Week ten: Two grand pianos

I’ve never thought of myself as a piano music sort of person. Chopin, to the teenage me, went with doilies and genteel natures. Perhaps I had the latter, perhaps I didn’t. But either way, there was something about the idea of listening to just a piano that I didn’t understand the appeal of or find appealing. It seemed dull, somehow.

I should probably thank my friend Clare for helping me change that as an adult. We went to a Prom together, and while I don’t recall how we chose (almost certainly by date rather than content) I do remember that we ended up seeing Paul Lewis performing Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No.3 – along with works by Foulds and Strauss. That was my first intentional exposure. It made me want to try more, and I spent time finding works by other composers to try and fill that gap.

Then last year, during my A Year in 52 Albums project, I listened to Glenn Gould’s 1952 recording of the Goldberg Variations – plus Kimiko Ishizaka’s Open Goldbergs as a comparison. I enjoyed both, was moved by both, and have listened to a fair amount since, covering composers in a scattergun manner.  I’m now starting to think of myself as a piano music sort-of-person.

But a recent discovery that got heavy rotation this week was Unsent Love Letters – meditations on Erik Satie, composed by Elena Kats-Chernin. It (and what of the story of Erik Satie I’ve read about so far) absolutely entranced me. It is gorgeous, moving, fascinating. A wonderful set of pieces that seem to charm their way under my skin gently and beautifully. I couldn’t believe the amount it affected me. Enough to want to share it immediately.

Every time I listen I expect it to have less effect. But each time it has the same – I’m moved and delighted, saddened and elated all at once. It’s even moved me onto the music of Satie itself, which I’m really loving. So, it’s another poem about music that has moved me, but from a different place.  And seriously, give Unsent Love Letters a try – I found it on Spotify first of all, but I’m sure it’s in other places too.

Two Grand Pianos

This was how they found it
when getting in:
two grands. Stacked,
amongst the mess.

A work in detritus,
left to voice
all the unspoken words,
unplayed notes.

But the beauty remains,
suspended,
waiting to be picked
and eaten,

the aftertaste
more than hoarded
umbrellas and
unsent love letters.