‘Nobody can make a career in Bach,’ Rosalyn Tureck was told by the judges of the Naumberg competition, after she had reached the finals with an all-Bach programme but failed to win. Well, Tureck has done precisely that, of course, as these discs triumphantly attest. Few musicians have devoted themselves so thoroughly to the work of one composer, applying a keen historical verisimilitude to questions of interpretation and style. As well as the piano Tureck mastered the harpsichord and clavichord – long before they became fashionable – and has played Bach on all these instruments. However, with these recordings of the Partitas, made between 1956 and 1958, one can almost forget the instrument: it matters very little. What does matter is that, quite simply, this is great Bach playing.
While the instrument itself is relatively unimportant, Tureck’s approach to it is crucial. Under her amazing fingers the piano barely seems a percussive instrument at all: in places she sings, strokes or caresses, in others she seems to pluck or strum, but rarely does she hit. Her sound has an incredible warmth and intimacy, with awesome control and articulation at the softest dynamics. In his sympathetic notes John Ardoin extols Tureck’s ‘velvet sound, which, along with that of Myra Hess and Wilhelm Kempff, remains one of the most beautiful ever captured on a recording.’ Her sotto voce expression, evident through much of the music, is exquisite and illustrates her complete finger independence; she employs the pedals (and unlike Glenn Gould she does advocate their selective use) primarily to exploit the subtle varieties of sonority between sustained and detached tone. (Tureck considers the contrast in quality ofsound – the fingers alone should determine the quantity – as one of the most valuable assets for playing Bach on the piano.) Her range of sonority, colour and dynamics is markedly wider than that of Gould, who more strongly emphasizes the rhythmic and contrapuntal vitality of the music.
The qualities of Tureck’s playing shine through every movement. The G major Corrente is a perfect example of her magical touch and the confidentiality of her playing. So, too, is the A minor Sarabande (especially from 3'30'' – is it possible to play more softly than this and yet retain the same purpose of line?); some may find Tureck’s approach too subdued, yet her synthesis of an intimacy more associated with the clavichord, a harpsichord-like clarity and precision and the piano’s wealth of tonal variety brings its own unique rewards. Angela Hewitt, on her magnificent Hyperion set, is altogether more muscular and stronger toned, with vigorous playing that conjures a bolder dance-like spirit. Both pianists convey a naturalness of gait and tempo, but Hewitt is more sprightly whereas Tureck is nimble and fleet-footed. Tureck’s way of accentuating entries in the fugal movements may cause frowns in some quarters: in the G major Gigue, for example, taken at a broad tempo, she highlights each entry more blatantly than Hewitt, who at a faster tempo still announces them, but gives the texture a greater fluency; Gould, by contrast, allows the voices to grow naturally out of the fabric, but his fast tempo and hardness of tone give the movement a relentless, almost shapeless, toccata-like quality.
Throughout, Tureck’s pianistic perfection and musical discretion and insight are an inspiration. Yet, while in awe of her technical control and her personal communion with the composer, I still return to Hewitt’s recording with a renewed love of her full and bright tone and fluent dancing style. Historically and musically, this new release is important and amply illustrates Tureck’s status as a ‘Great Pianist’; any recommendation for a recording of the Partitas depends on one’s tastes and priorities, and I wouldn’t want to be without Tureck’s or Hewitt’s. If you love Bach, get both.'