MUSINGS

Today, particularly in some conservatory circles, there is an almost religious obsession with performing Johann Sebastian Bach without using the piano pedal. One might think that merely touching the sustaining pedal during a Prelude or Fugue is a moral failure—a betrayal of history, a crime against contrapuntal purity. As a result, generations of pianists have been trained to fear resonance. The outcome is often hygienic Bach playing: dry, careful, academically “correct,” and

Claude Debussy did not write Reflets dans l’eau simply to fill Parisian salons with elegant moods or to provide a showcase for pianists chasing trophies with dazzling speed and accuracy. His true aim was to capture qualities the nineteenth century was letting slip away: movement that flows without force, depth that speaks without grand speeches, and form that breathes without constraint. Above all, Debussy wanted to unveil the secret life that shimmers between the notes, not

On the Arietta of Opus 111 and the Menuet of the Diabelli Variations. Among the many miracles of Beethoven’s late style, there exists a peculiar phenomenon: the appearance of music that seems to stand outside the usual flow of time. It does not hurry, it does not argue, it does not persuade. It simply is. Such music appears rarely in the history of art, and when it does appear, it possesses a stillness that cannot be mistaken for simplicity alone. Beneath the surface calm, th

With Opus 111, we stand before a final portal, the closing gesture of a lifetime of sound and silence. This is no ordinary conclusion. It is not merely the final sonata. It is an initiation, a spiritual testament, a gateway into realms where music ceases to be an art and becomes an act of inner seeing. If Op. 109 opened the door to inward listening and Op. 110 guided us through a confession and redemption of the soul, then Op. 111 takes one final step. It does not descend fur

Inside the Hysterical World of Modern Piano Culture There was a time when a pianist entered the stage as a servant of something infinitely greater than himself. He approached Beethoven as one approaches a cathedral. He approached Bach as one approaches a cosmic law. He approached Chopin not as a circus act but as a confession whispered at midnight under a dying candle. Today, however, we inhabit the era of the cyber pianist. An astonishing species. Half athlete, half algorith

There is something deeply revealing about the modern approach to Johann Sebastian Bach at the piano. One listens today to countless performances praised for their “clarity,” “objectivity,” “purity of line,” and “historical awareness,” yet one leaves strangely untouched, as if having visited an impeccably maintained museum where every painting hangs perfectly under ideal lighting, but where no human being has cried for a hundred years. Everything is in place. Everything is cor

Colour, Resonance, and the Awakening of Inner Hearing Claude Debussy did not overthrow harmony. He loosened its chains and allowed it to breathe again. By the end of the nineteenth century, Western harmony had reached extraordinary refinement, yet also a certain exhaustion. The great tonal system that had carried music from Bach through Beethoven and Brahms had grown dense with obligation. Every dissonance demanded explanation. Every dominant insisted on resolution. Every phr

How to Play Like Marc-André Hamelin

Note: I am well aware that what follows will win me no medals, no applause, and certainly no popularity, but truth has never grown stronger by bowing to fashion. Within many institutions and studios, piano competitions are commonly viewed as milestones in the training of young pianists. They are said to foster discipline, heighten motivation, and provide valuable experience in performing under pressure. These arguments, however, rest upon a narrow vision of human development,