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As part of the al-Bustan Festival, the Lebanese-French pianist Abdel Rahman el-Bacha delivered a high-level recital, guiding the audience through a luminous journey between a poignant Beethoven and a poetic Chopin, while allowing Mozart to express himself more discreetly.
There are artists who, driven by a profound desire for sincerity, deliberately choose to step back so that the work, free from any shadow, can shine fully. Abdel Rahman el-Bacha is one of those. His playing seeks neither effect nor emphasis, but the truth of the piece, served with unwavering rigor and unadorned expressiveness. After years of sculpting his art with the utmost demands, he has nothing left to prove. Those privileged to attend his concerts, in Lebanon and Europe alike, know that his piano is not just heard: it is received like a confession.
And if his name immediately evokes Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849), it is because few interpreters have delved into the tormented soul of the Polish composer with such intuition. But to confine el-Bacha to this single facet of the repertoire would be to forget that he is, above all, an exemplary Beethovenian pianist. One only needs to listen, re-listen, and savor his two complete recordings of the 32 Sonatas by Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)—the first made for the Forlane label between 1984 and 1992, and the second for the Mirare label in 2013—to grasp their true grandeur. In his recital on March 13 at the al-Bustan Festival, he presented a program where Beethoven and Chopin dominated, while the shadow of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) appeared with unexpected tenderness. Indeed, Mozart—a composer the Lebanese-French pianist cherishes—received a tribute that became an intimate dialogue.
A Major Mozartian Test
“The ease of deciphering [Mozart’s scores] is all the more astonishing because the music of this universal genius puts its performers to the greatest test: its transparency reveals the personality of the one who dares to play it; it is impossible to cheat, either musically or instrumentally; the great simplicity of these compositions uncovers the slightest attempt at artificial display,” wrote Abdel Rahman el-Bacha. And indeed, Mozart's Sonata in C minor K. 457, with which he opened the concert, goes far beyond its apparent simplicity: it reveals, in every corner, a depth and complexity that defy any hasty interpretation, requiring both performer and listener to listen attentively, far from superficial obviousness.
According to Bernard Fournier, a leading European scholar of Beethoven's work, each movement of this sonata contains a pre-Beethovenian character, perhaps even more so than in the Piano Concerto in D minor K. 466, for which the Bonn genius composed two cadenzas. In the first movement, Molto allegro, the discourse is very Beethovenian in its way of structuring dramatic action with powerful contrasts, not only in dynamic nuances but also in mass, and of course in expressive character: violence / tenderness. Although the pianist's phrasing is undeniably eloquent and clear, a certain reserve is felt in the development of his contrasts, which, instead of blooming fully, remain suspended in a discreet uniformity.
It is only in the final Rondo, which itself is rich in contrasts both within the refrain theme, between verses, and in the transformations of the refrain with each new appearance, that el-Bacha saturates us with sound, without ever introducing a trace of harshness. He highlights these deep discursive breaks, unusual in Mozart, thus revealing, without ambiguity, his Beethovenian colors, as a prelude to the upcoming Sonata Op. 10 No. 3 by the German master.
Tremor of Soul
“This is one of the most important sonatas of the young Beethoven, alongside Opus 7, apart from those that are already well known. It contains a magnificent fiery development of the first movement, Presto, but especially a sublime Largo e mesto,” explains Bernard Fournier, noting that the term “mesto” is rarely used by Beethoven, with this movement anticipating the Adagio mesto of the String Quartet Op. 59 No. 1. El-Bacha's playing does not merely reproduce the score; it uncovers its substance, that soul tremor which distinguishes the virtuoso from the mere interpreter. It is no longer just refined pianism, but the very essence of pianistic playing, which springs from his fingers and traces a heart-rending cantabile of rare harmonic richness, where in the second movement, he bursts out with a “song filled with overwhelming sadness interrupted by sudden roars, like cries of revolt,” to quote the French musicologist.
A song of solitude and desolation before offering a moment of sweetness that acts “like balm on a wound,” according to Alfred Brendel. In the effervescence of the brilliant final Rondo, full of surprises, one is swept away, intoxicated by the frenzy of the moment. El-Bacha seems to wait for this moment to fully surrender to Beethovenian vigor, like a controlled explosion that finally erupts.
Tremor of Soul
After a twenty-minute intermission, Abdel Rahman el-Bacha returns to the stage to devote himself to Chopin’s 24 Preludes Op. 28. Each of these works demands a unique sound, articulation, and tonal weight, but also their own sense and revelation. The virtuoso plays them successively with astonishing ease and interpretative intelligence, performing as if his very life depended on it. Should we remind again that el-Bacha is among the rare pianists in the world to have recorded, between 1996 and 2000 for Forlane, the complete work for solo piano by Chopin in the chronological order of composition? While all the preludes find their way to incandescent expression under his fingers, some are particularly magnified by an absolutely refined performance, including No. 4 in E minor, No. 13 in F-sharp major, No. 15 in D-flat major, No. 19 in E-flat major, and of course No. 24 in D minor. What stands out is his princely legato, his natural rubato, and his pedal that supports the harmony without ever drowning it. That night, Abdel Rahman el-Bacha sublimated this opus, proving that Chopin’s work is only meant for the poets of the piano, those who know how to grasp the ineffable and reveal its intimate beauty.
Amid thunderous applause, the audience calls for an encore, to which the artist responds with sincere fervor. He thus pays tribute to “our heroine Fairouz,” to quote his words, and performs his own arrangement of the famous tune Nassam Aalayna el-Hawa. That evening, we had seen and heard it all.
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