English translation of the French transcript, made with AI and not yet proofread — click a paragraph to jump to it. Show the French original
From Barricades mystérieuses to Over the Rainbow 0:00 Hello everyone, Musicosophie is back. A moment ago, Dominique, you played Couperin's Les Barricades mystérieuses for us. Will you do it again for us? Suspense? Well, yes, but if I do it knowing there's an audience, I'll make mistakes.
0:30 There's a strange noise, but I have a piano that's broken in the low notes. There you go. Anyway. We can see you well, we can hear you a bit better than usual. I could do the harpsichord version for you. That would be more original.
1:07 There you go, the great French music of the 18th century. That's a beautiful ornament, bravo. You were telling me it was like a rock, a rock'n'roll thing. Yes, yes, yes, I find there's an off-beat there that makes it a bit rock. An after beat. Exactly. We seem to be improvising, but I think you had actually planned to talk about something quite specific, which is interpretation. Yes, so the opposite of improvisation.
1:38 There, the whole problem is posed, precisely. Between improvisation and interpretation, we have the polarity that's going to occupy us. Because, let's first take interpretation in the ordinary sense, that is, it's only among connoisseurs that we really talk about interpretation. Roughly speaking, when I say connoisseurs, I put as many scare quotes as you like around it. But still, I mean, it's an interesting word, connoisseur. It's not objective like a Nobel-worthy or Nobel-winning team, for that matter.
2:11 But still, I mean, it's true that when we talk about the best piano interpretations of Mozart, we don't put Clara Haskil on the same level as just anyone off the street—I won't give names. So it's true there are domains of excellence. But what do we say about a pianist like Oscar Peterson in jazz, or Bud Powell? What does interpreting mean here in jazz, for example?
2:42 Whereas jazz is based on improvisation, for example. That is, the musician we're listening to—I'm talking about the jazz pianist—is at the same time the composer, since the music we hear, he creates it in the moment. It was strictly unheard-of before we heard it, since it's an improvisation on the same theme. I don't know, I'll take a standard like Over the Rainbow, which we always play at Christmas, Wizard of Oz.
3:13 Sorry, on the harpsichord, it sounds odd. I'll play it anyway, there. There, I played the theme in a fairly canonical way, like that, without improvising, so it would be recognized. But if I do... Here, I'm doing things nobody heard just before.
The interpreter between composer and listener; Debussy and Satie 3:50 So the notion of interpretation no longer means anything here. This is an execution, a version, let's say. It's the March X, 2021 version of Over the Rainbow. There you go. So we've properly posed the problem between the performer... The performer implies that there's a composer outside of him. So let's be serious. Performer means the one who intervenes in the middle between.
4:20 Inter, yes, that's it. That is, between the composer and the consumer of music—we, the music lover. In other words, that implies that there's a text at the start and that the one we call the performer doesn't just execute it. There's another nuance again. Execution, interpretation. Because a student, a good conservatory student who has sufficient command of the technique, can execute the score of Liszt's sonata.
4:51 I'll take a very difficult work. Liszt's Sonata in B minor. Liszt's only great piano sonata, which is a warhorse for all the great virtuosos. But he can butcher it in terms of spirit, in terms of how he feels it, his feeling—whatever words we want to use—and not take the right tempo, etc. Because not everything is written, precisely. So already, between execution and interpretation, interpretation implies a restitution, an identification with the subjectivity of the composer and with that of the listener.
5:27 It's quite complex. And we notice right away—that's why you did very well to say to me 'we think we're improvising.' To start there, because you were posing the problem of improvisation, which is almost an antonym here to interpretation. It's that it hasn't been so long, historically speaking, that we've talked about the performer. That already presupposes written music. So already, that's fairly late historically speaking. And moreover, music where almost everything is written.
5:57 I'll deliberately take an example from our friend, I'd say, Debussy. There's the time that I... There, there. I'm looking at some markings. Sorry, because... There. It's right there.
6:28 It's not far off. Suite Bergamasque. Let's take... So this one may not be marked. There. Excuse me. There, there. You have to look for it in the... Never mind, I don't have it. But anyway, whoever has seen a Debussy score knows that everything is extremely prescribed in Debussy.
6:59 On such-and-such a measure, he'll say 'cédez' [yield]. We don't quite know what that means, cédez. It means slow down and end up fading away on the last note of the measure, you see. Okay. The recordings of him. Of course, yes, absolutely. We have a good part of Debussy's work, and it's been fairly well remastered now, as they say. It's not unlistenable. For the era, it's... In fact, it's not even records. They're piano rolls. I'll end up finding it.
7:32 There, Debussy here. But that's the Suite Bergamasque, which is an early work. That doesn't suit me so well. Oh well yes, I'm silly. It's the other side, yes. Excuse me. So. There, there, there. Yes. I have here Debussy's Preludes. A little on the outside. Indication given by Debussy: play a little outside, meaning, of strict meter. Don't be too metrical. Okay.
8:02 On one measure. Then, elsewhere, it's marked... I'm reading Debussy's markings. Extremely even and light. The left hand slightly brought out over the right hand. A slight offset, not quite at the same speed, the two hands. Yes, really. The worst is when we talk about Satie, because there it's completely crazy. Exactly. It's the same era.
8:32 Slow and melancholic. Softly sustained and very expressive. A little slower and more gravely expressive. Barely four measures later: slower. Isn't that something? Okay. Almost nothing more. There's a marking there: almost nothing more. That means, you sense a sound moving away, like that, at the edge of the audible. So here, this is really the height of the written score where everything is stipulated. When we look, conversely, at Bach—that is, the beginnings of written music, well, it starts a bit earlier, a century before, it's not...
Bach: few indications, invariant relations 9:07 Okay, 16th century. When we look at Bach, what do we have? At most, piano, forte, and that's about it. Implying that we were coming out of millennia of improvisation, seasoned musicians, weren't they? They were virtuosos of the recorder, the oboe, whatever you like, the lute. And so there was no need to tell them what to speed up or slow down. Yes, that doesn't mean at all that it was absolutely...
9:37 When Bach does that, he doesn't specify whether to play a bit staccato like I just did with the right hand. I'll play legato. There are both hands, yes. He doesn't specify it because, I mean, he leaves it to the taste of the performer. According to the mood of the moment, etc. There's still an invariant, which is what he wrote, which holds together so well, which is so self-sufficient.
10:07 There. I'll take another example, from The Art of Fugue. It's the famous canon by augmentation and diminution and in contrary motion, in contrario motu. And then, it goes like this. It's a kind of magnificent blue note. Okay.
10:40 Here, I'll play it slowly. But Bach—so here I'm deliberately taking an extreme example. In The Art of Fugue, not only do we have no tempo indication, but we have no instrumentation indication either. In other words, when you look at the recording market, I'd say the record market, but now it's streaming—you put The Art of Fugue on YouTube, you'll find versions for harpsichord, for piano, for organ, for string quartet. For orchestra, yes. For a full orchestra, yes, absolutely.
11:10 Because precisely, it's a matter of a dare, a challenge. It's music written so well that you can play it with whatever you like, with a barrel organ, with a synthesizer, with slide trombones, and it will be just as good. It's extraordinary. And that's why what I just played can very well be played like this instead. Sorry. I'll take, it's a bit more rock, electric piano.
11:43 It doesn't change much. The coherence of the work is entirely there. It doesn't suffer one bit. But I could also do this. Sorry. Excuse me. There.
12:15 The strings. I completely change the atmosphere of the piece. None of that is specified.
Lithophone and musical bow: music without a composer 12:47 What matters is the relations that remain invariant between the pitches and the durations and their respective durations. So here, interpreting—one already has to restore. There. So, once again, we're starting to see things more clearly. In the longest part of musical history, if I go back, we try to imagine what the musical sounds Neanderthal made could have been while the rainy season kept him inside the cave.
13:24 I mean, there must surely have been rhythmic elements, vocal ones, whatever you like, probably melodic ones too. And we can always speculate. We do have the oldest instruments that have been found. The oldest, moreover, is a lithophone found in Vietnam, in the Vietnamese jungle. A lithophone, that is, a kind of xylophone. Yes, made of stone. There, there. A kind of xylophone, but the keys are pieces of stone of different lengths that make a sort of scale.
14:01 Sorry, excuse me. Let's take a vibraphone, like this, it'll be more plausible relative to the lithophone. But here. There, that's a lithophone, but not as finely tuned as this, much less so. In other words, the oldest instrument found is an instrument that works in the discrete or discontinuous mode, if you like.
14:31 where you go, you see, from one pitch to another directly, without there being, as in a violin, [a continuous glide]. There. We also think that one of the oldest instruments that still exists, still practiced by hunters, especially in forest areas, is the bow—what's called the musical bow. Neolithic hunters were excellent hunters. The bow is a revolution. It's the first time death is delivered from a distance. I mean, it's a projectile weapon. To face a mammoth with a spear, you really have to go for it.
15:04 Still, it's better to do it from a distance. But there are traps, I think. Yes, that's still done a lot among the Bushmen, for example, in southern Africa. They shoot a poisoned arrow at an ox and spend the whole day tracking it afterward because it doesn't just fall in a second. It's only in Hollywood that you see that—it takes a whole day to die. So, the musical bow—hunters realized very early on that when the string was released and the arrow left, there was a vibration. Then, during moments of boredom, when rain falls, you take shelter under a tree, and with the mouth and teeth serving as resonance.
The music center of Niger and the supplement of soul 15:42 Ancestor of the jaw harp, exactly. There. We roughly know what the greatest happiness was. But then, what does the performer mean here? There's no performer, there's no composer. There's a genre reigning here which is improvisation, where the musician plays all the roles at once. He's the designer, he executes, he interprets, he restores—it's extraordinary. Then afterward, we can differentiate. I noticed this empirically myself, I mean, I dealt with music south of the Sahara for the European Union.
16:21 a music center. I had to have it financed by your taxes, but I thank you, I was never so well paid as by the European Union, which had agreed to fund it at the request of Nigerien musicians. It's a so-called center for musical training and promotion, CFPM, which of course still exists, because it was very rewarding at the level of—everything to do with culture is the identity of the country for politicians, for political leaders.
16:52 It costs nothing, doesn't cost much. Music, what is it compared to a transnational road, or a dam, a hydroelectric plant—it's nothing. Come on, Pagani will take care of it, we'll send him an email, that'll make him happy. I don't want to spit in the soup, I mean, it's a very good idea. It's not like renegotiating Areva's contracts in Niger. There, there, in the same country. That's why I think that. Areva is north of Agadez, in Arlit, that's something else. So there, on the other hand, the wages, they look closely at it. Sure.
17:22 Well, so it's a very fine adventure, moreover, since the terms of reference for this center consisted of three parts. First, try to save the traditional musical heritage, which is disappearing at the speed with which the bush moves to the city, that is, at breakneck speed, as you can imagine. So, put in the digital freezer music that's in danger of disappearing, by recording it under excellent conditions with professional equipment.
17:56 That's the side where I also solicited UNESCO, in fact, for advice. That's the heritage side. Second aspect, a music school. Now, you might say, that's ordinary, there's one in every district of Paris. Oh no, no, over there, there isn't one. There isn't one. It was a great first, to be able to have music instruction, because in traditional music, I come back to it, the griot, or even someone who becomes a musician on the spot, the hunter, we talked about the hunter with his musical bow, or the kid who, while watching over cars in Abidjan while the car's owner does his shopping, plays with matchboxes with a rhythm of quite extraordinary subtlety, with real invention.
18:46 So, I'm not talking about a musician—was she only here? It's obvious that for now, we do completely without the music one learns. It's already a luxury to be at school, to learn to read, write, and count, imagine what it would be. So it was a great first. And of course, you have no trouble imagining the extraordinary demand—I believe there's no region in the world where the youth have such a thirst for musical training as in this region, contrary to what the white person thinks, who has a benevolent racism, if I may say so—I put 'benevolent' ironically, I mean.
19:26 Oh really? You're setting up a music school, but don't they already have music in their blood, Black people? As if we don't need to go learn math at school because we have reason in our blood. Whereas the Negro—I say 'Negro' deliberately here, right?—Negritude, for him, it's instinct. You know Senghor's speech, which one of your authors at Delga denounced, right? Senghor, that must be Life. The Black man is instinct, the white man is reason.
19:56 Otherwise, emotion is Negro, reason is Hellenic. There, there. Hellenic, isn't it? That's it, exactly. It's true I'd recommend reading—if you're going a bit fast, we recommend reading—it's not simply because I'm the publisher, but because it's a very great book, Négritude et négrologues. Yes, absolutely, it's a masterpiece, Négritude et négrologues, by Adotevi, which does justice to that kind of theory. Who is a philosopher, of course, by training, Stanislas Adotevi, Beninese philosopher, and who is also a friend.
20:34 I worked in Benin, but also in Côte d'Ivoire, where he was in charge at UNICEF, well, anyway, for the region. So it was interesting to see that it was only the expatriates who were surprised that African children could be offered the possibility of musical training. They're supposedly born with it, extraordinary, right—meanwhile I had kids with tears of emotion in their eyes while playing a Chopin waltz.
21:11 Oh, but don't you think you're disturbing their culture? I said, don't you like African music yourselves, here? So, you take their music, you don't give them yours. Is that your idea of cooperation? Well, I don't want to list all the prejudices contained in that, having a relationship with these countries that's eternally exotic and using Africa as a supplement to the soul, as another great Beninese, also a philosopher, denounced—and who was briefly, between two coups d'état, Minister of Culture.
21:41 I'm thinking of Paulin Hountondji, a great man. On African Philosophy. There, there. And... Sorry, I'm paying tributes here, but Paulin Hountondji had a small bookshop in Cotonou called Librairie de la Renaissance, dusty, because in a neighborhood like that, which isn't even paved, in the dry season, the dust of the street—where you could find the complete works of Lenin. It's extraordinary, the heroism of these people, supported by nothing from their own country, because at the time there was one bookshop that had the monopoly, right, for national education, the Libawol.
22:19 And so, I admire, well, this Paulin Hountondji, I saw him give a lecture at the Collège international de philosophie in Paris, where he had been invited, and where one of our compatriots, about 50 years old, stood up and said, but don't you think you're exaggerating, isn't it important for Africa to keep its authenticity? And I saw Paulin interrupt him, he said, sir, I am not obliged to serve as your soul's supplement. It's from him that I borrow that admirable formula, isn't it?
22:52 Africa, when I say Africa, one can extend it, can't one, to everything that is an object of exoticism, to the Amazonian Indian, the Inuit, or the one in the jungles of Laos, is not obliged to serve as a soul's supplement, to a Europe suffering, in decline of sensibility, let's say. I close this long parenthesis. So, once again, it's very important to see that during the largest part, chronologically, of the sonic and musical history of humanity, music was first improvised.
The shepherd's pipe, from Tristan to Baudelaire's Swan 23:31 And so, I come back to it. When I was recording shepherd music, pastoral music, which is very important in the Sahel, where the climate is too dry, on the edge of the desert — Sahel means shore, isn't it, a beautiful metaphor, the desert being the ocean here, and indeed camels are called 'ships of the desert' in Arabic. So in the Sahel, there's just enough rain, a small minimum, for there to be short grass, but not enough for there to be agriculture in the true sense of harvesting.
24:04 So it's what's called geographically the agro-pastoral zone, it's endless herds. It's the domain of the Bible. Abraham grazed his flocks on a land without limit, says Hegel, in his early works, in his studies on the spirit of Christianity and its destiny. So there, one can only be nomadic in this kind of setting. That's where you see that one must remain realistically grounded — there is at the outset a constraint that is first external, and praxis must work with it. There you go, you don't have the same praxis depending on whether you're in the virgin forest, where there's an excess of humidity, or on the contrary in the desert.
24:40 So every time I recorded music from the agro-pastoral, shepherd zone, I noticed it's always the same instrumentation, whether in Ireland — I'll take pastoral regions, Ireland is poor, it was mainly flocks of sheep originally — whether in Ireland, Corsica, Sicily, Castile, the shepherd always has a wind instrument, it's the shepherd's pipe, it's the mournful — in the sense of lamentation — the heartbreaking English horn solo, that is the bass oboe, in Tristan in the third act, when the curtain rises and a shepherd, to whom Kurwenal, Tristan's faithful squire, has said watch the sea and if a ship comes, play with your shepherd's crook, always plays a plaintive wind instrument that carries far, you see the solitude of the one who is far from the community, who is not in the village, who grazes his flock far away and who no doubt sings of the absence of the beloved, when the curtain
25:50 rises. In the first act of Tristan, the very first words are the watch, it's the lookout man who sings, the gaze goes east but the heart goes west. Girl of Ireland, are your sighs what swell the sails. I think of the sailor isolated on an island. Ah well there you go, exactly. That's the end of one of the most beautiful poems by Baudelaire, in The Flowers of Evil, The Swan, also — in the forest where my mind goes into exile, an old memory sounds full-blast on the horn — and there again we have a wind instrument.
26:28 I think of the sailor forgotten on an island, I think of course of Victor Hugo who was exiled to Guernsey and Jersey, of the captives, the defeated, and many others besides. You see, it ends on a feminine rhyme so as not to end. The sound keeps resonating, the shepherd, that's it. So there are traditions like that. But this shepherd is a composer, he modulates, he varies. He's a composer, not in the sense of writing — it's an oral music.
The classics improvised: cadenzas by Mozart and Beethoven 26:59 It's interesting to raise these questions. We're so used to our own culture that we need to step a bit outside of Eurocentrism and understand that speaking of interpretation in general already presupposes a separation of functions which presupposes specializations. I'm not making any value judgment. It's progress in some respects, a limitation in others — there isn't the freshness and spontaneity of improvisation, that's for sure. So let me take the opportunity to say — earlier you said jazz is improvised music, classical is written music.
27:34 No, it's not that simple. It hasn't been so long that written music has been characteristic of the so-called classical genre, because in the time of Mozart and Bach, people spent their time improvising. Unfortunately, there was no tape recorder or digital recorder that we now have. You see what's been lost. The very first — we alluded to this earlier — is Debussy on wax cylinders.
28:09 Fair enough. Often they perform a piece, but we don't see them improvise. That's it. No, but it's interesting to know, for example — I mentioned it when we talked about Mozart — there are 27 piano concertos, and it was Mozart who premiered them every time. The first time they were heard in concert, it was Mozart at the keyboard, of course. He never played a movement quite the same way twice. And above all, there are cadenzas in the concertos. And moreover, as you say, in each movement — not only, but especially in the fast movements, the slow movements more rarely — there are cadenzas, a passage for the soloist to show his instrumental skill.
28:48 It's a little show-off passage. And this cadenza gradually became written out. Beethoven offers two, three, four different written cadenzas for his fourth piano concerto, including this one. Sorry, it's still in the... It's on lithophone here, because that's the one that starts.
29:25 There, he takes up the same rhythmic theme. Here again, people try to cut things with an axe: classical music, you write, you compose, there's a score; jazz, you improvise, and that's it, spontaneous. It's not that simple. Until the middle of the 19th century, improvisation remained omnipresent among classical musicians.
Bach at Frederick II's court and prejudices about classical music 29:59 With Liszt, you could give him any theme and he would immediately improvise variations on it. As for Bach, he could put his hands behind his head at the organ and play a two-voice fugue with his feet. Improvise. He did it, he did it at the court of the King of Prussia when he was finally invited to court — this musician who had been overlooked, whom nobody knew. The court musicians were Italian or French musicians. The Germans had no place there.
30:29 Remember that King Frederick said German was a language good for horses and that at court one had to speak French. Well, it was a bit the same for music. Now, before Romanticism and the rise of the national schools, the Germans didn't really hold much sway. Now, when he arrives, Frederick, who is an excellent flutist, proposes to him the famous royal theme that would form the basis of the Musical Offering. It's called the royal theme because it was composed by the king.
31:01 And a few hours after the king had shown him his theme, he returned to him a four-voice fugue. There you go. Improvising in counterpoint is no easy feat. So there, I begin by gathering all this together to recall, before speaking about interpretation — we'll get to interpretation proper, the kind I mentioned at the start that is the subject of discussions among connoisseurs.
31:34 What is the best interpretation of the Appassionata sonata, Opus 27 No. 2, by Beethoven, there you go. But still, we had to make this long historical detour to properly establish things. And since I'm talking about Beethoven, all the accounts agree that people fainted during Beethoven's improvisations. Oh yes, especially at his improvisations.
32:05 They were of such excessive force because Beethoven played... Here again, one must fight against alienating imagery that would have classical music dissuade young people and the working classes from taking an interest in it, since it's supposedly good only for the elite and for wealthy people. Which is incredible when you see that Mussorgsky died in the gutter and Mozart's body ended up in a mass grave — that's a bit much, isn't it. And Schubert, let's not even mention it, he died in anonymity and poverty.
32:37 But these are the prejudices — I think it's Pascal who talks about it regarding Moses, Jacob, etc. We always see them with long beards, whereas they were people like you and me. Yes, especially since the word 'prejudice' — it's fitting to cite Pascal because it's the 17th century. I'm not really quoting him, I'd like to find the passage again. It's in the 17th century that this word comes back somewhat to the center of debate, as if it were preparing the Age of Enlightenment, the critique of prejudices. Descartes indeed says in the first rule of the Method that one must carefully avoid prejudice and hasty judgment.
33:09 For example. So, sorry. So, yes, among these prejudices is the idea that classical music is only played in salons, either at court or in the private salon of a bourgeois, which was often the case. But still, I mean, Beethoven — since that's where I started — his most learned, most difficult works, the last string quartets, were premiered in guinguettes, in beer gardens.
33:49 In the outskirts of Vienna, along the Danube. Even the Razumovsky quartets? Of course, amid the smell of beer, but of course. And with a passionate audience. Really. That's where some people fainted, myself included — although that's more court music, I'm thinking of the creation of opera. Opera requires infrastructure, a budget, heavier than a simple piano.
34:20 And I'm thinking here of Monteverdi, of the creation of Orfeo at the court of the Dukes of Mantua, Mantova — there too we talked about syncope, but not in the musical sense, in the medical sense. The musical shock — not in the musical sense — the musical shock of hearing the expression of emotion in the solo voice, after coming out of centuries of polyphony and the anonymity of the individual drowned in the choir, a choral and collective affair.
Interpretation and the individualization of bourgeois society 34:51 There, that's to recall things like that. So, to come back now to interpretation, it's especially from the 19th century, even the second half, that questions and discussions about good and bad interpretation come to the center of debate. When, without doubt, the recording — but according to all accounts, the one who was the greatest pianist in history, I'm thinking of Liszt, who shouldn't be reduced to being just a virtuoso, he's a great composer of whom unfortunately we only ever hear the same 10 or 15 very popular works, often compilations of Hungarian rhapsodies borrowed from folklore — extraordinary things that even anticipate Schoenberg, I'm thinking of the Funeral Gondola and things like that, well, that's not our subject — but Liszt one day says to the Countess d'Agoult, that is to his future wife, says, get the apartment ready a little because tonight I'm receiving someone who plays better than me, the problem of
36:01 who knows how to play the piano well — I suppose she says, who's that, Thalberg? Thalberg was a virtuoso of the time we've forgotten because he was only a virtuoso, precisely, and he says no, Thalberg, I'll take care of that, it's fine, because there were competitions like that, freak shows almost, where each had to perform high-flying, pyrotechnic pianism, isn't it — he says no, no, it was Chopin, much more discreet than Liszt, not liking to play in big halls, preferring to play in intimate settings, etc., but all those who witnessed Chopin playing say, we've never seen — I tell you — such a manner, it's not only about virtuosity, that was obvious, I don't know, it's in the touch, these gifts, but simply the way he played, his legato, his nuances, the choice of his tempi shows that the notion of interpretation, you guess, is the second determination I'm introducing — I took my time — it comes with the individualization of bourgeois civil society from the modern
37:11 periods, quite simply. There's a prodigious differentiation from one individual to another. Take Telemann, take Vivaldi, you sometimes have trouble distinguishing them, you could rightly confuse a concerto by Corelli — let me take a lesser-known Polish composer now, Zelenka, from the same period, a Polish baroque composer — it's sometimes hard to distinguish a fugue by Purcell, there are very beautiful fugues, from one by Corelli. On the other hand, we don't confuse Schumann and Schubert — there's a power of differentiation and individuation within the same current, the same sensibility, the current of musical Romanticism, and specifically pianistic Romanticism — there's a world separating a Mendelssohn from a Chopin, a Schubert from a Schumann, from a Brahms — five completely different styles and five ways of playing the piano. Brahms always as if you had 15 fingers on each hand, with octaves.
38:21 There, Schubert extremely transparent, extremely airy, and not very pianistic apart from the famous Wanderer Fantasy — it's difficult, but it demands above all expression, that's it. And Chopin who brings together almost all the qualities. But Schumann who more foreshadows Debussy, whereas Liszt foreshadows Ravel — it's interesting to see these lineages, to listen to Ravel's Jeux d'eau, to speak of one of Ravel's most popular works, and to listen to Liszt's Jeux d'eau à la Villa d'Este, and you see where it comes from, it's really striking. Whereas Schumann is more harmonic where Schubert is melodic — Schumann is more harmonic, and that's what Debussy will remember. We must not forget that during his conservatory training years Debussy was an excellent, very good pianist, and it had already been noted that he had strange harmonies in his early works — I'm thinking of Printemps.
39:31 a kind of cantata he wrote in Rome while enjoying his stay after winning the Prix de Rome, at the Villa Borghese — the critics of the time in France said there are a few original harmonies, but this gentleman should still know that music needs to have structure and be given a shape and form, and not be left thus in indeterminacy. They didn't see how prodigiously constructed and coherent his music was — but a coherence so new that it went unnoticed, even in the history of music, between contour through line, à la Gauguin, or on the contrary through gradation, à la Van Gogh — there are necessarily two, one can defend one against the other because it's the same opposition we find again, it's exactly the same dichotomy, it's exactly — you're drawing on references to painting — I had a painter friend, I'm speaking of a field I know less well, I appreciate it but I don't have the technical knowledge so I'm wary of saying, but he told me, you see, I ask you to draw a face — the 'you' is addressed to someone who isn't in the trade, who's not an artist
40:41 a graphic artist, a visual artist — well, draw me a face — I would draw an oval like that, as we all instinctively do, as we did on our school notebooks, then an oval path, that is to say I start by making the outline and I put inside it eyes, a nose, and he told me — he said, me, I start with the left nostril and from there I spread out toward the periphery — that has nothing to do with it — yes, that's it, there, at the beginning when he's only at the left nostril, one might think, as with Debussy, that it lacks construction, that it lacks unity, whereas there's an implacable progression unfolding, well, I should say an irrefutable progression unfolding — so there, when I speak of the performer — now, that said, I would like, so as not to scatter in every direction, to pay particular tribute to a few performers — not that we'll make a list of them because that would take too long — and I'm going to take one, or rather one — a single one — who will serve us
Clara Haskil: a musician's childhood 41:51 as a metonymy to show the importance now of interpretation in music from the contemporary world, let's say from the classical repertoire — so I take here — right, so as not to — I'm not using the computer so as not to leave this tab — I'll take here, there, Madame Clara, whom I alluded to earlier, who floruit, as they say in Latin, isn't it, who was at her peak roughly in the 1950s, who is thus a contemporary figure, and a great friend, by the way, of people like Dinu Lipatti — so you see, I'll give a few elements, first a biography, because we don't realize what these life paths are — it's also a kind of priesthood, there. So you see, thank goodness, oh yes, on the — sorry, so quickly
43:07 I'm not going to read everything, but I'll give you a few biographical pointers, all right, well, she was born practically a little before the start of the 20th century, she was born in 1895 in Bucharest, of Romanian origin of course, and from a Romanian Jewish family, Haskil seems to come from the Hebrew verb — I can't manage to pronounce it — meaning to discern, related to the word Haskala, the Jewish Enlightenment — and she turns out to be a prodigiously gifted, uncannily talented child. Listen carefully: at age 3 it already begins, she already reproduces with one finger, at 3, melodies she has heard. Clara's mother, Bertha Haskil, was a pianist and amateur musician — again, starting from nothing, it's interesting that Mozart, Bach, Clara Haskil — we're talking about millions of musicians who came from nowhere, even if some started from zero. The mother, Clara Haskil's mother, gave her her first piano lessons, and Clara showed astonishing gifts of ear and fingering. Her mother had given her her name
44:17 in memory of her own elder sister, whom she passionately admired and who died at 20 — remember all this, you'll see these are incredible lives. So, while she was pursuing brilliant piano studies at the Bucharest Conservatory, Clara also studied the violin — a bit like the Boulanger sisters — yes, exactly — and Clara also studied the violin, and Lili Boulanger, much less known, the one who died very young, also studied the violin and likewise showed talent for that instrument — it's dreadful, the violin, for three years you just scrape and scrape and can't get a sound out of it. She had two sisters, Lili the elder who played piano, and Jeanne the younger who learned violin. Her father died — I mean, of pneumonia, contracted one December night during a fire in their building — really, one thing after another — and her mother had to support the family by giving piano, French, German, Italian, and modern Greek lessons — the mother, well, we're in Romania, one of those countries whose language nobody else speaks, in the great cultural centers of Europe nobody speaks it, and that's why there are so many polyglots among the Slavs, whereas the French
45:28 are bad at languages, aren't they — Americans and the French, the two great peoples worst at languages, because they know that everyone in the whole world, for different reasons and at different times, speaks their language, doesn't it. Here we see Madame Haskil, the mother, giving piano lessons, French, German, Italian, modern Greek, then opening a small sewing workshop to stay close to her children — I admire these lilies — but her work isn't enough, and the family survives thanks to the help of one of her brothers, Isaac, an actuary, an insurer — Isaac will become director of the national — I'll skip that. Clara Haskil continues to develop her gifts, still with her mother. A friend of the Haskils takes the little girl to a singing teacher at the conservatory — for now she's only stayed within the family — who plays her a Mozart sonatina she doesn't know. Clara plays it immediately, flawlessly, straight through, then plays it again transposing it — you know what transposing means, I do that — sorry, excuse me — a third up, a fourth up — one couldn't transpose a tone above if I believe it's in the piece, actually — there, I'm doing it now
46:38 because it's easy — when you have to transpose a Chopin étude on the spot, that's a real challenge. So Clara plays it immediately, flawlessly, straight through, then plays it again transposing it — she's 5 years old. It's decided that she should start lessons at the conservatory. Then when Clara is 7, the family decides to send her to study piano in Vienna — so that confirms, well, it's not in Bucharest that she'll become a world celebrity, statistically there's little chance — so no, but I pay tribute to these countries, a popular heritage of unbelievable richness — you only have to look at Enescu's Romanian Rhapsodies, who drew heavily on it, and who is the great Romanian national musician in this repertoire — and so what's striking, the greatest French film composers are two Romanians, Joseph Kosma and Vladimir Cosma — that's surely no coincidence — just as the greatest Hollywood composers, especially in westerns and the great American sagas, are Slavic — it's Dimitri Tiomkin, who wrote almost all the music for John Ford's and Howard Hawks' films — you see, these are not coincidences
47:49 all this, so she's sent to Vienna to study piano — she goes alone with another one of her uncles, a doctor, 35 years old, who no longer practices and who has a true passion for his little niece. In Vienna, uncle Avram takes her to the famous pianist Anton Door, who, amazed by the child's gifts, writes to the Viennese daily Neue Freie Presse, which publishes the following article: 'Professor Anton Door draws our attention to a little girl whose musical talent is quite exceptional. He writes to us these days: a doctor came to see me, from Romania, holding by the hand a little girl of 7, the daughter — sorry, excuse me — the daughter of a widow. This child is a prodigy, she has never received real musical instruction' — well of course, only in Vienna, isn't it, but that's not necessary, because everything one plays for her, within the range of her small hands, she plays back by memory without a single mistake, and moreover in any key, in all 24 semitones — meaning — I presented her with a Beethoven sonata, she sight-read it perfectly and flawlessly, at age 7. Here we are faced with an enigma, this maturity
48:59 of a child's brain is truly frightening — how did the other one put it — Chateaubriand quoting Pascal — it's terrifying, I have — well, so I'll go a bit fast to get to Paris — after three years of study with Richard Robert, uncle Abraham decides to bring Clara, now 10 years old, to Paris — she will never see her teacher again. Clara takes the entrance exams for piano and violin at the Paris Conservatory. She continues studying violin alongside piano until the deforming scoliosis, diagnosed in 1914, prevents her from continuing with that instrument — and there begins an ordeal, she fights leukemia — you have to see Clara's life. She becomes a student of Alfred Cortot, the great French pianist of the time, in 1907 — but the illustrious pianist, future collaborator, you know that, Cortot had excellent relations with the Vichy regime — I'm not saying he became famous under Pétain, because there were others, Marcelle Meyer never collaborated, never said no such thing, but still she moved in the salons of the time — Cortot was more attuned
Cortot, Fauré and stage fright 50:10 to the spirit of the era — but look, she becomes Cortot's student, but the illustrious pianist doesn't like her, and in front of the other students, this kind of Romanian Jewish girl, isn't it, he often sends her away saying, we'll hear you next time — he'll even tell her, you play like a cleaning woman — everything is said, if we don't understand here that race is class, then decidedly one is incorrigibly anti-Marxist — yes, that's it, or rather it proves the truth of Marx — so, we'll hear you next time, moreover, you play like a cleaning woman — and he hands her over to his colleague Lazare Lévy. Gabriel Fauré, then director of the Paris Conservatory, becomes fond of her — good old Gabriel, not the director of the conservatory — and congratulates her after hearing her play one of his pieces — it was my variations — I didn't know there was so much music in what I had written, said Fauré — that's the tribute, there — one sees in this quote from Fauré what interpretation means — he must have heard it 50 times, 'that was my variations' played by students
51:20 merely performed — that's where you see the difference. One can simply execute a score, even without a single technical mistake, and at the same time completely miss what's musically interesting — it's mysterious, this music that isn't in the notes, it's you. So, I didn't know — it's like defining, what do they call it, swing — apparently it's very hard — it's hard, but jazz fans get it right away — but he doesn't swing, that guy — you mean what by that, you see, it's inconceivable. Clara lives alone in Paris with her uncle Avram, a taciturn man, and during a vacation in Romania, where Clara's family had stayed, her mother, seeing her so sad — can you imagine, Cortot had prevented her from having a dazzling career in Paris — so sad, decides to rent an apartment in Paris — for financial reasons she can't bring Lili and Jeanne. Uncle Avram, ill, returns to Bucharest and joins his brother's insurance company, where he'll stay until 1911. At 14, Clara wins first prize in violin
52:31 at the competition of the Union Française de la Jeunesse — we're not even talking about piano anymore, and the violin is a terribly demanding instrument — the Union Française de la Jeunesse competition, chaired by the immense Jacques Thibaud, who died tragically in a plane crash — we will never forget the extraordinary performances of Thibaud in chamber music alongside Pablo Casals and Cortot — it's that trio that produced the reference recordings, the Beethoven trio, the Brahms trio, for example. She wins first prize in violin but only a second prize in piano at the conservatory. The following year, in 1910, she wins her first prize in piano at the conservatory, in Alfred Cortot's class — you see why I focused on one performer. She begins giving concerts — can you imagine — in Vienna a Swiss impresario becomes interested in her and organizes a tour in Northern Italy and Switzerland for her. Ferruccio Busoni, the immense Italo-German composer, who heard Clara play in Zurich, proposes to her mother that the young girl come study with him in Berlin, and meets with a refusal that Clara will regret her whole life — Berlin could have been the springboard
53:41 that — she also could have disappeared in a camp. In 1917 Clara's mother dies of cancer, her uncle is in a refugee camp, having been arrested having taken Austrian nationality. Clara finds herself alone — in 1917, he had been arrested, I'm not talking about the Nazis, it's about the war between the Central Powers and England and the Allies. Clara finds herself alone, and while up to that point she hadn't been particularly prone to stage fright, it would now become terribly overwhelming and paralyzing — one can superimpose, overdetermine, the stage fright — she's Romanian, she's on the margins of great musical high society — Dominique, we can't see you well — yes, that's it, there, that's better, thank you — she's Romanian, she's a woman, all reasons to be inhibited at the time, especially with the tribunals, not to assert oneself — while up to that point she hadn't been particularly prone to stage fright, she would often refuse to play, claiming it wouldn't go well, she said moreover she was rarely satisfied with her performance, so
54:52 after the First World War she returns to Paris. Georges Enescu, the great Romanian national musician, intervenes with the Romanian state to ensure the young musician can finish her musical studies there. In 1921 he has her play in Lausanne. In Paris, the pianist meets famous pianists — it's Madame Desmarais who suggests that Clara Haskil go to Switzerland to recover her strength, accompanied by a nurse — you see the ordeal of this life. There she meets again with her uncle Abraham, whose temperament has grown much darker, and makes important connections for the recognition of her talent. In Switzerland — let me mention in passing that another Romanian, Dinu Lipatti, would also find in Switzerland a recognition he found nowhere else — during those years from 1920 to 1950, it's in the 1950s that Lipatti dies of leukemia. Switzerland is the only country where the public recognizes Clara Haskil's genius and assures her of its loyalty. The young pianist lacks confidence in herself during her first concert with the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande, by far the best orchestra in Switzerland, and its emblematic conductor Ernest Ansermet — her stage fright is so strong
56:04 that she can't imagine going on stage. The concert, however, is a success, and Ernest Ansermet keeps congratulating her. Clara spends the night at the hotel rehearsing, tells her roommate — isn't it — he's furious, Monsieur Ansermet — she doesn't measure this excessive self-criticism, the paralyzing stage fright before going on stage, and her uncle Abraham's Parkinson's disease, who refuses treatment unless it's given by his niece, lead her to refuse and even cancel concerts, preventing her career from taking off. I give this biography to show what a priesthood it is to be a great performer when you come from a working-class background. It's sometimes been written that Clara Haskil had a sober style, ahead of its time, in quotation marks, and that for this reason she was rejected by the Parisian public — she didn't yet have romanticist expressiveness — I'd say rather romantic, wouldn't I, because Chopin's playing, which she loved, detested excess — none of that is true. The critics of the time and the few recordings from the 1920s-30s show, on the contrary, a pianist with a very virtuosic, passionate style. Her career was stalling.
57:15 Despite the support of her patrons, in [19]24 in Brussels her concert met with great success, but she would not be reengaged before 1930. She gave two concerts in Vienna where she played her signature piece of the time, a work that people don't identify with her nowadays; the second concert was an immense success — those were her appearances in Vienna. Madame Jélisse — pardon, I have notes that no longer make sense — organized a tour of North America, and Clara Haskil triumphed in New York, dazzling in the performance of this 29-year-old young pianist. Now, the critic of the New York Musical Courier writes on November 13, [19]24, a very laudatory article: 'is it not great sensitivity — to say that Miss Haskil plays with her whole soul may seem ridiculously sentimental, yet there is no other or better expression. She seems to be searching for the purely inner and ever deeper meaning of the thoughts and feelings'
American successes, Rilke, the salons of the Princesse de Polignac 58:25 found in the very spirit of the composer. Again, we are faced with the problem of interpretation — what does 'inner' mean? Now I have to pay attention to the notes in front of me. You see how complex this is — music, what is musical in music, what is not merely sonorous but musical. I think of Rilke, who writes in an admirable passage of the Sonnets to Orpheus — one shouldn't forget he was inspired by the death of a young girl, who had set out to become the greatest — a Russian dancer, being properly Russian — and who, due to an endocrine illness, as we'd call it today, began to put on weight pathologically and had to stop dancing, but tried to dance to the very end. To explain why he refers to the myth of Orpheus, who kept singing while the maenads stoned him — and that's why I think of it now — at that point he says: only he who raised the lyre, I'm translating simultaneously, among the shades, can sense
59:35 and proclaim the infinite praise; only he who has eaten the poppy of the dead — their poppy — will never again lose the lightest of sounds. Yes, that's because in fact he comes back from the underworld and himself becomes a song. This concert is an immense success, and Leopold Stokowski — you see, the great stars — recommends her to his agent. Stokowski, who holds the baton in Walt Disney's film Fantasia, is ready to organize a tour across the United States right away — the promotion. But because Clara — Stokowski, rather — lacked the 100 dollars needed for publicity expenses — there's a curse on her life, 100 dollars, not 100 billion, but a significant sum at the time — this tour would not happen, and she would not return to the United States until 30 years later, for chamber music. Her partners were instantly thrilled by the dialogue that was established with her, matching their instruments — Pablo Casals, who loved playing in her company. Pablo Casals, you know, who would die in France, who founded the Prades festival on the other side of the Pyrenees to flee Franco's regime
1:00:45 In 1927, for the centenary of Beethoven's death, the great Belgian violinist Eugène Ysaÿe chose her to give, over three concerts, the ten sonatas for violin and piano of the master — Beethoven, I recommend of course, in the genre of sonatas for piano and violin, essentially those of Mozart and Beethoven. You have to see her playing with the immense Arthur Grumiaux, another illustrious member of the so-called Franco-Belgian school of violin — it's the model of the genre. Arthur Grumiaux, you can find that of course on YouTube, Arthur Grumiaux, Clara Haskil, in 1927. I recommend in particular a Mozart sonata in E minor, the only sonata for piano and violin by Mozart, which is one of the summits of Mozart's chamber music. The Gaveau piano company offers to take charge of her entire career, on the sole condition that she only play on Gaveau pianos. As she doesn't like their instruments, she refuses — but it's a curse — despite repeated attempts at approach
1:01:55 by the French brand, who, thus rebuffed, would eventually give up. One shouldn't overlook her problems — one must remember everything Pleyel did so that Chopin would play on a Pleyel piano, with its prestige. She meets the Princess de Polignac, a great patron of musicians, whose husband was a close friend of Proust — born Winnaretta Singer, yes, the Singer sewing machines, you see, money was not lacking for the Singers — one of the last great private patrons of the 20th century. The princess recognizes in her a great musician and decides to help her, not so much through her fortune — her stinginess is legendary — but by making available to her one of her pianos in her private mansion on avenue Henri Martin, you see, in the 16th arrondissement, Henri Martin, you go there, Georges Montaigne, in Monopoly. Clara can thus come and work as much as she wishes, and gradually finds herself introduced into the musical evenings the princess gives in her salons — at last a bit of musical high society, I don't know if that counts at the time. The elite of artistic creation gathers at 'Aunt Winnie's,' as the regulars call her. Clara meets there
1:03:05 look — Stravinsky, Poulenc, Rubinstein, Horowitz. But Clara, who suffers from a pathological shyness, will never take advantage of these encounters, except for her meeting one evening in 1936 — you can guess, you see it coming — with a totally immense young pianist, Dinu Lipatti — sorry, excuse me — also Romanian. Instantly a deep friendship forms between them, which only Dinu's death in 1950 would interrupt — no luck there. One must think of Lipatti's extraordinary Besançon concert, a concert given by Lipatti three weeks before his death, where there are only short pieces, and he played in a miraculous way — the doctors having told him he must not play lengthy works. In 1938 she writes for him her Symphonie concertante for two pianos. So you see, a few contracts arrive, a few appearances on French radio, where she takes up the challenge of learning Brahms's second concerto in eight days
1:04:15 believe me, everything is difficult in Brahms, the second concerto in particular. A week later she performs it live on the radio — a week later she had learned it in eight days, a week later she performs it live on the radio. Her talent begins to establish itself, but the war comes to put everything in question, right at the moment when she's beginning to break through. That's it — she is of Jewish faith, must hide. Thanks to her sister Jeanne, a member of the Orchestre National de France, she crosses with the musicians into the free zone, and unexpectedly is taken in at the manor of another patron of the arts, Countess Lily Pastré. Indeed, it is thanks to the conservatory's intervention that Clara is housed on the countess's property at Montredon, already overcrowded with exiles and fugitives. In [19]42 her health deteriorates, she has increasing difficulty reading, headaches ever more violent, almost daily seizures — a tumor of the optic nerve is diagnosed, on top of the scoliosis and the leukemia. A disciple of the first great neurosurgeon is brought from Paris, who agrees not to be paid for the operation and asks only to be reimbursed for the trip and the papers needed for the free zone
War, surgery and belated recognition 1:05:25 The operation takes place in Marseille, it lasts 9 hours under local anesthesia — not even total — for the entire duration of the procedure, in order to verify that nothing in her brain is affected, Clara Haskil plays on the operating table Mozart's Jeunehomme Concerto — her concerto, excuse me, yes, her concerto, as she calls it. Don't hesitate to listen to the Jeunehomme concerto by Mozart, by Barenboim in particular, this middle movement, the movement where there is a melody of miraculous simplicity — her concerto, as she calls it. Her convalescence is rapid and astonishing. To celebrate this return to life, a concert is organized for her in the gardens of Montredon; she plays Mozart's most famous concerto in D minor, K. 466
1:06:36 we had spoken about it, we had noticed it's the same key, always dark in Mozart, always dramatic, the one of the Requiem and the one of Don Giovanni. She plays the concerto in D minor, Köchel 466, by Mozart. An account by Antoine Goléa, the great musicologist, evokes 'the absolute beauty daring to oppose evil and the sufferings of war,' about her. As she could be arrested at any moment, and once already had been freed from a raid organized by the Vichy French police, she is urged to take refuge in Switzerland, which she refuses. The same circle of friends and admirers, which in Switzerland is busy raising the money needed for her operation, now works to obtain the papers that will allow her to be received in that country, which from the outset had recognized her. After a final hesitation, almost on the platform of the station, she boards alone the train for Switzerland at the beginning of November [19]42. She arrives in Geneva 24 hours later; the customs officer who checks her papers says to her, 'It's you, Miss Haskil,' the customs officer who makes such beautiful music — her circle of friends brings her to the canton of Vaud, where she would reside
1:07:46 until her death. Despite the ban on leaving the canton, she manages to give a few concerts in French-speaking Switzerland. You know that Switzerland's relations with the Third Reich were rather, at the very least, ambiguous — I recall that when Hitler proposed his Jews before the Final Solution, he tried to export them abroad, so to speak, the Swiss government replied: 'One more Jew and we sink.' There's Jean Ziegler's book, Switzerland Above All Suspicion — yes, I know it well — her circle of friends brings her to the canton of Vaud, so the loyalty of the public would ensure the meager income she would have during those years at the end of the war. Whereas her life had mainly been made up of disillusionment, suffering, and missed appointments with a career that seemed poised to be extremely brilliant, Clara Haskil held on, and her perseverance finally brings her a resounding recognition. From the end of the war she is invited everywhere in the world — first in Switzerland, where, while she was at death's door, she can now travel freely — she plays in Geneva, in Zurich, in La Chaux-de-Fonds, in Ascona, then in England, where she records for the BBC a series of Scarlatti sonatas
1:08:56 it's a great success. In 1947 she records her first commercial record for the Decca label, Beethoven's fourth concerto with Carlo Zecchi. Having been stateless since the border changes at the end of the war, she obtains Swiss nationality in 1949, which puts an end to her administrative problems for playing in certain countries. During the last ten years of her life, her schedule is overloaded with concerts, and she can afford a Steinway piano. She plays in the Netherlands, in Germany — after hesitating, understandably, given the questioning she was always subjected to — where she's always very warmly applauded, and in France, at last, despite Cortot, her exceptional talent is recognized. In 1956 she is chosen by the Philharmonia Orchestra and Herbert von Karajan for a European tour in tribute to Mozart, whose bicentenary of birth is being celebrated — a public recording made during the Mozartwoche in Salzburg, the Mozart Weeks, keeps the record of it and has been released by the Salzburg festival on compact disc. She then goes on tour to the United States, limited however to Boston and New York — Boston had the best orchestra
1:10:06 philharmonic orchestra in the United States at that time, where she gives four concerts with Charles Munch — who, despite his name, isn't Karl Munch, he's Charles Munch, quite French — and Paul Paray, and receives standing ovations there, as everywhere. The phrase published a few years earlier in a Viennese newspaper is repeated, more or less: 'Clara Haskil was sent to earth to play Mozart; like a comet the pianist lights up the North American sky' — but she would not return. The artist's fragile health frightens American impresarios; they require guarantors. So, let me finish — sorry, it's a bit long, but it sums up so well the fact that, to become a great performer, one must not believe that it's solely a matter of the score. The 'grand lady of music,' as she's now nicknamed, must face the demands of a career that frightens and exhausts younger people than her. Between [19]57 and [19]58 she comes close to death twice and is forced to leave the musical scene momentarily; she considers herself then living on borrowed time, but she goes back on stage, resumes the recording sessions
1:11:16 some of which leave producers and sound engineers dumbfounded — certain movements of works require only a single take, that is, generally as soon as there's a little hitch, a little problem, one redoes it — you can't redo it as in film, first take, second take — they require only a single take, so much does her playing achieve a warm perfection. It is thus that between [19]56 and [19]58, for the Philips label, she records with the violinist Arthur Grumiaux the Mozart sonatas I recommended to you earlier for piano and violin, as well as the complete Beethoven sonatas for piano and violin. In a letter to his wife dated June 26, [19]53, Arthur Grumiaux writes: 'My first concert, the one with Clara Haskil — you'll find a photo, if I recall — was apparently magnificent. I had the greatest joy in playing with this magnificent artist, a great musician, and of a modesty many would do well to imitate.' Arthur Grumiaux had met her at the Pablo Casals festival, and that meeting had been the starting point of their concert tour and their recordings. So, let me finish — all testimonies agree there was an extraordinary contrast between her appearance
1:12:26 on stage, deformed by scoliosis and illness, and her playing. As she advanced with slow steps up to the piano, she seemed a woman of extreme fragility, very old, hunchbacked due to the worsening of her scoliosis; the audience held its breath, wondering whether she would make it to the piano. Then, as soon as her fingers made contact with the keyboard, the audience was immediately captivated. The weakening of her physical strength forced her to reduce the dynamic range of her playing, which now unfolded from the shading of triple pianissimo to a mere forte. In this she joined the sonic means of a Chopin, of whom she was a far too rare and brilliant interpreter. On her way to Brussels in 1960 to meet Arthur Grumiaux again, she falls down the stairs of the Gare du Midi, and after being transported from hospitals to a clinic, she dies on December 7. She is buried in the Montparnasse cemetery in Paris, near her two sisters
1:13:53 a highly selective choice, I'd say — the famous Jeunehomme Concerto by Mozart, any solo piano work by Mozart, in the sonatas, absolutely miraculous even if we know them by heart, and truly at the highest level — I won't dwell on her touch, it's so hard to define — so Mozart in particular, the Jeunehomme Concerto, and Schubert's final sonata — and God knows that's a work well served on record, by the greatest performers, think of a Richter, a Claudio Arrau, a Brendel, who hasn't played it — you have to hear what she makes of it, there it is. And as it happens, I've named two great Viennese composers, Mozart and Schubert, among the styles most difficult to render — that's why, so, after this long illustration through the singular case, let's change the framing, there — yes?
Furtwängler against Stravinsky 1:14:52 is it better, yes, there it's good — is that fine there? No, because I have no perspective — ok — it's because I preferred to focus on a single performer rather than do some kind of compilation of great female performers. That said, I'm not going to give now the biography of the others, far from it, but I should say that what gave me the idea of doing an episode on the notion of interpretation in the classical repertoire is a few little anecdotes, which I'll now specify, and which allow us once more to isolate the problems — this time to conclude them rather than to open them. I think of Furtwängler, who says in his conversations with Abendroth, Conversations on Music it's called — you find them at Seuil — who says in his conversations on music, a music journalist once asked him: 'What do you do with your left hand? Your right hand beats time, that's clear, but your left hand, what do you do with it?' And Furtwängler
1:16:02 who, at that point — after around 601 — replies... wait, I haven't yet posed the problem. I'm saying: here is a conception of interpretation — I've been told there's an element of spontaneity, unpremeditated, at the very last moment. Furtwängler said, more or less: how would you have it — I myself don't play the same work in the same way twice, depending on the acoustics of the hall, the mood of the moment, the receptiveness of the audience. Now let me take the antithesis: Stravinsky, very objectivist by contrast, who said somewhere: 'I ask the performer to execute what I have written; the rest, I don't care.' You see, there the problem of the polarity of interpretation is posed. Because it's all very well, I don't mind if Stravinsky is right — after all, if it's well written, there's nothing to add — but if I do... and if that's what's written, and if I do it well
1:17:13 a bit faster — none of that is specified, or else one would have to measure it out precisely every time, saying the tempo is 182.something — that's unworkable. We clearly see that the same performer doesn't play the same work at the same tempo across different versions. So already here the problem is fairly well posed. Now the problem of — the other anecdote, it's more than an anecdote, it's a testimony from Gould, from Glenn Gould, sorry, in favor of Richter, of Sviatoslav Richter, the Soviet pianist. You can't have a more opposite style — Gould being rather staccato, he wouldn't have done — there it is
Gould listening to Richter play Schubert 1:18:27 that's why he's very appreciated among jazz musicians, for example, because he detaches the rhythmic elements — exactly the opposite of a Richter, who plays the Well-Tempered Clavier as if you have the impression it's Chopin playing Bach, it's extraordinary, with legatos and an astonishing melodic sense. Now what does he say — and here it's important for our foray into the problem of interpretation — he says something very, very interesting, Gould, and very exhaustive above all: he says there are two kinds of performers, in general, not just on piano. There are those who showcase the instrument — we alluded to Liszt earlier, no doubt — I'll only mention two of whom we unfortunately have no recording — Paganini on violin, of whom everyone said, people believed the devil had come to him, and Paganini said he was capable, if challenged, of playing an opera with a violin on a single string — he could do whatever he wanted anyway. When you listen — and I recommend it — to Paganini's Caprices, you see how far
1:19:37 violin virtuosity can go, it seems unworkable. So there are those who showcase the instrument — one thinks of demonic performers, a bit like Horowitz — you see it clearly here, Horowitz, whatever he plays, including a little military march, we're stunned, we're surprised almost at every instant, and yet when you look closely there's an extraordinary rigor with respect to the score, incidentally, in terms of tempos and nuances. So he says: and then there are those who, setting the instrument aside, try to put the composer and the listener in direct relation. The greatest at that, he says, is Mr. Sviatoslav Richter, and he gives an example. He says: here I have a difficult confession to make to you — he says, I don't like Schubert. So, one of the greatest pianists of the century telling you 'I don't like Schubert' — indeed, that's a difficult confession to make. He says: I always thought there were, in him, repetitions, redundancies, longueurs, a lack of harmonic invention
1:20:48 mawkishness — everything one might say about Schubert seen from a distance — until I heard him performed by Sviatoslav Richter. He was performing — and here I return to the sonata I recommended for Clara Haskil, his final sonata, the D960, the reference in B-flat, his last sonata, and you know it, it's dreadfully long — already he found there were longueurs in Schubert — and there he takes his first movement, which, he says, is one of the longest sonata-form movements in the whole history of music, and on top of that he starts at a desperately slow tempo. As they say, if he hadn't been afraid of disturbing the audience he would have gotten up, he would have left. I couldn't detach myself for a single second, I was in a state of hypnosis, and I understood Schubert's genius, that his repetitions belong to the order of hypnosis. That's where you see the differences between the performer who showcases the instrument and the one who puts the listener directly in relation with the composer
1:21:59 it's no longer interpretation, it's almost hermeneutics — it's Hermes, that Musagetes, the one who makes the connection, in the Orphic cortege, whatever is said in Lacanian circles about the impossibility of identification with the other. Lacan, taking the example of Edgar Poe, taking the example in 'The Purloined Letter' — which hand do I have the piece in, you know, each time you have to tell yourself, 'ah, he put it in the left hand,' so now I'll say the right hand — and Lacan shows that it's always on an imaginary mode — which isn't entirely foolish — that one tries to identify with the thought of the other, who does the same thing in turn. And so we see, thanks to this example of Richter cited by Gould, that there is nonetheless a universal, that one can get out of the bubble in which capital would like to enclose each of us individuals, by ruining all intersubjective collectivism — I'm not talking about the intersubjectivity of moods, I'm talking about the real intersubjectivity of communication about a content
Modernity as crisis and the means of individuation 1:23:09 determined — because you spoke of the emergence of the individual, echoed as a container of polyphony, and interpretation, indeed, the very act of interpreting — but there's also the universal, which remains — there's also understanding. I'm glad you say that, because you're anticipating the conclusion I wanted to draw: it's the incredible dialectic that appears, that couldn't have appeared before this crisis that modernity is — not at a moment when we see the crisis and modernity, but modernity is a crisis. To be modern is suddenly to pose oneself problems and questions that, for millennia, had been avoided, because religion made sure that the answers preceded the questions. That's where we see the importance — sorry, I seem to be making a detour, but sometimes there's a link — and Marx — that's where we see the importance, because we're so used now to acting as if the religious fact had been settled, as if we'd emancipated ourselves — I'm not so sure, I see a terrible return of the religious in diverse forms, in the form of a certain environmentalism, in the form of intelligent design, call it what you will, I'd say
1:24:19 in multiple ways, in the form of a hatred of man and a demonization of man alongside a divinization of nature. And so I make this detour to recall that this sort of ontological orphanhood that modernity consists in is the sudden emergence of you, of me, of each of us — as if suddenly one felt responsible for a world that had not been made for us, foreseen for us, organized for us, but in which it had to be made — collectively — habitable. That's the emergence of modernity. Now the paradox is that it's precisely at the moment this consciousness appears that a possibility of individuation arises like never before, because there are the means to individualize oneself. A woman in a traditional African village cannot individualize herself — she cannot decide to be a maverick, a hippie, etc. — she wouldn't last
1:25:29 24 hours in the village. I'd even say that a perfectly normal woman, that is, subject to all the traditional protocols of her people, her ethnic group, her village, but who simply has only daughters and no sons, already begins to have a very hard life — she's subjected to taunts, well, not from men but especially from other women: 'you're not capable of making boys.' I'm saying this to set up a certain bourgeois feminism, which I contrast here with real feminism. And if, on top of that, she not only has only daughters but has no children at all — in other words, if the village will say she's barren, which — since one never asks whether it might come from the husband, it can only come from the woman — well then, it's really better to advise her to leave the village, or else to kill herself. It's admirable — what am I saying here? That one needs the means for individuation, because I've discussed this with people from the tradition
1:26:39 over there, of orality — why is it so important for you to have boys rather than girls? Because if a boy... I'm going to eat when I'm... We've so forgotten these things because we're no longer in rural life, in survival, in subsistence farming. You have to have seen the dry season begin in the Sahel — that is, to lift your eyes to the sky and say to yourself: here we are in November, and until early June there won't be a drop of rain. It's unbelievable to realize, truly unbelievable. So the last months are very hard — what's called the 'lean season' — is there still stock left from the previous harvest, otherwise it's famine. Well, once you're there, it's obvious that the boy, the one who can emigrate, go to rich Ivory Coast in the south where it rains, where it's watered, rent out his arms and legs as an agricultural worker in the coffee and cocoa plantations — hence the tensions between Burkinabé, Sahelian, Malian immigrants, but essentially Burkinabé, since the current Ivorian head of state has Burkinabé origins
The piano in the apartment and the concrete universal 1:27:49 etc. So that's where you see the real problems, and the individual, in the concrete economic sense, can only emerge when there's a means for the individual to isolate himself — that requires a society rich enough that an individual — you see, in one of the first episodes of Musicosophie I spoke of the emergence of the piano in households, coincidentally at the beginning of the expansion of the bourgeoisie, the avant-garde class of the era. The apartment as we know it now, with a living room, bedroom, kitchen, all separate, is very late, roughly the end of the 19th century, for it to take shape. Having a piano — what I had called the hi-fi system of the era — because with a piano you can reconstitute an orchestra, an opera, whatever you like, you can internalize, literally, intra muros, within the very walls of the apartment, what up to then had required attending a performance outside, at court or at a concert
1:28:59 so individuation in every sense — that's why I make this long detour on the dialectic between these moments where there is a — I'm thinking of Not in German, distress, I don't know how to say it — well, misery, distress, yes, that's it, moral misery, material misery, one being the effect of the other, we don't know — a common, collective one, caused by modernity, by the orphanhood I was speaking of earlier metaphorically. I mean by that the concrete universal — concrete this time, not universal in the sense of 'the car in general' and 'this particular Peugeot' — that's abstract generality, not this backdrop of universality, of the tragedy of modernity. I'm not trying to make people weep, on the contrary — it opens the door to possibilities of happiness that didn't exist before. And I come back to that phrase I keep repeating from Saint-Just, which — is it a coincidence? — chronologically coincides
1:30:10 with the beginning of the expansion of that bourgeoisie, at the moment it was about to take power in Europe, that happiness is a new idea in Europe. Well, interpretation plays on that dialectic — it allows, and it's a luxury we have, to find excellent interpretations despite their enormous differences. A Claudio Arrau often takes very slow tempos and an extremely broad sound, dug deep into the keyboard, whereas others, on the contrary, barely brush the keyboard, will have a much more delicate touch. So it's interesting to see that masterpieces can be made in both cases. That's where you see that the universal — one mustn't be an idealist — only exists, in the truly material sense of the term, each time in a determinate manner, with a determinate difference, realizing, executing, developing, at the center, and perhaps quite simply realizing, but in every sense of the term
Realizing a figured bass; jazz as synthesis 1:31:20 exactly, and I'll end with this musical metaphor: as in the Baroque age one spoke of 'realizing' a figured bass, because as long as it's figured, as long as I see '5-8' marked on the score, it doesn't yet exist — it's an essence, not an existence, it's like AX² + BX + C, no body propagating along that equation can be described by that curve. Whereas if I say 4X² + 9X + 5, well, it takes determined parameters that make it singular — musical performances, and interpretations above all. We bathe in the luxury of having a Toscanini and a Furtwängler — I take two extremely different conductors — a Furtwängler, as we saw earlier, and a Stravinsky, a Stravinsky and a Schoenberg, or, as you said, a Richter and a Gould, with a Gould who knows how to understand his antipode. And that's why, and this will be my last word, it's
1:32:30 that somewhere there is a musical genre that achieves an unhoped-for synthesis, I'd almost say a miraculous one, in the double sense of a marvel and a statistical exception: it's jazz — precisely because there, there is a level of individuation on what in French jazz slang is called 'saucissons,' meaning a standard you've heard many times, I don't know, say, Summertime, something everybody knows, Over the Rainbow, as I sketched earlier, or Blue Moon — how can you still surprise an audience with themes so overplayed? Jazz, with what's called the standards, almost by antiphrasis — how can you receive a punch in the auditory gut, so to speak, in the inner ear, and thus in the soul, with something
1:33:40 we thought we had already fully explored, and that there was nothing left in it that could surprise us — the miracle of jazz, precisely because it spends its time propagating itself between improvisation and arrangement. That will be my conclusion — I used to say, I'll allow myself to quote myself, I used to tell my students at the music school in Niger: improvisation doesn't improvise itself. There it is — great, we'll end there, and see you next week, and thank you to the audience, and I hope they'll rush to the interpretations of Clara — she deserves it even more, she deserves it even more. Thank you, Dominique, thank you, Aymeric.