Lucas Debargue – A Matter of Life or Death

Since Glenn Gould’s performances in Moscow in 1957 and Van Cliburn’s historic victory in the Tchaikovsky Competition the following year, at the height of the Cold War, no foreign pianist has attracted as much attention in Russia as Lucas Debargue. In 2015 he entered the famous competition in Moscow as a complete outsider, though he had only been studying the piano seriously for four years and had no experience of playing with an orchestra. He recently recorded the complete piano works of Gabriel Fauré on the Opus 102, a very special grand piano by Stephen Paulello. Eric Schoones from the German/Dutch magazine PIANIST had a conversation with him.

Horowitz used to study all the piano works by a given composer even if, as in the case of Fauré, he only included two pieces in his concert repertoire. Does your perspective change when you have an overview of the entire body of work?

Absolutely! I had regarded Fauré as simply a transitional figure between two generations. I certainly saw him as a great musician and a genius in the field of harmony, but he remained the man of the soothing ‘Requiem without purgatory’, moderate in everything and full of gentle melodies. I knew neither the Fifth Barcarole nor the Seventh Nocturne with their fury and ferocity, nor did I have any insight into his very personal and complex counterpoint. Now I consider these four and a half hours of music to be one of the absolute highlights of the piano repertoire. He had a very personal, philosophical relationship to beauty, actually very intimate, not superficially virtuosic, not spectacular, but still very difficult to play. Discovering Fauré came as a shock and a revelation. Perhaps a bit of laziness is also involved; choosing repertoire is like choosing clothes – we prefer to wear something familiar, ready-made, rather than customising something ourselves.

Debargue plays Paulello’s Opus 102 piano

The largely unknown repertoire and Paulello’s special instrument make this recording an interesting statement.

That is something I’m proud of. Paulello’s craftsmanship enjoys an excellent reputation, but his instruments are still too little known. He has done something really fundamental here; everything is different from usual, the piano has 102 keys, the touch is extremely sensitive, and how you develop the sound requires a lot of acclimatisation. I needed time to discover everything, and that has changed my technique and music-making. It goes in directions that haven’t been explored before, because most piano makers end up operating in the same arena. Stephen Paulello is truly an outsider.

Paulello is also a pianist. Could that perhaps be the difference?

That’s part of it; he built his instrument on the basis of his experience as a pianist. The recording was a real team effort, Paulello, Hans Kipfer, the sound engineer, and I all worked hand in hand. I sensed their support. Sometimes Paulello adjusted the piano a little and made suggestions. I liked that; for me that is art without egos and with open communication. Together with Hans Kipfer I worked like a madman for over six months on the editing, sending him 50 comments on each track, although we had already decided on the basics during the recording sessions. For me, a recording is like a sound sculpture. And I’m very critical about every detail – not everyone will hear the differences, but I have to use my own ears as a benchmark.

Claire Paulello, Hans Kipfer, Lucas Debargue and Stephen Paulello

So making music is a matter of life and death??

Of course! As a human being, you have to embody the music with everything you have, as it were, and make something happen that hasn’t happened before, something that can’t be compared to anything else, like a real performance. Think of Marina Abramović. Some people won’t like it, but that’s a good thing, because it means that at least something is happening. An interpretation has to open something up, ask questions. The only laws you have to follow are those of the beauty of symmetry. I come across colleagues who are tired and bored, and I find that unbearable. I’m tired sometimes as well, but never when it comes to music. I admire these professionals who have everything sorted out in their heads before they go on stage. But for me that’s impossible. I see myself as an artist, not as a pianist. I change my fingerings during the concert and I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown every time I play. I can’t help it. I’m not interested in the piano. I’m not a musician, not a pianist. What is a pianist anyway? Someone who can play Liszt’s B minor Sonata without a single wrong note? If you look at it in those terms, then I’m not a pianist. I’d rather make a few mistakes, as long as it’s just to show how wacky the piece is. I think an actor may forget his lines as long as he captures the tension of the play and takes the audience on a journey of discovery. To forget being on stage, I often seek a delicacy of expression, an intimate atmosphere in a large hall. It’s about truth. How can you approach the Andante from Mozart’s 21st Concerto ‘as a professional’, music of such raw and wild passion that it breaks your heart?

It may be that Debargue has never been a ‘professional’, even though he was awarded fourth prize at the Tchaikovsky Competition and also took home the prize of the Moscow Music Critics’ Association. He has had a completely different career from all his rivals, who spent countless hours at the piano every day from a young age, especially those from Russia, who for years had their sights set on the ‘Holy Grail’ of the Tchaikovsky Competition, because anything less than a first prize is not accepted in Russian culture. Lucas Debargue spent his youth in a completely different way. He invested all his money in piles of sheet music, which he played through as if intoxicated by the music’s beauty. How could it be otherwise for someone who also has such a fervent passion for the other arts, such as painting and film, as well as a university degree in philosophy and literature? For a while he earned his living as a jazz pianist in bars.

His encounter with the famous teacher Rena Shereshevskaya marked a turning point in his life. ‘Through her I finally understood music, and her vision inspired me. She is more of an artist than a teacher.’ At the age of 21 he began serious piano studies, and when he was 24 he took part in the Moscow competition. ‘I went to the competition to make music as well as I could, in one of the most beautiful halls in the world in front of a wonderful audience. That alone was my goal. How could it be otherwise? I had no previous experience and after the competition I was thrust into the arena alongside the biggest orchestras. Today I can talk about it – eight years have passed and a lot has changed in the meantime. At that time I wasn’t ready for an insane schedule packed with concerts. I had no concert experience; it was a nightmare. My friends sometimes say that I always wanted to be a concert pianist, but they’re just imagining it. All I knew was that I wanted to dedicate my life to music.’ ‘I recently played Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto. It was a great success, and yet a friend from the orchestra’s board, who had every reason to be pleased with a full house and a very enthusiastic audience, asked me if the first section hadn’t been a bit too fast. I don’t understand that. When you go with the flow of a piece, there is no fast or slow. If everything has to follow a pattern of expectations or a predetermined plan, that has nothing to do with art. That’s why I’m a control freak in my studio, I try to master every detail so that I can be free on stage and keep my eyes peeled for danger.’

He thinks it’s a pity that he can no longer play in Russia. ‘The audience there is something very special. You can talk about the sociological context in Russia, but you can feel the audience there very intensely; they devour the music. In Germany, for example, the audience is no less involved, but people are more reserved. And the more you get into a trance, the crazier it gets in Russia. I tried never to feel the boundaries there. Art should not be turned into a business. We need labs where artists can talk about their ideas. It’s about the joy of exploration; it’s better to answer a question with a question than with an answer. This is necessary because society is sick. Recently, a survey of 19,000 people in Europe revealed that 26 per cent believe that the sun revolves around the earth; who knows how many believe that the earth is flat? And they will not be dissuaded. Just think about what happened in the USA on 6 January 2021 – that worries me. We are in a serious crisis, there are so many concerns about conspiracies. It all starts with education, and if there was more artistic creativity, people would develop and not fall for this nonsense. Artists are like doctors, like a family that keeps old spiritual values alive.’

— ERIC SCHOONES

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