Applaudi dans le monde entier, célébré par le grand public comme les spécialistes, Alexandre Tharaud est un enfant chéri du piano français. C’est à travers sa discographie qu’il s’est révélé et qu’il a défini sa figure d’artiste unique : une trentaine d’enregistrements, singulièrement variés et imaginatifs. Car aux côtés de ses nombreux disques consacrés à Chopin, Bach et Schubert, d’autres reposent sur des choix plus inattendus : interpréter Rameau au piano, défendre le trop discret Chabrier, replacer Satie à la hauteur qui est la sienne, ressusciter le fameux Boeuf sur le toit. Sans rompre avec la grande tradition pianistique, le parcours d’Alexandre Tharaud bouscule les habitudes. Par souci d’être utile, par fantaisie et par goût des correspondances inattendues, ce virtuose estompe les frontières traditionnelles, peut-être car ses idoles se nomment Bach et Barbara, Rachmaninov et Wiéner. Alexandre Tharaud a rêvé puis façonné chacun de ses enregistrements, comme un créateur polit chaque détail d’une oeuvre. Salués par la critique internationale, ces disques forment un ensemble dont la cohérence apparaît aujourd’hui avec évidence, révélant la trajectoire d’un artiste aussi libre que déterminé. Alors que paraît son nouvel enregistrement Autograph, Alexandre Tharaud se prête à un tour d’horizon de sa discographie dans ces entretiens avec Nicolas Southon. Au fil de la conversation, il évoque ses répertoires de prédilection, explique la logique de ses choix artistiques, révèle les secrets du travail de studio, et se remémore l’enfant qu’il était, fasciné déjà par le disque. Plus généralement il raconte son parcours d’artiste, son rapport ambivalent à l’instrument, ses débuts difficiles et la vie de soliste, synonyme de solitude.
’He plays the piano well,’ wrote the society hostess Mme de Saint-Marceaux in her diary on 18 March 1927. ’His compositions are not devoid of talent but he’s not a genius, and I’m afraid he thinks he is.’ Intelligent though the lady was, she got this one spectacularly wrong. Poulenc has in fact outpaced his colleagues in Les Six by many a mile, as singers and instrumentalists all over the world will attest, and while he would never have accepted the title of ’genius’, preferring ’artisan’, a genius is increasingly what he appears to have been. Part of the answer lay in always being his own man, and this independence of spirit shows through in his writings and interviews just as brightly as in his music, whether it’s boasting that he’d be happy never to hear The Mastersingers ever again, pointing out that what critics condemn as the ’formlessness’ of French music is one of its delights, voicing his outrage at attempts to ’finish’ the Unfinished Symphony, writing ’in praise of banality’ - or remembering the affair of Debussy’s hat. And in every case, his intelligence, humour and generosity of spirit help explain why he was so widely and deeply loved. This volume comprises selected articles from Francis Poulenc: J’écris ce qui me chante (Fayard, 2011) edited by Nicholas Southon. Many of these articles and interviews have not been available in English before and Roger Nichols's translation, capturing the very essence of Poulenc’s lively writing style, makes more widely accessible this significant contribution to Poulenc scholarship.
’He plays the piano well,’ wrote the society hostess Mme de Saint-Marceaux in her diary on 18 March 1927. ’His compositions are not devoid of talent but he’s not a genius, and I’m afraid he thinks he is.’ Intelligent though the lady was, she got this one spectacularly wrong. Poulenc has in fact outpaced his colleagues in Les Six by many a mile, as singers and instrumentalists all over the world will attest, and while he would never have accepted the title of ’genius’, preferring ’artisan’, a genius is increasingly what he appears to have been. Part of the answer lay in always being his own man, and this independence of spirit shows through in his writings and interviews just as brightly as in his music, whether it’s boasting that he’d be happy never to hear The Mastersingers ever again, pointing out that what critics condemn as the ’formlessness’ of French music is one of its delights, voicing his outrage at attempts to ’finish’ the Unfinished Symphony, writing ’in praise of banality’ - or remembering the affair of Debussy’s hat. And in every case, his intelligence, humour and generosity of spirit help explain why he was so widely and deeply loved. This volume comprises selected articles from Francis Poulenc: J’écris ce qui me chante (Fayard, 2011) edited by Nicholas Southon. Many of these articles and interviews have not been available in English before and Roger Nichols's translation, capturing the very essence of Poulenc’s lively writing style, makes more widely accessible this significant contribution to Poulenc scholarship.
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