So that’s how long twenty-five years is. Just under half my life so far. Does it feel like it? Well no if I think back to that night of May 10, 1985 in Roy Thomson Hall when we all anxiously awaited the jury’s decision in the one-time-only Toronto International Bach Piano Competition. I had just performed along with the three other finalists a Bach Concerto with the TSO under Andrew Davis (not yet Sir Andrew!), and my final own-choice selection, Liszt’s powerful “Aprės une Lecture de Dante”. When I walked on stage to perform that virtuoso piece, TV cameras and a sold-out audience all focussed on me, I knew I had to show everything I had. For ten years, since the age of 16, I had been on the international piano competition circuit, winning many prizes but lacking the “big one”. Winning this would, I knew, launch me worldwide and put an end to competitions for life. It wasn’t easy being in the spotlight on home territory. If I lost, all would know (in those days it was easier to hide such a thing if it were on the other side of the ocean), and say that the Russians were better anyway. If I won there was the danger that people would say it was fixed. I needed to really show I deserved it. Bach had always been in my life from the time I was born—unlike many competitors who had learned it only in order to participate in the competition. But I knew this was my repertoire, too, so I felt I could do it.
And I did. I found the strength, both inner and physical, the immense concentration, and the heart—all things needed for any successful performance—and brought it off. I knew I had done my best. The rest was not up to me. I had been through enough competitions to know what goes on in jury rooms—in that regard I had no illusions left. But surely this jury was a smart one: it included one of my pianist idols, Leon Fleisher; one of the foremost composers of the 20th century, Olivier Messiaen and his formidable pianist wife, Yvonne Loriod (I had played a composition by him, made famous by her, in my semi-final round, taking an enormous risk); the Russian composer Rodion Shchedrin, and so on. I remember sitting in my dressing room backstage in my sparkling burgundy gown, just waiting.
Soon after midnight, the jury appeared and made their way onto the stage. The finalists were asked to remain in the wings. If you want to avoid stress in your life, never enter an international piano competition. Niki Goldschmidt, whose idea this whole thing was, stood there smiling away. Gilles Lefebvre, the Chairman of the Jury, began by announcing the Fourth Prize (Boris Slutsky, Russia). Then the Third (Evgeni Koroliov, Russia). Of course when he opened his mouth to say, “Second Prize, Konstanze Eickhorst of Germany” there was a roar from the audience before he could even finish his phrase. I will never forget that moment and the immense sense of relief I felt. No more competitions. The door had been opened. It had happened.
And I say “the door had been opened” because in fact that is all it is. An immense opportunity to then build a life with music: to keep showing time after time that you were worthy of it; that you can continue to grow as a person and as a pianist; that you can withstand constant, enormous pressure; that you have the repertoire to sustain 100 concerts a year; that you can put up with constant travelling and never being at home. But that after 25 years of doing so, you can still get up on stage and feel the freshness of a piece you have played all your life and play it with all your heart.
So yes, in a way it feels like 25 years, but 25 years in which I have not wasted one minute. Were there surprises along the way? Yes, of course, many. Perhaps the biggest one was how, even after being awarded such a wonderful prize and receiving a recording on Deutsche Grammophon (immediately nominated for a Gramophone Award), I still had to fight every inch of the way myself. My career has never been a flash in the pan which is perhaps why it has a reassuring feel of stability. In 1985 I would never have dreamt of having my own festival in Italy, let alone a home there. I would have been thrilled to know that I would go on to record all the major keyboard works of Bach—a childhood dream—but I couldn’t have imagined the immense amount of work and sacrifice involved. And I certainly could never have believed I would be writing an online diary for all the world to read! But that is how it is now, and I have not regretted one moment of it. What I do realize is how important those early years are in a life, and one’s upbringing. All of the repertoire I am playing tonight was learned in the first 25 years of my life. That is what stays with you the most. For that reason, I would like to dedicate this recital to my piano teachers and to the wonderful start they gave me: my parents, Marion and Godfrey Hewitt, Earle Moss, Myrtle Guerrero, and, the only one still alive, Jean-Paul Sévilla.
Award-winning and world-renowned Pianist, Angela Hewitt, returns for a much anticipated engagement at Roy Thomson Hall on February 12, 2010. Angela Hewitt will be performing the same repertoire that lead to her career launching win at the Toronto International Bach Piano Competition in 1985.
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I had the great privilege of attending the Feb. 12 concert at Roy Thompson Hall. Ms. Hewitt was captivating and triumphant on this anniversary, and her audience was warmly appreciative. It was a joy to be there!
Can’t wait for Angela’s concert!