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Who or what inspired you to take up the piano, and pursue a career in music?

Actually no one in my family is a musician; I never had pressure from my family, and the start of my adventure with music was one of the most natural processes – so natural that I still don’t know if I chose the music, or if the music chose me.

Who or what have been the most important influences on your musical life and career?

Definitely some things I’ve read – philosophical essays, some big German, French, Italian and Russian novels. And of course the holy books.

What have been the greatest challenges of your career so far?

Every time disenchantment has made its way into my heart.

Which performance/recordings are you most proud of?

Always the next one!

But I’m still touched by some unbelievable experiences, such as my debut at the Royal Albert Hall in London with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.

Which particular works do you think you play best?

The new one I’m going to practice!

But Mozart is without any doubt a great friend of mine.

How do you make your repertoire choices from season to season?

I try to understand the changeable directions of my artistic wishes, and follow them. A concert programme should be a coherent spiritual journey, where different composers and music works interact and connect with each other, reaching a common vision at the end.

Some composers, however, are like lights in the dark for me: things may change on the surface, but deep inside they are always there. I can think of Mozart, Beethoven and Schumann, who have always been very close to my soul.

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in and why?

The Amsterdam Concertgebouw: that staircase seems to be the stairway to heaven!

Who are your favourite musicians?

Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli, Grigory Sokolov and Sergiu Celibidache.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

A concert with Maestro Gergiev in St. Petersburg. The concert was at 10pm, he arrived at 9.55pm. No rehearsal. Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No.3 on the menu. My debut with him and his orchestra. Live broadcast in all Russia. I wouldn’t wish those first five minutes on my worst enemy!

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

To me, this kind of success simply doesn’t exist. Art is a never-ending creative process, and for this reason it will always be ahead of us, moving infinitely, and as finite humans we will never catch up!

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

Just one: that there can be no Beauty if it’s not connected to the Truth.

Where would you like to be in 10 years’ time?

I don’t know where I’d like to be, but I certainly know where I’d like not to be: in the land of illusion. I wish to always remain devoted to the Truth.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

When a human being is able to connect with all his own innermost feelings.

What is your most treasured possession?

My will.

What is your present state of mind?

Restless.

Federico Colli appears at this year’s London Piano Festival which runs from 2-6 October at King’s Place. More information

Italian pianist Federico Colli is internationally recognised for his intelligent, imaginative interpretations and impeccable technique, praised for his ‘crystalline brilliance and translucence that takes you to the heart of everything he plays.’ (Gramophone)
Federico first came to prominence after winning the Salzburg Mozart Competition in 2011 and the Leeds International Piano Competition in 2012. Since then, he has been performing with orchestras including the Mariinsky Orchestra, St. Petersburg Philharmonic, Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia, RAI National Symphony, BBC Symphony, Royal Scottish National, RTÉ National Symphony, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic, Hallé Orchestra, Philharmonia Orchestra, Vienna Chamber, Camerata Salzburg, Klassische Philharmonie Bonn, Polish Radio National Symphony, Philharmonie Zuidnederland, Pomeriggi Musicali Orchestra, Orchestra della Toscana, National Philharmonic of Ukraine and Orquestra Sinfônica Brasileira; at venues such as the Vienna Musikverein and Konzerthaus, Berlin Konzerthaus, Munich Herkulessaal, Hamburg Laeiszhalle, Beethovenhalle Bonn, NDR Landesfunkhaus in Hannover, Amsterdam Concertgebouw, Muziekgebouw Eindhoven, Barbican Hall, Queen Elizabeth Hall, Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, Usher Hall in Edinburgh, Liverpool Philharmonic Hall, Dublin National Concert Hall, Salle Cortot in Paris, Rudolfinum Dvorak Hall in Prague, Auditorium Parco della Musica in Rome, Teatro degli Arcimboldi in Milan, Lingotto in Turin, Philharmonic Concert Hall in Warsaw, Teatro Municipal in Rio de Janeiro and the Mariinsky Concert Hall in St Petersburg.

Read more about Federico Colli

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As friends and followers of this blog probably know by now, I moved to Dorset at the end of May after 40 years living near or in London. We spent six weeks in temporary accommodation with my mother-in-law and our cat Monty, with just some basic furniture and effects to enable us to function and continue to work day to day (my husband runs his own business, working from home). Meanwhile, the bulk of our furniture and belongings went into storage. Three days after we moved into our new home on the island of Portland, near Weymouth, a large Pickfords van arrived to deliver our effects and left us a few hours later surrounded by packing boxes. The efficiency of Pickfords’ packing service ensured that every box was clearly marked, though some were rather ambiguous, such as “shoes and books” – which turned out to contain all the files associated with my London piano teaching practice. As I gradually unpacked, drawing our possessions out of their wrapping paper, a certain item – a book or a vase – would elicit a response or a Proustian rush of memory. Finding photos of my son as a baby and little boy were particularly poignant and special (he is now 20, living in his own flat and working as a chef at one of London’s top hotels).

It also occurred to me, as I worked my way through the boxes, that being reunited with these items, accumulated over a marriage of nearly 30 years and remembering how and why they came into our home and our joint lives, was like reacquainting myself with piano repertoire I had learnt previously. Just as I recalled why that mid-century white vase was special, so I also recalled what I liked about the repertoire and why I selected it in the first place. Some pieces go back a long way in my piano life – to when I was a teenager (Schubert’s D899 Impromptus, Mozart’s Fantasies), or when I was starting to play the piano seriously again as an adult (Bach’s Preludes and Fugues, Chopin’s Nocturnes). Others have more recent heritage – the music I learnt for my performance Diplomas or pieces played in concerts, which will always remain special because of their association with positive and enjoyable performances.

Returning to previously-learnt repertoire can be extremely satisfying – like reacquainting oneself with an old friend, while also making a new friendship. Some pieces reveal their subtleties and qualities more slowly than others and benefit from a cycle of work, rest, work, rest. A prime example for me is Mozart’s Rondo in A minor, K511, a profoundly emotional and complex work which I revisited four times and will work on again this autumn, such is the work’s appeal and breadth. Picking up a piece again after a long absence often offers new insights into that work, revealing details one may not have spotted the first time round, while time away from the music – perhaps spent listening or reading about it – helps one crystallise thoughts and form new ideas to put into practice. It can be surprisingly easy to bring previously-learnt work back into one’s fingers, and this ease is a good sign – that one learnt the work deeply in the first place.

At the time of writing, my grand piano is still in storage with a friend in London. In the meantime, I have been enjoying listening to music I’ve previously learnt while also considering new repertoire for performance later this year.

Oh, and I’ve also been enjoying the fantastic scenery on Portland…..

Chesil Cove
Chesil Beach from the Olympic rings, Portland
Chesil Cove
Portland and Weymouth hosted the sailing events for the London 2012 Olympics
Local birdlife

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Henry-Storybook-50

The title of this post is a quote from an interview with pianist Gabriela Montero. Story-telling is about conveying a message and music is of course all about conveying messages, telling stories and stimulating the imagination, of listener and performer. Some pieces have evocative titles which hint at the story within, while others have nothing more than a generic word like ‘Sonata’ and a number. In concerts or recordings, programme/liner notes may tell the whole story of the music for the listener, or suggest certain events within the work, providing signposts, while leaving the listener to form a personal narrative during the course of the performance.

Composers create the sense of a narrative through musical devices such as dynamics and tempo, the contouring of phrases, melody, repetition, tension and release of harmonies, articulation, suggesting different instrumentation, and the use of pauses and silences. Because we spend our lives with stories, from the moment we are born, listening to them and sharing them, we absorb the patterns which make up stories: we sense when drama or tension is building and feel relief or pleasure at its release or resolution. These same patterns fill music: certain motifs or harmonies suggest particular moods, from triumphant joyful fanfares to moments of heart-stopping tenderness or poignancy; suspended harmonies take the listener to the brink, while the resolution brings wonderful sense of completeness or homecoming. The performer’s role is to act on all these devices to create a performance which is rich in expression.

A good story evokes an emotional response, positive or negative, in the audience, and a good story engages and absorbs the listener, excites and inspires them. It also makes them want to hear more of the music. But in order to convey the message to the audience, convincingly and expressively, we first have to form our own distinct narrative for every piece we play.

Asking ourselves questions about the music can pique the imagination to start forming a narrative –

  • “What does this section make me think of?”
  • “What emotions is are evoked in this passage?”
  • “How does this harmony make me feel?”

Using words to describe the music, not technical/musical terms but other adjectives which spring to mind when considering the piece, also stimulate one’s vision. Sometimes it’s helpful write these words on the score as an aide memoir.

From the initial hearing of a work, we each form a personal story for it, based on what we have heard. It may not be exactly the same story the composer had in mind, it may be very far from their original vision, but in order to shape the music expressively and communicate the story of the music to the audience, it is important to form a narrative and vision for the music from the moment we start work on learning it. When we take ownership of this through deep practising, this narrative becomes internalised with all its drama and tension, its triumphs and tragedies, its love and death. This then enables us to bring the music vividly to life in performance and to communicate the stories to our audience.

In performance, we express our and the composer’s humanity to the audience, and we succeed in making our connection to the audience stronger through our storytelling.

I try to decorate my imagination as much as I can

– Franz Schubert

Further reading/resources:

Stimulating the musical imagination

The Musical Adjectives Project

 

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Scriabin – Piano Sonata No.2 in G sharp minor Op.19
Ravel – Miroirs
Mozart – Piano Sonata in C K279
Schubert – Piano Sonata in A D959

Monday 18th June 2018, Wigmore Hall. Peter Donohoe, piano

I can think of few better ways to celebrate a significant birthday than a concert at London’s Wigmore Hall: a beautiful venue with a warm atmosphere, an audience of friends and supporters, and a generous programme of music reflecting the breadth and range of Peter Donohoe’s talents and musical tastes, and celebrating a long and acclaimed international career.

Anyone who attended Peter’s Scriabin sonatas marathon at Milton Court last year (the complete piano sonatas performed in three concerts in a single day) will know that Peter has a real affinity for the diverse and mercurial qualities of Scriabin’s writing, so this early piano sonata proved a good opener, reconfirming Peter’s ability to create multi-hued, highly expressive music and capture Scriabin’s fleeting, often volatile moods. And its rather fantasy-like qualities set the scene well for Ravel’s Miroirs, which for me was the real tour de force of this concert. Here was piano playing of the highest order – exquisite layers of sound, moments of aching beauty, and a clear vision for each movement to shape their individual characters and narratives. Oiseaux Tristes was heat-soaked and languid, its ennui washed away by the sparkling, rolling waves of Une barque sur l’océan – for me the highlights of this set. In both the Scriabin and Ravel, Peter displayed a wonderfully natural insouciance, presumably born of a long association with this music, which brought spontaneity to the performance.

The second half was occupied with the classical sonata form, in the hands of two masters – Mozart and Schubert. While the Mozart was elegant and intimate, as if played at home amongst friends, Schubert’s penultimate piano sonata was pacy and expansive. Here Schubert experimented with the possibilities of the classical sonata form, creating, with its companions the D958 and D960, a triptych of sonatas of “heavenly length” and wide-ranging musical ideas. The first movement of the D959 had grandeur and scale, emphasised by the exposition repeat, which Peter observed, and tempered by moments of introspection and wistfulness, though never melancholy. Its infamous slow movement was a reflective meditation shot through with a barely-controlled frenzy, rather than a funereal dirge with hysteria (the preferred approach of some pianists who shall remain nameless and who insist on reading the marking Andantino as Adagio….). Schubert’s shifts of gear, bittersweet harmonies and moments of wistfulness were neatly captured throughout. The finale was warm and consoling, nostalgic and ultimately hopeful. One can only wonder what else Schubert might have done with the sonata form had he lived longer…..

For an encore, Peter played Mozart’s D minor fantasy, beloved of pianists everywhere and a neat contrast to the quasi-fantasy of the Scriabin which opened this magnanimous concert.