Seong-Jin Cho has been immersed in the music of Maurice Ravel more than most pianists in this 150th anniversary year of the composer’s birth. He recorded the complete solo piano music for Deutsche Grammophon, performing it in more than 20 ‘Ravelathon’ recitals at venues from Carnegie Hall in New York to London’s Barbican. He’s also performed and recorded Ravel’s two piano concertos and, this autumn, returns to the G major concerto to launch the Czech Philharmonic’s season, before they take it on tour to Japan and Taiwan.
“Ravel’s works are a highlight of the piano repertoire, full of imagination,” the softly spoken Cho tells me when we meet at Steinway & Sons in London. “My first encounter with Ravel’s music was the Alborada del gracioso from Miroirs when I was 12 years old. At that time, my impression about Ravel – or French music in general – was that it was very mysterious, kind of blurry with lots of pedalling. More pedals than motor! But after studying with Michel Béroff, my perception of Ravel’s music totally changed.”
Cho studied with Béroff at the Paris Conservatoire. “I played all of Ravel’s music for him. Michel was not only a great teacher, but also a great pianist himself, so he was able to demonstrate. It was so fascinating to witness his interpretations.” When asked which other pianists he listened to when studying Ravel, Cho picks out Marcelle Meyer and Walter Gieseking from the early 20th century and, among contemporary pianists, Louis Lortie and Jean-Yves Thibaudet.
We compare Ravel’s meticulous writing with Debussy’s. “Ravel was very academic in a way. His music is very orchestral, very different from Debussy’s music. There is more fantasy in Debussy, more room for interpretation. But Ravel really knew what he wanted. After performing these complete piano music recitals, I realised that he was a real genius. Everything makes sense. He really knew the instrument so well. Even though much of it is so difficult to play, somehow it just works.
“And it sounds so orchestral. I always try to indicate some specific instrument, like an oboe, for example.” Many of Ravel’s orchestral works, of course, started out originally as piano scores.
“I think the Toccata from Le Tombeau de Couperin is one of the few very pianistic pieces. You cannot orchestrate this.” Indeed, Ravel left out the Toccata (and the Fugue) when orchestrating Tombeau, although that hasn’t stopped Kenneth Hesketh and David Molard Soriano from orchestrating it recently.
What was the experience like for Cho, immersing himself in these Ravel marathons? “The final recital happened last month in Aspen,” he explains, “and I was hoping that I’d get used to this programme, but I’d still be exhausted after the performance. There were two intermissions, so about three hours in length. It was still fulfilling, with each evening like a journey.”
Cho sequenced the works chronologically, so I asked whether he could see a development in Ravel’s piano writing?
“Maybe not a development, but changes, yes. His early music was very influenced by dance: the Sérénade grotesque, Menuet antique. The Pavane pour une infante défunte is, of course, dance music too. Then he moved to Jeux d’eau and the Sonatine, smaller pieces, before Miroirs and Gaspard de la nuit, which I think are highlights of his piano writing.” Cho uses his hands to indicate a peak. “And then he returned to dance music again, the Valses nobles et sentimentales and Tombeau de Couperin – back to Baroque dance – but in a different, more mature style. A newer story influenced by Baroque – and maybe Schubert in the Valses – but mainly Baroque.”
Which is the most challenging to play, I ask. Scarbo from Gaspard, which Ravel wrote to outdo Balakirev’s finger-crunching Islamey?
Cho grins. “If you don’t have a good piano, Scarbo is challenging! It’s not possible to play the repeated notes. But for me, Miroirs is more difficult: five varied pieces in a row without interruption.”
When it comes to the concertos, Cho recorded them with the Boston Symphony – still probably the most ‘French’ of American orchestras – and Andris Nelsons. They were reunited at Tanglewood in July where Cho played both concertos in the same concert. Apart from the obvious – the D major being written for left hand alone – how do their styles differ?
The Left Hand Concerto is the more complex music, in my opinion. It reminds me of war, very dark, but in between it’s very jazzy and the piano theme is very nostalgic. It’s very complex and compact music. While the G major concerto is also jazzy, the Adagio assai is the highlight, one of the best second movements of any piano concerto in history. I can feel the mature Ravel here, in a major key [E major], but very, very sad. It’s nostalgic, sentimental. I always imagine a person who is smiling, but there are tears in his or her eyes.”