Music as a quest

For me, Bach is one of the most essential figures in music – both for those who listen to it and for those who play it. I have felt a strong attraction to his music ever since I was a child. Perhaps that is because his music is so universal: it speaks to people of every age, nationality and culture. Throughout my life, he has therefore been a constant companion. Playing his ‘Goldberg Variations’ was one great musical adventure for me. I also love the second 'French Suite’, which is on the programme this evening. The key, C minor, lends the work a special intensity. In Bach’s work, the minor key has a contemplative yet dramatic quality. How ‘French’ are these French suites, really? Bach scarcely ever left his homeland during his lifetime. That is precisely what I find interesting: he adopts elements from another culture, yet at the same time transforms them into something deeply personal. This applies to all his suites: the 'French' ones are compact and clear, whilst the 'English' ones are more expansive and complex.

There is a surprising kinship between Bach and Debussy, even though a national border and 200 years separate them. Both wrote music that has pedagogical origins. Bach wrote a great deal of keyboard music for his army of children, and Debussy, too, developed his ‘Études’ from a technical premise. Yet at the same time, they both transcend that starting point. They are no longer exercises, but fully-fledged works of art. Chopin played an immensely important role in this. He transformed the étude from a technical exercise into a fully-fledged work of art. For pianists, his ‘Études’ are almost a bible: they demonstrate that virtuosity and poetry can become one and the same. Debussy continues that tradition, but in his own way: his ‘Études’ are technically extremely demanding, yet at the same time subtle, intellectual and playful. It is no coincidence that in French, ‘jouer’ refers both to playing an instrument and to playing like a child. Moreover, his compositions are laced with a touch of irony – so delightfully French!

Chopin, of course, had to feature this evening as well. When I play his music, I am particularly fascinated by the middle period of his life. It is a dark yet highly visionary phase, in which his personal life and his artistic development seem closely intertwined. The works from this period reveal a composer who is constantly exploring the boundaries of form and sound. His harmonies and his use of the pedal sometimes create almost hallucinatory worlds. On a modern piano and in a modern concert hall, it is an enormous challenge to bring that unique musical language back to life. But for me, that is precisely where the poetry of this music lies. In these works, I hear a man who, with his whole body and soul, is searching for something that can give meaning and free him from his burdens. There is immense strength of will, yet at the same time great vulnerability. The music constantly shifts between darkness and light.

Ultimately, that is also what music means to me. A concert is, of course, a moment of beauty and pleasure, but music can be so much more than mere entertainment. It makes us think, prompts us to ask questions about our own lives. And at the same time, it offers a special kind of freedom: it doesn’t tell us exactly what something means. What might be sadness for one listener could mean hope or comfort for someone else. For me, that ambiguity is its greatest strength. It doesn’t give us definitive answers, but opens up a space in which we can listen, feel and reflect for ourselves. Perhaps that is the most beautiful journey a concert can offer.

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