The hall was full long before the lights dimmed. Presented as part of the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal, Ludovico Einaudi’s Solo Piano concert drew an audience as varied as his music is far-reaching: young listeners beside older ones, a cosmopolitan crowd united by the same quiet anticipation.
Einaudi was in Montreal on two fronts. The concert belonged to the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal’s programming, and it was a stop on the tour supporting Solo Piano, the album Decca released in February. For the first time, the Italian composer gathered his piano works from three decades in a single record, and added one unreleased piece, Memory One. It was almost a homecoming: barely a year earlier, he had performed at Place Bell in Laval to present The Summer Portraits.
The composer walked on stage to warm applause, wearing his famous hat. He greeted the audience, sat down at the piano, and began.
During the concert, he compared his return to solo piano with painting: for years, he said, he worked with a full brush, surrounded by a group of musicians, and now he was drawing with a pencil. He explained that he needed to return to the intimacy of the piano, and to his own audience. It was a simple, sincere confession, and it set the tone for the evening.
The image stayed with us as he played. Einaudi has his own way of dancing over the keyboard, with sensuality and gentleness. His hands seem to caress the keys rather than strike them. It was magical, almost hypnotic. As we listened, we found ourselves picturing a blank canvas and adding colour to it, little by little, using only our imagination. The music rolled in like waves painting the shore, one after another.
The evening felt suspended outside of time. The acoustics of the Maison symphonique, among the finest in the country, made it possible to be alone with the music: a private conversation between the pianist and each listener, and, for many of us, a way to look inward.
After a year of large stages and full bands, Einaudi chose to return to where it all began: a man, a piano and a hall holding its breath.
Review & photos by Ambre Bangoura (Chadow)
Share this :
