Non-sourires à Lyon.
Maurizio Pollini.
“All the area of the renewal of the language of the 20th century is not well-know, unfortunately, by the public, and this is an enormous pity. Because, in my opinion, this area of more advanced repertory is full of genius, and consist of the most important compositions.”
Maurizio Pollini.
Glenn Gould - Sviatoslav Richter.
(speaking about Richter’s interpretation of Schubert : ‘Sonata in G major’)
“I was witnessing a union of two supposedly irreconcilable qualities. Intense analytical calculation revealed through a spontaneity equivalent to improvisation. And I realized at that moment, as I have on many subsequent occasions while listening to Richter’s recordings, that I was in the presence of one of the most powerful communicators the world of music has produced in our time.”
Glenn Gould.
Samson François - Chopin.
“Je me suis aperçu que, justement, Chopin était beaucoup plus dur, … je veux dire, bâti en dur, … que ce que l’on pense. C’est du dessin, … c’est pas du fusain, …, c’est du dessin à la mine d’argent.”
“As a matter of fact, I noticed that Chopin was truly more solid, … I mean, more solidly built, …, than people would think. It’s a drawing, … it’s not charcoal drawing, …, it’s silverpoint drawing.”
Samson François.
A piano improvisation about Robert Rauschenberg’s painting “Estate” will be posted soon.
If you’re interested in listening to my music : go there -> piano compositions and improvisations.
Bernard Tonelle.
Like a try of drums in Newark
Like a weird wheezing in half light
Like a solid hump of sighs
He moves his arms like a spine
And avoids in a stormless way
Sad blue needles and clay
I shall be diving into wine
I shall be chewing bones and bills
I will be as strong as a kid and as sweet as a king
Like a burning cowboy of art
Like a sticking red line of lime
He moves his arms like a bow
And avoids the warm wind
I shall be firing at hives
With my plastic pistol my rose thorns and her eyes
I shall be sitting or walking on cotton or lies
I will be needless as a skull
And as morbid as hollow coins before the end of charms
Like a bitter beard or a tank
Like a dozen of empty flats
I move my arms like Icarus
And avoid the white falling walls
I should be resonant as sounds
Like a try of drums in Newark
