Listening for hours non-stop to recordings of Tchaikovsky’s music was how I was first introduced to classical music (and fell in love with it). To this day, I am not certain that I can think of any other composer whose music displays the rawness and vulnerability of human emotions to a similar degree. (Perhaps Schumann comes closest, but in a very different way.) Nothing stands in the way of it and this presents certain challenges when it comes to interpretation: as a performer one does ‘stand in the way’ of the composer and his or her music, like a filter, and not always to the benefit of the work.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770 – 1827)

'What you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I am through my own labour. There are and will be a thousand princes; there is only one Beethoven!'

This self-assertive statement addressed by Beethoven to his steadfast patron Prince Lichnowsky offers a glimpse of the tumultuously temperamental personality that many of us associate with the composer. But he clearly also had a very different, contrasting side to him which I find of great interest: warmth, generosity and worldly wisdom – with unexpected outbursts of cheeky humour – which all shine through his music, are also unmistakably among Beethoven’s qualities and particularly evident in the works on this recording.

Ten years have passed since I last recorded keyboard sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti (my first recording for BIS): an extraordinary and exhilarating journey, which has included a number of other recordings. Most of these have been very different from Scarlatti, but as the Chinese saying goes: ‘No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow’. Scarlatti has in fact been both a pillow and a comfort blanket all my life, or at least for as long as I can remember. During my studies in Russia, he was almost considered a ‘Russian’ composer since his sonatas were standard repertoire for any student (of any age) at the conservatories and music schools. One of the most fascinating things about Scarlatti is that no matter how many recordings there are of his music, he never sounds the same: with this composer there is an endless number of possible approaches and transformations.

Fashions come and go, yet Medtner’s music is for eternity. As trite as this may sound, it is nevertheless true: I often imagine that when the last sign of life, the last spark in the universe has been extinguished, Medtner’s melodies will still somehow continue to reverberate through the emptiness of space. Upon hearing the opening of his Sonata-Reminiscenza, or the central theme of Canzona matinata, or even his Op. 1, the first piece on this disc, it becomes clear why that could be the case: once you have become mesmerized by the harmonies, time stands still and you are completely absorbed in the moment. I love the quote by Ivan Ilyin on Medtner’s music: ‘You may fancy that you have heard the melody before… But where, when, from whom, in childhood, in a dream, in delirium? You will puzzle your head and strain your memory in vain: you have not heard it anywhere: in human ears it sounds for the first time… And yet it is as though you had long been waiting for it – waiting because you “knew” it, not in sound, but in spirit. For the spiritual content of the melody is universal and primordial.’ It conveys that feeling that this music, so beautiful and pure-sounding in its simplicity must have always existed somewhere, somehow – yet each piece is a unique composition and it was Medtner who managed to extract and make this music accessible to us by putting the right notes, in the right order, on paper. There is a kind of Michelangelesque element to this creative process: some 400 hundred years before Medtner, the multifaceted genius Michelangelo was convinced that the task of the sculptor was not so much to create but to free the forms that were already inside the stone: ‘I saw the angel in the marble and I chiselled until I set him free.’

Alexander Scriabin (1872–1915) and Nikolai Medtner (1880–1951) came from a similar musical background. Both studied composition at the Moscow Conservatory under Taneyev and piano under Safonov (amongst others) around the same time – although Medtner was the younger by eight years. Both were highly gifted pianists who focused their compositional output mainly on the piano and both eventually left Russia (although Scriabin later returned).

This is where the similarities end, however,........

‘Love, delirium and death’ is the subject matter of this programme, most of which was first set down in words and then transferred to music. (In retrospect, delirium sneaked in more frequently, even when it was not intended.) In choosing the works, I was also careful with regard to their harmonic complexities and mutual relationships: to me, they share many implied links, whether thematic or harmonic. In my youth, I shied away from Liszt as I was afraid that I hadn’t yet achieved the necessary humility and would join the long queue of young pianists contribut¬ing to a less than favourable image of the ‘piano-smashing’ Liszt. I was always fas¬cinated by the introverted and delicate Liszt, however. It’s not that I mind show¬manship, as long as it doesn’t detract from the original musical thought. (Yet it is more difficult to forgive when showmanship is not backed up by an adequate technique!) Nevertheless I try to stay away from Liszt’s Greatest Virtuosic Hits because they leave me longing for more – as with Pringles, ‘once you pop, you can’t stop’.

The pianist reveals what it was like to play Beethoven with Osmo Vänskä in Minnesota for the first time

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In search of the ‘perfect’ Chopin interpretation…

Chopin’s music presents us with a strange paradox: the average listener will find it instantly accessible, at an emotional level at least; some of the nocturnes, for instance, are often heard in movies and will easily bring a tear to the eye of the average movie-goer. Yet for the performer, in my experience and in the experience of many of my colleagues, the music’s raw, direct appeal to human emotions presents huge dilemmas when it comes to execution, and when searching for answers to certain interpretative problems one will usually end up with more questions. Inevitably it becomes a tough balancing act on a tightrope: on the one side, naïvety and blandness threaten, while, on the other side, a laboured and contrived approach could potentially damage the music even further. It is not easy to articulate these interpretative challenges properly but, simply put, the notes as they stand have such an incredible power of expression that imposing yourself can often diminish the piece’s expressive impact. This can make our job (as interpreters) deceptively easy or impossibly difficult.

How to avoid attracting criticism, hate-mail and having eggs thrown at you? Stay away from recording Beethoven concertos for a start, I was often told.

Since I try not to read reviews and I quite like eggs, I am doing it anyway. In reality, recording this Beethoven cycle is a dream come true for me for many reasons. One of them was that I finally had to face the challenge of overcoming my 'love-hate' relationship with the composer which I had since childhood. It is easy to be afraid of Beethoven. Very afraid. Not only because of the huge legacy of wonderful recordings of the concertos already in existence, but also because from the first day of playing the piano, with Beethoven's music traditions and customs are usually being drilled into one’s skull, which are to be observed and religiously followed whatever they are. Nothing wrong with that….at first. In fact deeply rooted respect (though not necessarily fear) for the composer is the necessary seed from which any individuality and original thought later springs to life I believe. Yet 'true authenticity' I feel is often to be found in some of the more 'unusual' performances. But don't just take my word for it: for example, think of some of the old, historical recordings of the great personalities of the past, such as Moiseiwitsch, Hofmann, Kempff, Fischer etc. There, we discover that Beethoven was in fact fallible and human, with many traits that I feel have become less pronounced in some of the more contemporary recordings and that I long felt needed much more emphasis. The intimacy and delicate lyricism of the (in my opinion completely wrongly nicknamed) "Emperor" is so important and all too easy to overlook, given the many runs and at times heavy textures; yet by being less direct and less obviously 'grand', it confers on the piece much greater authority.