A look at the cover of Sir Stephen Hough’s new album, a collection of his own music, evokes a bygone age even before seeing that the featured works are titled Piano Concerto 'The world of yesterday', Sonatina nostalgica and Partita.
In his liner notes, Hough reveals the genesis of his piano concerto to have taken place during the pandemic, inspired by an email suggesting he write a score for a movie about a concert pianist writing a piano concerto. As he himself admits, the canon of such works is extensive and intimidating, but there is no sense of Hough falling into the traps of established tropes. Neither is the title any kind of excuse for rose-tinted indulgence; the music treads a line between nostalgia and originality, and this isn’t surprising when the composer and pianist in question gave us that delightful piano album of lollipops played so expressively but without excessive sentimentality, early in his recording career.
This is ‘yesterday’ in full colour, with the heart of a waltz giving rise to moments of solo piano retrospection and exploration, and creating space for rising intensity throughout the variations that follow. The splendour of a ballroom is brought to life, whilst some of the rhythmic agitation echoes the productivity and invention of the past, strengthened by Hough’s movements between solo piano, pianist as accompanist to the orchestra and all forces coming together in celebration. It isn’t always the case that a composer is the ideal proponent in performance of their own music, but like Rachmaninoff and Godowsky, Hough has such limitless command of the piano and the vast canvas it offers, that he meets and even surpasses the challenges he has set. The strength of his partnership with Sir Mark Elder and The Hallé is strongly in evidence throughout, and something I witnessed first-hand last year in a monumental performance of Brahms's first piano concerto.
The sonatina is the most concise of the works included on this album, commissioned by Hough’s alma mater, Chetham’s School of Music, for Philip Fowke—a friend from the days when both were studying with the legendary Manchester pedagogue, Gordon Green. This unashamedly romantic music is anchored in memories of Hough’s early stomping ground of Lymm in Cheshire, and those who populated his life there. The brevity of the three movements gives him just long enough to share his wistful nostalgia without becoming lost in it. It makes for a lovely companion to his book, Enough: Scenes from Childhood, bringing some of the atmosphere of those early days to musical life.
The four-movement Partita returns to the celebratory feeling of the concerto, couched in a more obviously twentieth-century landscape in its range of colours. It moves between angularity and melodies infused with a Belle Époque sensibility, and even hints of folksong and jazz. It encapsulates Hough’s eclectic versatility and wide terms of reference as performer, composer, writer and painter, and as with the piano concerto and sonatina, it gives a nod to the past whilst being totally original.
This album serves as a cherishable portrait of a much-loved and often enigmatic figure, whilst also being so much more than that. It is a gift of genuinely fresh and engaging music, played with both sensitivity and aplomb by both pianist and orchestra, and afforded superb recorded sound.