One difference between Tim Hugh’s two recordings of the Britten Cello Suites is evident from the jewel-cases alone: a 1988 playing-time of 671÷2 minutes for Hyperion is reduced by more than ten per cent in 1996. Many movements in this new recording are much faster – for example, the fugue from the First Suite, 4'07'' in 1988, now lasts a mere 3'27'', while the relatively large-scale finale of the Third Suite, 8'15'' in 1988, is reduced to 6'50''.
In the latter case ‘reduced’ is probably the right word; this is simply too fast a tempo to convey the deep feeling of this marvellously austere music. Perhaps Hugh now finds that “restraint” noted by reviewers of his earlier performances too limited, and he brings an unambiguous intensity to these powerfully argued scores. Only rarely does his technique threaten to buckle under the strain, as details which receive due weight in other accounts rush by in too generalized a manner – the tough Chaconne which ends the Second Suite is a case in point. While some freedom with the dynamic markings in the score is acceptable interpretative licence, Hugh is surely too eager to ride roughshod over such crucial expressive devices as the diminuendos in the Second Suite’s first movement. This is more sensitively done in his earlier recording.
Tim Hugh is also producing a more sinewy sound than he did eight years ago, and there are places in this faithful Naxos recording where his cello buzzes like an angry bee. If you believe that Britten interpretation has suffered from an excess of gentility, these performances should please you. But I suspect that cellists who allow the music more time to breathe, and more space in which to make its expressive points – like Robert Cohen or Pieter Wispelwey – come closer to the music’s true identity.'