For over three decades, the flow of Gabriel Fauré’s music onto compact disc has continued unabated, and for at least the last two, virtually everything the composer ever published has been available in an abundance of interpretations, many motivated by the spirit of advocacy.Footnote ¹ Reflecting a resurgence of interest in Fauré’s diverse oeuvre while also contributing to it, this steady stream of recordings has been aided by stylistically sensitive research and new critical editions of his compositions, engendering deeper understanding and wider appreciation of his contribution to late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century music.Footnote ² Angela Hewitt’s recent release is an admirable addition to this wellspring.Footnote ³

Her recording features two of Fauré’s most ambitious essays for solo piano, his Thème et variations, Op. 73 (1895) and his Ballade, Op. 19 (1879), both technically challenging yet artistically profound from first note to last. These two works frame five others, including the first and second Valses-caprices, Op. 30 (1882?)Footnote ⁴ and Op. 38 (1884), plus the fifth, sixth and thirteenth Nocturnes, Op. 37 (1884), Op. 63 (1894) and Op. 119 (1921). Thus this disc does not present a proper survey of Fauré’s piano music – which includes four romances sans paroles, six impromptus, 13 barcarolles, nine preludes, plus his Huit pièces brèves, among others, as well as the ever-popular Pavane and Dolly suite – but rather a personal selection emblematic of Hewitt’s long involvement with this repertoire, works she describes as ‘old friends’ (p. 2).

The booklet holding her self-penned liner notes bears the warmly shimmering image of Effet d’automne à Argenteuil (1873) by Fauré’s contemporary Claude Monet (1840–1926), but the word ‘impressionism’ never appears within, and rightly so, for the composer’s music was much more influenced by poetry than the visual arts, particularly the Symbolist movement initiated by Charles Baudelaire and furthered by Paul Verlaine. Hewitt is quick to reveal that when introduced to the music of Fauré, she immersed herself in his songs, many of which feature Symbolist poetry: ‘I remember buying the LPs of the complete mélodies and listening to them time and time again, following the words and translations’ (p. 2) – an ideal way to become intimately acquainted with the composer’s unique and continuously evolving style.

Hewitt’s entries in the Hyperion catalogue include recordings of Beethoven, Chabrier, Chopin, Couperin, Debussy, Messiaen, Mozart, Rameau, Ravel and Schumann, among others. However, Bach is the most heavily represented composer in her discography – and his presence is perceptible on this disc.Footnote ⁵ The affinity between Bach and Fauré might not be immediately apparent, though most musicians will recall that Fauré was an organist and a choirmaster at L’Église de la Madeleine in Paris, and some should remember that he edited the keyboard works of Bach for the publisher Durand in the second decade of the twentieth century. Beyond these links, however, the connection may seem rather tenuous. Indeed, Fauré usually is associated with engaging lyricism and the ‘long line’, or with rich and colourful harmony, or with frequent and distant modulations, or with subtle rhythmic schemes and fluid metric shifts (the composer’s lifelong fascination with hemiola is unparalleled!). However, this CD demonstrates just how very contrapuntal Fauré’s music is. Surely Hewitt’s experiences with Bach have shaped her interpretations here, lending audible dimensionality to Fauré’s musical textures that may surprise many listeners.

Another striking aspect of this recording is the sound of Hewitt’s piano, whose touch appears to enable her to distinguish dynamically multiple melodic strands in a complex texture with ease and flexibility. Its tone seems clean and distinct, yet also quite homogenous, lending a contemporary aura to these late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century works. Recorded in the Jesus-Christus-Kirche of Berlin, the instrument’s transparent character comes across as particularly effective in the first and last works, where interactive counterpoint dominates the extroverted compositions.

Fauré’s Thème et variations (1895) was published and premiered in London at a time when the composer sought wider exposure for his music.Footnote ⁶ Although it has been suggested that Schumann’s Études Symphoniques served Fauré as a model,Footnote ⁷ Mendelssohn’s variation sets seem no less relevant, and allusions to Chopin and Liszt are perceptible too, especially in the variations’ textural characteristics. Yet the Thème et variations is thoroughly and uniquely Fauréan, its style a distillation of these forebears’ influences as well as others, and its modernity lies in its innovative treatment of rhythm.

Its theme consists of five four-bar phrases – effectively a–b–a′–b′–a′ – set in C-sharp minor and in common time, with the bass absent on each of the 20 downbeats, a Fauréan fingerprint that contributes to its fluidity. Dotted rhythms in the top melody and a dense harmonic texture create a severe, almost funereal air, while Fauré’s accents on beats two and four in the a and a′ phrases hint at the metric and rhythmic conflicts that will drive the subsequent variations forward toward a climactic conclusion in the penultimate variation. Although Fauré’s score is well marked, one might wish Hewitt had incorporated more interpretive nuances within the internal repetitions, perhaps to signal features that will figure importantly later in the composition, like the Phrygian inflections and subtle changes in harmonization – to individuate them a bit more.Footnote ⁸ (The same might be said with respect to the fourth and eighth variations, which contain repeat signs.) Nevertheless, Hewitt’s consistency and reserve in these opening measures sharpen the contrast between the theme and its first variation, which features a gentler mood and textural inversion (the primary melody is transferred to the bass and given an obbligato of running semiquavers above).

The next variation recalls a Chopin étude, with a distinctively articulated primary melodic strand interacting with a secondary one below, accompanied by harmonic figuration and a bass line. Hewitt effectively distinguishes foreground, middleground and background elements with effortlessness. Rhythmic and metric grouping conflicts emerge more overtly here, enabled by her sure control over dynamics and articulation, contributing to a convincing sense of thematic transformation and emergent teleology.

Variations 3–5 feature triple metre, while Variations 6–9 return to common time, each exploring contrapuntal exchange and rhythmic competition within four-part textures as they further the rhythmic/metric conflict set to play out at the composition’s dénouement. Attention shifts to the inner voices in the first three of these, where the main melodic strand is surrounded by supportive elements and often passed from hand to hand. In Variations 6, 8 and 9, attention shifts to a dialogue between the outer voices, while Variation 7 features expressive imitation between soprano and tenor strands, all of which is performed clearly, thanks to Hewitt’s careful attention to their projection and phrasing.

Contrapuntal opposition and rhythmic/metric contention comes to a head in the bravura tenth variation, which features broad crossing gestures that traverse great registral expanses, plus the effect of phase shifting that gradually realigns contentious grouping patterns only in the final quarter of the variation before its fortissimo close. In a decidedly anti-Romantic swerve, Fauré’s final transcendent variation offers dramatic resolution through a surprising transformation from minor to major, abandonment of quadruple for triple metre, and finally, convincing escape from the four-bar model that had shaped so many of its phrases. Of this close, ‘which looks sparse on the page but is one of the most intense things he ever wrote’, according to Hewitt, she admits, ‘Every time I play it I get the shivers’ (p. 4). Engaged listeners will too, for her recording of Fauré’s Thème et variations is truly compelling.

The composer’s four Valses-caprices belong to a vital and imaginative tradition, established by Schubert and exalted by Chopin, that transformed the couples dance into evocative representations of social interaction – fanciful réminiscences of ballroom experiences bearing the energy and emotions associated with those affairs, but translated into tone.Footnote ⁹ Fauré’s contributions to the genre, which are not as well known as they deserve to be, unfold episodically, often with quasi-improvisatory links between contrasting sections and reprises. They exploit rhythm, tempo, register and timbre to capture the essence of the gala occasion they portray. Rhythmically, they feature frequent challenges to the dominance of the triple metre, including competing stresses within the bar, obscuration via hemiola, and extended transitional passages where downbeats seem absent altogether, suggestive of a moment frozen in time. Tempo changes occur often and at times capriciously, as one might expect, bringing new moods while maintaining engagement. Registral contrast serves to distinguish discrete sections, but also as an objective all its own, though Fauré does display a preference for the upper half of the keyboard in these works. Timbral variety, deriving from register, texture, dynamics and articulation, also plays a significant role, the interplay of colour lending opulence. Admired by Fauré’s friends Camille Saint-Saëns and Isaac Albéniz, these Valses-caprices also have found a fan in Angela Hewitt, who declares, ‘I love the physical feel of playing this music – passing the melody between hands (Fauré was ambidextrous), the imaginative passagework and harmonies that encircle it, the rhythms of the dance, the surprising turns in the harmonies and the different colours that Fauré demands, the boisterous bits contrasted by moments of great tenderness’ (p. 4).

Her renditions of Fauré’s Valse-caprices Nos 1 and 2 are persuasive, proof positive of a good grasp of their nature as ethereal products of memory and rêverie.Footnote ¹⁰ The élan, effervescence and frivolity are all there, as are the grace, gesturality and volatility one would expect. However, somewhat wanting are the variety of colours and the resonant sonority called for by Fauré’s musical conceptions. The premise of counterpoint remains foundational in these dances, to be sure, but timbre itself becomes a constructive element here – its gradual, spectrum-like change as well as its sharp juxtaposition. Sonority plays a bigger part in this music too – the resonance, fullness and warmth produced and sensed within a given space. The same may be said with respect to the Nocturnes on this disc, whose evocative recollections of night, while also still contrapuntal, emphasize long-sustained treble lyricism, a foundational bass line, and harmony that undulates with rich and shifting colour.

Two factors play particularly crucial roles with respect to Fauré’s more intimate works, like the Valses-caprices and the Nocturnes, in contrast to more public pieces, like the Thème et variations and the Ballade: the sound of the piano, and the size of the space within which it is played. All of Fauré’s piano pieces were conceived in terms of the Érard, whose straight-strung (parallel) design – in contrast to the cross-strung design of most contemporary instruments – gave the different registers distinctive and complementary colours.Footnote ¹¹ The Érard’s tone was (and is, when one has the chance to hear it) rich, warm and big in the middle, incisive and potentially quite powerful in the bass, and brilliant, even glassy in at the top, and all of these qualities could be varied, depending on the dynamic level, pedalling, articulation and the texture of the music itself. And while the dynamics of the Valses-caprices and the Nocturnes extend from pianissimo to fortissimo, both were conceived for performance in drawing rooms and small recital halls, where the perceptible range, practically speaking, was larger than in concert halls, and where the smallest of nuances could be readily discerned.

So although it may seem curious to speak of a ‘period instrument’ and ‘historical performance practice’ with respect to a composer who passed away less than 100 years ago, the notions of differing registral timbres and specific acoustical environments deserve serious consideration. Of course, it is true that Érards and drawing rooms may be rarely available today, but recreating the composer’s expectations and intentions as much as possible within given circumstances remains the key to fully realizing what the composer’s Valses-caprices and Nocturnes have to offer. And in this regard, adjustments to a piano’s voicing and the conditions of its recording can help.

Fauré’s Ballade (1879), dedicated to Saint-Saëns, is the earliest of the composer’s works on this CD, and perhaps the most consciously virtuosic.Footnote ¹² However, its challenge comes not so much from the pursuit of dazzling speed or athletic display, but from its orchestral conception. Indeed, the Ballade’s texturally complex character would lead the composer to produce a concertante version for piano with strings and winds two years later. Its tripartite structure, which arose from the union of separate pieces, features thematic combination and conversational interaction among the upper voices, as well as melodic inversion and imitation; counterpoint is central here too.Footnote ¹³ And like the Thème et variations, the Ballade ends quietly and delicately, amid single and double trills, echoes of motivic fragments and an evaporative effect that spans the entire range of the piano at the absolute softest dynamic level. Hewitt navigates the Ballade’s musical narrative with far-sighted confidence, negotiating its digital demands without drawing excessive attention to them, enabling its drama to speak for itself and to resonate in memory after its last low notes fade.

Listeners are apt to agree that a recording of the Ballade’s orchestral version by this pianist would be most welcome, as its symphonic colour palette naturally heightens the eloquent poetry of the piano part. And it would be well-paired with Fauré’s Fantaisie pour piano et orchestre, Op. 111 (1918), whose neoclassic style and thoroughly modern sensibility offers sharp contrast to the former’s Romantic spirit. Back to back they would offer a splendid opportunity to hear how far the composer came in his long career, as well as to experience Angela Hewitt’s natural empathy for and genuine commitment to his art.