that’s deceptive
as it subsequently embraces a wide variety
of moods and plenty of virtuoso flourishes,
and colours. The finale in particular has
a strong sense of drama and form and plenty
of visceral excitement – and these are elements
that Kitchin supplies in droves.
Wordsworth’s Piano Sonata
in D Minor is an earlier work, dating from
1939. It opens in gaunt fashion but reflective
lyricism soon infiltrates the writing, chordally
warm and pleasing. It does, from time to time,
come to a plangent full stop but has enough
changeability to alternate between vigour,
self-assertion and a becalmed stasis. The
slow movement has some moments of uneasy lyricism
before a constantly alert finale, dancing
like a quickstep, ends things decisively.
The Cheesecombe Suite
dates from 1945. It opens in vertiginous
but wholly tonal style and has its ‘darkling
thrush’ moments. Cool and still and also vaguely
watchful the Nocturne sits at its heart but
there’s also a frantic Fughetta to end things
– almost, it has to be said, in hysteria.
The final piece is the surprisingly biting
and gaunt Ballade.
Adherents of British piano
music of the period will want to seek out
Margaret Kitchin’s pioneering discs, as they
will Sellick’s trail-blazing Tippett.
Jonathan Woolf
see also review
of the Lyrita disc by Rob Barnett
Phyllis Sellick (piano) 
