Perhaps the music business has pushed its own pressures — intensive concert dates, planning of programmes years in advance, air travel, publicity, etc — to such extremes that this artificial existence threatens to distort artistic results. The above pianists, all over 50, are big-time enough to recognise this and need not conform if they don't want to. I don't know what the system will do to the finest younger ones who can't afford to pick and choose.
Franz Liszt and his grand-scale tours in the 1830s are the chief model for what we expect of pianists today. But not the only possible model. We always hear that Chopin gave few concerts. Yet he performed a lot — in salons to intimate gatherings of friends, a more appealing setting for performer and audience alike. In Brahms's day, recitals sometimes took place in beer gardens. Composers such as Fauré, Saint-Saëns and Debussy relied on salons such as the Princesse de Polignac's to air their piano music, chamber music and songs. More recently, in his last years Sviatoslav Richter preferred to perform at short notice in small venues, his audience gathered via word of mouth. In cavernous 2,000-seat halls, it's almost impossible to relate satisfactorily to one person playing one instrument.
We need to bring the concept of intimate communication back to the piano recital. It can happen. I cherish memories of Piers Lane playing Chopin nocturnes by candlelight in St Paul's, the actors' church in Covent Garden; András Schiff playing the Bach Goldberg Variations at Dartington Hall; an all-Fauré recital given by the late Grant Johannesen at St John's, Smith Square to a small, enchanted audience. The listeners seemed to share a profound experience of reflection, poetry and inspiration with the artist and with each other. Encouraging this approach could replenish artists and audiences alike with a little faith in what they're doing.
As for musicianship, a few very young pianists offer hope. Benjamin Grosvenor, now 17, won the BBC contest's piano section aged only 11 — an unpretentious lad from Essex deeply in love with the piano and a terrific range of its repertoire who already has a "sound" of his own. I believe he is potentially the biggest British piano talent since Stephen Hough. And then there's Lara Ömeroglu. I hope she maintains her freshness and genuine musical feeling when the onslaught begins.
Ironically, though, it is Lang Lang who has turned a new generation on to the piano with the help of excessive celebrity. Purists nickname him "Bang Bang" and throw up their hands at his personalised trainers and the rest, but his activities are vital. Maybe he's the nearest thing that we have to Liszt — who, if he were alive, would probably be marketing his own designer clothing range too.
If the piano recital is to survive, it needs a mix of different ingredients: genuinely great artists with individuality and sound artistic judgment; their accurate recognition by halls, record companies and audiences; an alternative setting in which to play and listen; and performers whose energy can successfully reimagine a 19th-century concept for the 21st century. Otherwise, we can all go back to sleep.
