Bertrand Chamayou
(c) Audoin Desforges

In 2024, you recorded an album dedicated to Mendelssohn with Sol Gabetta. Today you’re releasing a complete recording of the Lieder ohne Worte, Songs without Words. How did this close connection with Mendelssohn come about?
My connection to Mendelssohn dates back to my childhood. I was already playing a few Lieder ohne Worte, as well as the Variations sérieuses, one of my signature pieces, when I was a teenager and also early in my career. I remember working on them with Murray Perahia in particular, whose Mendelssohn albums I adored.
I recorded my first album of Mendelssohn’s solo works for the Naïve label in 2008. For this album, I selected only five Songs without Words, but this experience inspired me to record the entire cycle one day.

So, you have now devoted yourself to performing the complete set of forty-eight lyrical piano miniatures, only a handful of which usually appear on concert programs. Where does this selection come from? In your opinion, does the quality of ethe complete cycle remain consistent from start to finish?
For me, the big surprise when I thoroughly explored the cycle for the first time was discovering the consistent quality of these pieces.
Some may be more obvious than others—which likely explains their popularity—but none of them is weak.
There are hidden masterpieces, and even the few pieces that might be described as more minor are admirably composed, always conveying subtle emotions and featuring fascinating details in the writing.
I also think that the success of certain pieces is partly due to a phenomenon of imitation.
Some musicians aren’t particularly curious and are content to simply replay the pieces they know or have already heard performed by other musicians.
I think this is the case with some of these Songs without Words.
Few people are familiar with all of these pieces, and I’m convinced there will be some wonderful surprises in store for everyone.

Although Mendelssohn himself gave programmatic titles to only a very few pieces, certain popular titles have become established over time, such as The Hunter’s Song, Venetian Gondola Songs, and The Spinner’s Song. Do you think this makes sense?
These titles are relatively obvious. The gondoliers’ Songs is a title given by Mendelssohn himself.
These pieces are like tableaux, based on scenes that are sometimes everyday, or impressions from travels, etc. hunting, a folk song, a funeral march, a barcarolle.
As for the rest, there have been many misleading titles. I think the essence of Lieder ohne Worte is that the absence of lyrics creates an air of mystery, and that the imagination of the performer—and then of the listeners—should not be influenced by titles.

I’ve heard that for the recording of Lieder ohne Worte, you worked closely with the piano technician, who prepared the grand piano specifically for each piece. How did that go?
I’ve worked with the same piano technician, Cyril Mordant, on most of my recent albums.
For this album, I used my own Steinway.
I recorded the most lyrical and gentle pieces first, then gradually moved on to the more rhythmic and brilliant ones. So I asked Cyril to adjust the piano as the sessions progressed, to match the sound I wanted for these different romances.
When we put the works in order, it was quite striking to realize the diversity of sounds that this same piano could produce.

You’re also known as a performer of French music. I suppose French composers are your first choice?
It’s not my first choice—I don’t think that way—but having grown up in an environment where the music of Ravel, Debussy, Fauré, Messiaen, and others was ever-present, and having known and worked with figures like Dutilleux and Boulez myself, French music is a bit like a mother tongue and has become central to my life.
The same goes for non-French composers with whom I’ve been closely acquainted—such as Liszt, for example—or composers who had strong ties to France in the early 20th century, like Prokofiev, Stravinsky, de Falla, and Albéniz.
But fortunately, I don’t limit myself to that!

You progress from recitals to chamber music and then to orchestral music. Is there a genre you prefer?
Above all, I love the diversity in my work. I couldn’t limit myself to a single format. Each one nourishes and enriches me.
Playing chamber music helps me approach the concerto differently—and vice versa… for example.

You’re also a great advocate for the music of our time. What do you expect from contemporary composers when they submit a work to you?
I expect them to be themselves. For me, it’s essential to champion creativity—everything that’s alive in our art—and I find that this also makes the repertoire of the past feel more relevant today. Working with a composer of today teaches us a great deal about how to approach a score—particularly regarding the ever-evolving nature of musical notation.
And above all, it seems to me that participating in this way in the ongoing writing of music history is one of the most beautiful things we can do as performers.