BACH: Inventions and — well — Sinfonias, BWV 772-801; Fantasia in C minor, BWV 906; Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, BWV 903
Angela Hewitt, piano
Hyperion CDA66746 [63:09]
Recorded January 1994, Beethovensaal, Hanover
The vanilla test, I call it. When confronted with a new ice cream maker—and yes, living near Paris means encountering artisanal gelato with alarming frequency—I always order vanilla first. Not chocolate, not pistachio, not some fashionable lavender concoction.
Vanilla. Because if they can’t get the fundamental flavor right, the rest is academic. Bach’s Inventions and Sinfonias function the same way for keyboard players.
These are the pieces that reveal everything—touch, voicing, rhythmic integrity, the capacity to make pedagogy sound like music rather than finger exercises for ambitious twelve-year-olds. Angela Hewitt passes the test. Brilliantly.
She treats these compact marvels—most under two minutes, written for Bach’s son Wilhelm Friedemann as teaching pieces—as the sophisticated counterpoint they actually are. From the opening bars of the C major Two-Part Invention, her approach announces itself: flowing but never rushed, articulated with crystalline clarity, voiced so that both hands maintain their melodic independence without one overwhelming the other. The Fourth Invention in D minor proves this balance particularly well, the two lines conversing rather than competing, each phrase shaped with subtle dynamic inflection that never calls attention to itself.
The slower inventions reveal her control. The Sixth in E major, the Ninth in F minor, the Eleventh in G minor—these demand restraint, and Hewitt provides it. More crucially, she uses the sustaining pedal with monastic discipline.
Too much pedal in these pieces creates sonic mud; the contrapuntal lines blur into impressionistic haze. Hewitt keeps the texture transparent, allowing Bach’s voice-leading to speak. The Three-Part Sinfonias (Bach called them simply “Inventions” too, before some well-meaning editor decided we needed separate nomenclature) add a third melodic strand, increasing the complexity without fundamentally altering the aesthetic.
The subtle intake of breath before the pianist’s attack.
The Second Sinfonia flows with graceful ornamentation, Hewitt’s touch light but never precious. The Fifth in E-flat major, with its cascading figurations, sounds genuinely joyful—though here, just occasionally, the piano’s resonance thickens the texture slightly in the denser passages. A minor quibble.
But then comes the F minor Sinfonia, BWV 795. At nearly four minutes, it stands apart from its companions—darker, more chromatic, harmonically adventurous in ways that anticipate the Well-Tempered Clavier at its most profound. Hewitt recognizes this.
She plays it as the masterwork it is, with the gravitas one might bring to the final fugue of The Art of Fugue. Those “bleak harmonies and agonizing chromaticisms” (her words, from the distinguished liner notes she wrote herself) emerge with genuine emotional weight. This is music that makes you forget it was composed to teach a teenager proper fingering.
The two fantasias that frame the Inventions and Sinfonias provide welcome contrast. The C minor Fantasia, BWV 906, gets forceful treatment—perhaps slightly more percussive than I’d prefer, though the piano’s attack suits Bach’s rhythmic drive. The Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, that wild display of harmonic daring and keyboard virtuosity, receives playing that’s both technically assured and interpretively bold.
Hewitt understands that the piece’s chromaticism should sound audacious, even slightly dangerous. Her fugue doesn’t merely prove contrapuntal mastery; it builds dramatic tension through carefully calibrated tempo and dynamic variation. One could argue—and harpsichord purists certainly will—that these works sound more idiomatic on their original instruments.
The harpsichord’s plucked attack makes the rhythmic patterns more obviously percussive; the clavichord’s intimate dynamic range suits the smaller inventions. But Hewitt makes a convincing case for the modern piano. Her instrument’s tonal palette allows for shadings impossible on harpsichord, and she exploits this advantage without ever slipping into romantic excess.
The 1994 Hyperion release captures her Fazioli piano with typical clarity—warm but not overly resonant, detailed without clinical coldness. The Beethovensaal’s acoustic provides just enough ambience to prevent dryness. This disc stands as one of the finest piano recordings of these works.
Hewitt brings musical intelligence, technical command, and—rarest of all—the ability to make familiar repertoire sound freshly discovered. She treats Bach’s didactic intentions seriously while never forgetting that great pedagogy and great art aren’t mutually exclusive. The vanilla is excellent.
One should definitely try the other flavors.
