Watts Plays Chopin: A Timeless Dive into Romantic Fire and Finesse
Let’s cut to the chase—André Watts’ Watts Plays Chopin is one of those albums that sneaks up on you. Released in 1973 under Columbia Masterworks, this gem dives deep into the Romantic era with all its emotional turbulence and technical wizardry. It’s not just another classical piano album; it feels like a conversation between Watts and Chopin himself. You can almost picture them sitting at opposite ends of a smoky café table, debating life over espresso.
The record kicks off with some heavy hitters from Chopin’s catalog, but two tracks stuck in my brain like gum under a chair: “Fantaisie in F Minor, Op. 49” and “Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor, Op. 35.” Let me tell ya why these stood out.
First up, the Fantaisie. This piece doesn’t mess around—it grabs you by the collar and says, “Listen up!” Right away, Watts nails that balance between drama and elegance. The opening chords are dark and brooding, like storm clouds rolling in, but then he flips the script with bursts of lightness that feel almost playful. What gets me every time is how fluid his phrasing is. He doesn’t just play the notes—he breathes them. By the end, I’m left wondering if I’ve been holding my breath too. That kind of intensity? Rare.
Then there’s the Sonata No. 2, specifically the third movement, aka the “Marche Funèbre.” If you don’t know this track, where have you been? It’s iconic for a reason. Watts takes what could easily become melodramatic (I mean, it’s literally a funeral march) and turns it into something deeply human. His pacing is perfection—he lets each note hang in the air just long enough to make your chest tighten. But here’s the kicker: when the final presto section hits, it’s like the whole world spins faster. It’s frantic, chaotic even, yet somehow still controlled. Honestly, it gave me goosebumps so intense I had to pause and stare at the ceiling for a minute.
What makes this album special isn’t just the music itself—it’s André Watts. Dude has chops, no doubt, but more than that, he brings personality to the keys. Producer Richard Killough and engineer Raymond Moore deserve props too, because the recording quality still holds up decades later. Every creak of the pedal, every whisper of the strings inside the piano—it’s all there, crystal clear.
Now, let’s talk about an odd little detail. Listening to this album feels like stepping back in time, but not just because it was recorded in ’73. There’s something timeless about the way Watts interprets Chopin. Like, sure, we live in a world of TikTok trends and instant gratification now, but this album reminds you that patience pays off. And maybe that’s why it sticks with me so much—it’s proof that great art doesn’t need to shout to be heard.
Oh, and here’s a random thought before I wrap this up: if Chopin were alive today, would he tweet his feelings instead of turning them into sonatas? Food for thought.
