Angela Hewitt: Focus entirely on Bach
WHEN you walk out of a concert feeling that it may have been the musical event of the year and it is still only early February, you have certainly experienced something special.
In the case of pianist Angela Hewitt, it was extraordinary. Not that we should be surprised by now. This was at least her fourth visit to York in the past ten years: she must like it here.
Her focus was entirely on Bach. She played all but one of six works from memory. The exception was the huge Prelude & Fugue in A minor, BWV 894 (not one of the ‘48’), where her tablet could not be more than an aide-memoire, given the rapid tempos both halves demand. She kept it until last, yet after a whole evening her intensity was as strong as ever.
In the fugue, her relaxation was so engrossing that it was as if she were unveiling a brand-new narrative, despite its complexities.
It was about 20 seconds into the opening Toccata in D major, BWV 912, that she had the packed audience in the palm of her hand. While its moods were distinctive, there was also a sense of excitement building throughout: the final gigue, which happens also to be a fugue, was intoxicating for its sheer enthusiasm. As with so much of the evening, she used her sustaining pedal sparingly: clarity was the watchword.
By now her palpable enjoyment had become infectious. In the Fifth French Suite, in G major, there was an elegiac transparency to the Sarabande and a gentle lilt to the majestic Loure, both standing in contrast to the commanding virtuosity elsewhere and testimony to Hewitt’s feeling for the romantic side of Bach, an aspect too widely ignored. The taxing gigue, needless to say, was at once colourful and percussive.
The Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, in D minor, was an ear-opener, the first part dazzling in its harmonic daring, right at the limits for the composer’s time, the second incredibly crisp, with subtle weighting of the various voices.
That clarity was maintained in the Fifth Partita (a suite in all but name), despite the cracking pace at the start. There were supple dabs of rubato along the way, before a finale of mesmerising brilliance.
In the Italian Concerto, published in 1735 and the latest work in this programme, we could feel Bach letting his hair down: the sun sparkling on the Mediterranean in the exhilarating opening, the flowing song of the Andante with teasing ornamentation, and the balletic momentum of the final Presto, this was Italy in a nutshell. Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring made a deeply touching encore.
Angela Hewitt has once again confirmed her already legendary status as a player of Bach. We must hope that she will continue to make frequent returns to York.
Review by Martin Dreyer