Was Chopin really epileptic? Or just in the groove?

A team of Spanish medial researchers think that Chopin may have been an epileptic. And perhaps he was. His early death at 39 has never been explained, and that he had serious health problems is obvious. Maybe, along with tuberculosis and cystic fibrosis, epilepsy is a contender.

But without claiming the slightest medical expertise here, I'm not convinced by the medics' argument that his recorded instances of apparent hallucination are proof of epileptic seizure.

The traditional explanation for these time-out moments has usually to do with the hypersensitivity of a romantic soul; and to talk in such terms is always suspect. But at the same time, there are (or at least were) such things as romantic souls; hypersensitivity among creative or performing artists isn't exactly uncommon; and stepping out of time and/or reality in the process of performance does happen.
Only last night I went to a Royal Philharmonic Society event at which my friend and fellow Telegraph blogger, the pianist Stephen Hough, was giving a public talk. Being one of those rare specimens, a musician who can talk – with enviable clarity, authority and fluency – about what he does, it was an illuminating hour or so that covered a lot of ground. But one thing that stood out was a discussion of what happens when, in the course of a performance that's going particularly well, you get into the groove (my phrase not his: I'm sure he put it more elegantly) and stop having to work at it – because the music literally takes over.
However you define this phenomenon, it seems to have some connection with a detachment of the mind from immediate reality. And though the detachment is necessarily limited, because when you're playing the piano in public you have to maintain some kind of control, it does at some level turn the performer into a vehicle for his music rather than its master. Chopin's 'hallucinations' strike me as something that could perhaps be of the same nature. They don't have to be a sign of epilepsy.
Neurosis, of course, is another matter – and Hough had things to say about that last night as well. Basically, he doesn't subscribe do it. And though it's a trait you'd expect to find in any romantic figure, he told a story about Liszt that presents this year's big anniversary composer in surprisingly grounded terms.
Arriving for a concert in Dublin, Liszt was slightly taken aback to find himself provided with an upright piano. Worse still, it had keys that got stuck. But did he storm off in a fit of justifiable pique? No. He accepted the situation, played the upright, and got his page-turner to reach into the piano case and give the offending keys a prod when necessary.
The personal rider to this story was an admission that when Hough takes a new programme on tour, facing heaven knows what by way of pianos, he tends to avoid pieces with a lot of repeating notes. Just in case. Such are the low practicalities that lie behind high artistic decision-making.