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Rating: It is never easy to talk about classical music.
It seems that at the mere mention of its simple words, many people shy away, as if faced with something old and unpleasant, useless and gaudy. Yet when one thinks of Jazz, public opinion immediately fills with a strange respect, a consensual perception of cultured and refined instrumental music, modern, for serious musicians. But in the past, there exist "keys" that can truly open the doors to the modern; there exist "worlds" where music was truly Art, not only because it was "constructed" with discernment and deep intelligence but mainly because it was a true and sincere mirror of restless souls, purest crystals of true humanity, emotional dimensions steeped in piercing interiority.
It is never easy to talk about classical music.
Especially when many people are convinced that they are faced with music that is often pompous and haughty, verbose and boring. In fact, extremely boring. Yet, there have been artists, like the Polish pianist Fryderyk Chopin (1810-1849), who invested their most intimate and concrete universe in music, sealing in the notes of numerous scores all the wonderful imagery that a human mind can contain, all the poetic horizon that a radically carnal sensitivity has managed to touch.
Shaping emotions. Taking them in hand, violently squeezing them between fingers and gently letting them fall to the ground. Where everything is born, where everything returns. Only a piano as a friend, a sincere companion with whom to "dialogue" about sad memories, vivid remembrances soaked in deep nostalgia, ancient bitterness dormant in the certainty of one's eternal inadequacy, an anguished torrent of senses drowned in the scent of one's distressing misery. And then the abyss. The blackest recess of a tormented soul. The very root of darkness. 19 Nocturnes.
Introspective and terrifying paths of the "darkness" of existence, the deepest manifesto of "dark feeling". 19 absolute pearls of pianistic art, of human emotionality, of desperate fragility, and devastated nudity. No technical dissertations are needed to approach this album of instrumental pieces. Certainly no piano lessons are needed to understand all the wealth of feelings and the most passionate visceral emotions that the immense F. Chopin managed to capture from that cursed keyboard on which he often lashed out with violence and delicacy at the same time, but always shedding a blood that too often those who "talk" about darkness do not always seem to "feel".
Artur Rubinstein is the contemporary pianist who, more than anyone else, has come close to the aesthetic and musical universe of the genius Chopin, and within the scope of some recordings made in 1965-67, delivers to us what many consider the most extraordinary interpretations of the "Nocturnes" by the Polish composer, the most incredible and suffering pages of universal pianistic poetry. This is not an album for dreaming, nor for simply relaxing. But music made to suffer, to destroy, to obliterate, to cry, to remember, to understand.
And to be reborn.
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