Hough has made sure that there are connections to be found here. A short Rachmaninov segment includes his nostalgic take on Kreisler’s Love’s sorrow, tenderness and fleet fingers combined, and his stunning bumblebee transcription. These and the familiar G sharp minor prélude join the smoky prélude by Abram Chasins, friend of and expert on many of the great pianists of the twentieth century. It is one of a set of twenty four préludes that pianists the stature of Jorge Bolet and Benno Moiseiwitsch would dip into.
France is represented by a favourite of Hough’s, Cécile Chaminade, a once feted composer and pianist whose light shines brighter now than at any time since her death in 1944. She made a speciality of composing well-crafted miniatures in a wonderfully charming, melodic fashion. Les Sylvains remains a popular and sparkling choice. Hough adds the short Thème varié, its ancient-sounding theme decorated in glittering style, and the even more glittering Toccata. Hough’s silky touch is very evident in these French treasures. He couples this with a less well known piece by Delibes, the chirpy passepied from his incidental music to Victor Hugo’s Le roi s’amuse. It was recorded in the 78rpm era by both Ossip Gabrilowitsch and Benno Moiseiwitsch as well as a couple of now forgotten pianists.
The French sojourn leads nicely into a rarity from the pen of Australian composer Malcolm Williamson, two selections from his Travel Diaries. The first is a lovely, lilting slow waltz evoking the flower-sellers in the Place de la Madeleine before we are whisked over the Atlantic to New York’s Broadway and an equally beautiful song without words that rivals Gershwin for easy lyricism; I am on a mission to add these to my repertoire! Staying in the States, we hear To a wild rose, Edward MacDowell’s delicate tribute to that sweet flower that has rather left the rest of MacDowell’s woodland pictures in the shade. Its links to nature it take us back to Europe and more specifically Scandanavia via Germany.
Schumann’s ruminative Prophet bird issurely the most enigmatic piece he wrote. Christian Sinding’s once ubiquitous Rustle of Spring is by far the most famous work here; it sounds wonderfully fresh under Hough’s fingers. The piano music of Sibelius is only recently emerging into the light, doubtless helped by delightful little pieces such as the jaunty broken chord étude played here. Amongst all the luxurious romanticism, Wilhelm Kempff’s sublime transcription takes us back to an earlier golden age of poise and simple elegance, a moment of calm between Chaminade’s frothy toccata and a visit to the Iberian peninsula in the form of Granados’s Andaluza, the fifth of his Spanish Dances.
This leaves Hough’s own transcriptions, a highlight of any album they grace from his early transcriptions of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Quilter and Woodforde-Finden onwards. He ties many of these in with the original works. Taiwanese composer Deng Yu-Hsien’s Spring breeze prelude is placed after the Rachmaninov pieces and is played in the style of Rachmaninov’s G major prelude Op 32 No 5. He stays in the Far East for the serene Aka tombo, red dragonfly, by Kōsaku Yamada. Perhaps dragonflies are a more sedate creature in Japan. This children’s song from 1927 connects through almost a century to a song from one of the most popular childrens’ movies of the 21st century, Frozen. I say “childrens’ movie” but I have just discovered that a conductor of my acquaintance, passionate in his love of Wagner, absolutely loves it.
Hough’s transcription of Do you want to build a snowman? is as idiomatic as any classical song transcription and captures glistening snow, almost a main character in the film, in its clever figuration. Tying in with Granados’s Andaluza is a Mexican folk song Cielito lindo, familiar by its theme if not by its name; both are coplas, folk-songs from each composers’ unique locale. The nature scenes at the end of the recital are joined by the American standard Nature Boy, which Hough turns into an extended meditative waltz fantasy with echoes of Rachmaninov’s rich writing and a little impressionism.
Movie transcriptions complete Hough’s journey around the world. Pixar’s Coco brings the touching and very-Disney Remember me delivered in a disarmingly unfussy manner, letting its heartfelt melody slowly unfold. Reflection from Disney’s Chinese folk epic Mulan has something of the same feel it develops in passion and intricacy, and Hough brings something of Ravel’s Jeux d’eau into the mix. Last but certainly not least is Hough’s tribute to Mary Poppins, a film that turned sixty in 2024. The subtlety, virtuosity, harmonic variety and contrapuntal mastery familiar from Hough’s older transcriptions such as My favourite things, Carousel Waltz or Londonderry Air is imbued in every note of the intoxicating waltz that is Chim chim cher-ee, the intimacy of Feed the birds with a lovely counter-melody intertwined and birds singing in the accompaniment, and the kaleidoscopic Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Hough stunned with this in his quietly unmannered way when I saw him in recital just under a year ago. The sheer joy in its creation and performance is as clear in this studio recording. Along the way you might meet Beethoven, Weber and Rimsky-Korsakov, a gift of Hough’s witty imagination.
I cannot convey my utter delight with this album; it will be in the player often. Even the booklet cover, an image taken from a 19th century board game Voyage around the World, tickles the fancy. Hough is a magnificent pianist. He carries the flame for the golden age pianists he so admires with charm, intelligence, elegance, wit and dazzling technical acumen. I cannot imagine any piano lover who would not be spellbound by the playing in every note of this magical recital.
