solosection | P S L .

I have nothing amusing to give you, but I will give you most entertaining and then, most memorable.

I was performing Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 20 with the Berliner Philharmonics at the beginning of the week and after a very lovely rehearsal, the conductor, Heidi, and I went to Friedrichstadt-Palast together. Although there was no show on that day, they were doing late-night rehearsals that we somehow got us talked into sitting through, they kept working until past midnight and we stayed for all of it, the only two people in the audience. The darkness of the venue, the lit stage, costumes, song, dance, Heidi's breathy voice as she leaned on my shoulder to translate the German lyrics of I'm the little Fichtl... Some good things in life really don't cost you anything.

Good company and the revue past midnight - I see no downsides here whatsoever.

It was an experience. As for the memorable one? Here, have my souvenir.

[ Attached: A photo of a grand piano placed in the middle of Ort der Information under the Memorial to the Murdered Jews. Panels of light in the floor is lighting up the instrument from beneath. A circle of people are standing around the piano, applauding, and a couple of feet from the piano bench, the silhouette of Elio bowing can be made out. ]

Edited 2021-08-16 18:54 (UTC)

Tell me the story that goes with the picture.

It's a bit long. And it starts before we met each other. When Michel and I were still together. His father had been a pianist like me, but given up playing altogether for mysterious, unknown reasons. On his deathbed, he entrusted a score to Michel and told him to give it to someone who'd understand. When he met me, I was allowed to have it. It was a cadenza composed by an unknown man called Léon, a Jew, at the end of World War II. It stole left and right from Mozart and Beethoven, but at the core of this score was the Kol Nidre prayer. I recognized the melody. Michel made me promise to perform it on my next tour and I did, but it never felt like it really landed, found its way home.

Fast forward, I arrived in Berlin earlier this week. One of the musicians in Berliner Philharmonics, also Jewish, had been to a concert I did where I performed Léon's cadenza and asked whether I wouldn't want to play it somewhere people would understand. So he put me in touch with the museum board at the Holocaust Museum and they allowed me to do an intimate concert in the depths of their exhibitions. Only 20 people could attend, but it is still the most amazing concert I've done. I played Beethoven's Waldstein sonata and then, as a final encore, Léon's cadenza.

I don't think I'll ever play it again. It belonged there.