I have been looking forward to Peter Hill’s
recording of J.S. Bach’s
Well-Tempered Clavier Book 1 since
hugely enjoying his
Book II which came out in 2012 (see
review).
Those of you who have already discovered the “control and poetry”
in that
Book II will know why they simply must have this
Book
I, and Hill’s undemonstrative but highly involving sound and
character draws you in from the outset.
Peter Hill plays Bach as if in one-to-one communion with the composer,
while at the same time sharing it with you, the listener, also on a
one-to-one basis. This intimate love triangle eschews concert hall flashiness,
holding the deeper resonances and brighter colours of the piano in reserve
for particular musical points. It confides and reveals the genius of
the composer rather than the brilliant musicianship of the performer,
while at the same time keeping the notes singing and alive, the rhythms
sprightly and filled with their essential line-fuelled but oft-restrained
Baroque energy. Ornamentation is kept to a minimum, so when the occasional
extra note or twirl come forth it sounds like a special little treat.
Without skimping on expression, Hill spares the music from over-romantic
distortions or wilful individuality. He does however stretch more in
the slower pieces than, for instance,
Arthur
Villar. The
Prelude No. IV in C sharp minor is a case in
point, where Hill sustains the music’s peaks and brings time itself
into slower realms. Villar is by no means inexpressive in this, “one
of the jewels of Book 1”, but Hill really does take us into other
worlds.
The points and comparisons I made with Peter Hill’s
Book II
apply in equal measure to this
Book I. His detailed booklet notes
describe each and every prelude and fugue, and reveal a keen awareness
of the architecture of the work. This includes its division into various
sections, and in performance the pacing and placement of each prelude
and fugue within the whole is certainly more keenly felt here than in
some other versions. As before, Hill uses the expressive nature of the
piano to perform Bach, by no means attempting to recreate harpsichord
effects, but at the same time keeping within an idiom which, to our
modern ears at least, presents the composer in compelling and expressively
potent ways. Take the slow, spread chords of the
Prelude No. 8 in
E flat minor. The sustained eloquence of the melodic notes and the
gentle stresses of the shifting harmonies beneath have a universal effect
of movingly human expression: a
sarabande which “rises
to that of an impassioned, dramatic scena.” Hill keeps his passion
in proportion, but the implied drama is unmistakable. Tempi are perhaps
a little slower than we’ve been used to in preludes such as
Nos.
13 &
14, but the sense of logic and flow in the music
has its own feel of correctness, placing the musicianship of their performance
beyond complaint. He is also not without wit, as the amusingly quirky
discourse of the
Fugue in A major demonstrates.
Do I have any criticisms? No, not really. Hill is neither extreme nor
controversial, and he doesn’t seek to add layers of profundity
where the depth in the pieces can stand for itself. This said, the understated
strength of his performances is instantly recognisable once you’ve
been immersed into his vision of Bach on the piano, and I sincerely
doubt you will feel short-changed at any point.
As with any really good set of Bach’s
WTC I am happy to
take each recording on its merits, and willing to apply these to my
own moments of appreciation.
Angela
Hewitt will always have her way of taking me by surprise, of making
me stop in my tracks and revise my ways of thinking about or viewing
the world.
Roger
Woodward delivers a different kind of inspiration, personal and
challenging at the same time, as do
Sergey
Schepkin,
Abdel
Rahman El Bacha,
Vardo
Rumessen and others. The rather special
Sviatoslav
Richter will always be there if I feel like going down memory lane,
my scratchy ex-library CBS copy of Glenn Gould has its permanent place
in the side pocket of my car door, and
András
Schiff’s set is on the want list. Each has their own individual
voice in this music, and each shows different sides of Bach’s
remarkable powers. Peter Hill’s Bach is the one to which I will
turn when the evening air is still, and both the sinking sun and rising
moon are gazing at each other across a midsummer sky full of tastefully
subtle but mouthwateringly fruity colours.
Dominy Clements 
