Curtain-raising her specially-commissioned harpsichord piece Furakela (meaning "caregivers" in sub-Saharan Africa), the French composer Eve Risser outlined her plan with startling frankness. She had written it under the influence of Ligeti and jazz, and its dedicatee Jean Rondeau was an improviser on her own wavelength.
"He plays like a shaman," she said, "and I didn’t write it note for note but tried to convey it to Jean almost in the manner of oral tradition. The details are less important than the goal."
Given this shamanistic utterance would only last five minutes, it behoved us to pay close attention. It began with random plinks and plonks at the upper margin of audibility, then it came down in dainty little cascades, then muddied its texture in the middle register and got into a syncopated rhythm; Rondeau began to play with the flat of his palms, then with his entire right forearm. Then the piece went back up into the stratosphere. Then it stopped. Yeah, cool.
Since this noxious little item was placed last, we had at least enjoyed the rest of an outstanding recital: Rondeau has got over his excitement at being a star with crazy hair, and is now taking his job seriously.
The improvisatory introduction to Rameau’s first book was exquisitely conceived, and the pieces which followed – more Rameau, then Couperin, then the rarely-performed Joseph-Nicolas-Pancrace Royer – were delivered with a refined touch and grave authority. For Rondeau, five stars. For Risser, Room 101 awaits.
