Those who, sadly, retain an image of Dame Myra Hess as either a sober-suited pianist inclined towards severity or a ‘graciousness’ that excluded the toughest, most durable virtues, are in for a surprise. For here, on this truly glorious record, she ranges effortlessly from sheer wit and style (Schumann’s Carnaval) to a dancing rhythmic magic (Scarlatti), from a glowing poetic inwardness (all the Brahms, with perhaps Op. 76 No. 3 as the distantly shining star of the set) to a matchless eloquence (Howard Ferguson’s tragic masterpiece, his 1938-40 Piano Sonata). Yet all such qualities are seamlessly joined. Nothing is forced and whether you consider her regal tonal resource (tirelessly celebrated by Stephen Kovacevich, her finest pupil), or a naturalness and candour easy to underestimate, everything is achieved with supreme authority; an illusion achieved by only the truest artists.
Many years ago that august publication, The Record Guide (Collins: 1955) lamented the deletion of Dame Myra’s “excellent” 78s of the Ferguson Sonata. Her performance is ‘excellent’ indeed, as haunting in the Poco adagio (surely among the most moving pages in all English piano music) as it is magisterial in the very Lisztian conclusion. Then there is her Carnaval, among the finest ever recorded. Her pedalling and voicing in the “Valse noble” are subtle and discreet, whereas her final pages are an ebullient promise that all possible Philistines will be routed from the field. Throughout, nothing is glossed over, everything is a distillation of years of the most single-minded skill and affection. Tobias Matthay (her beloved “Uncle Tobs”) would surely have revelled in his student’s skittish brilliance in his Elves and, no doubt, been moved to tears by her inimitable performance of Bach’s “Jesu, joy of man’s desiring”, music inseparable from her greatness.
What an object-lesson, then, for today’s harassed young pianists, jostling for attention in an increasingly commercial market-place, a reminder of a poetic and speculative artistry beyond price. Finally, David Lennick’s transfers are masterly and Wayne Kiley’s notes refer movingly to the legendary wartime National Gallery concerts held in London, where Hess’s performances created an “indelible image of hope and vision in adversity”.'