The art of the pianist, after all, lies mainly in one thing, touch. It
is by the skill, precision, and beauty of his touch that he makes music
at all; it is by the quality of his touch that he evokes a more or less
miraculous vision of sound for us. Touch gives him his only means of
expression; it is to him what relief is to the sculptor or what values
are to the painter. To "understand," as it is called, a piece of music,
is not so much as the beginning of good playing; if you do not
understand it with your fingers, what shall your brain profit you? In
the interpretation of music all action of the brain which does not
translate itself perfectly in touch is useless. You may as well not
think at all as not think in terms of your instrument, and the piano
responds to one thing only, touch. Now Pachmann, beyond all other
pianists, has this magic. When he plays it, the piano ceases to be a
compromise. He makes it as living and penetrating as the violin, as
responsive and elusive as the clavichord.
Chopin wrote for the piano with a more perfect sense of his instrument
than any other composer, and Pachmann plays Chopin with an infallible
sense of what Chopin meant to express in his mind.
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