Musikfestival

With the performance of all of Sergei Prokofiev's piano concertos on three consecutive evenings together with the Budapest Festival Orchestra under Iván Fischer, pianist Igor Levit ventured an exceptional project in the world of classical music.

In an interview with general dramaturge Anselm Cybinski, the pianist spoke about the ambitious project, with which a dream came true for him, and about the unique power and emotionality of Prokofiev's music, which with its abrupt contrasts carries a fascinating unpredictability. He also reflected on the use of time, the theme of the Musikfestival 2025, which had the motto "Liberated Time".

AC: How do you feel about next spring's Prokofiev project?

IL: A dream comes true! I actually wanted to perform these five piano concertos in a cycle for a long time. To be able to realize it now with Iván Fischer and his highly dynamic Budapest Festival Orchestra is a double stroke of luck. Because of course these chunks instill respect at first. But Iván is such a wonderful communicator, a musician whose enthusiasm involves and captivates everyone and who really takes time to rehearse - that creates great anticipation.

AC: What experience can you draw on with the works?

IL: I played the first concerto a lot, the second even more often. I only performed the third, the most popular of all, once, when I was 18, and I completely messed it up - but it was insane fun. Numbers 4 and 5, which I love very much, are actually new to me. The Fourth, the concerto for the left hand alone, is hardly played at all. But it's becoming more and more important to me; I'm working on it very intensively at the moment and I'm realizing that it really is one of the greatest works by Prokofiev that I know.

AC: What is this concert all about?

IL: This is the famous story of the pianist Paul Wittgenstein, brother of the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, who lost his right arm during World War I—and subsequently commissioned works for the left hand from some of the most prominent composers of the time. Maurice Ravel composed his magnificent “Main-gauche” Concerto in D major for him, and Richard Strauss, Britten, Korngold, Hindemith, and several others
also wrote pieces for him. And in 1931, the then 40-year-old Sergei Prokofiev did as well. But Wittgenstein never played the piece. To be honest, at first I thought: Well, okay, I’ll just have to learn that too—it’s part of the cycle, after all. Yet it’s so poetic, so profound, so tender!

AC: Seen from today's perspective: Is Prokofiev perhaps the somewhat underrated Russian master of the 20th century? On the one hand, Stravinsky with his revolutionary early ballets and the enduring stylistic transformation. On the other hand, Shostakovich, the chronicler of the cruelties and desires of his era?

IL: I don't think so. I have never met anyone who would have underestimated Prokofiev. He is certainly a very complicated figure. He left Russia immediately after the revolution in 1918 and returned to the Stalinist Soviet Union in the 1930s. He then also wrote political-agitational commissioned works - one more ingenious than the other and yet with a very peculiar message. But the wealth of his works is truly astonishing! The elegance of his writing, the ingenuity, the melodies that flowed from his pen! Only Mendelssohn wrote as many great melodies as Prokofiev. Prokofiev himself said that he drew a lot from Russian folk songs in his youth.

AC: Do you recognize these wise men? Do they bring back childhood memories?

IL: ... the beginning of the third piano concerto, of course, that wonderful clarinet melody. A composed "Once upon a time"! No, in my case no childhood reminiscences. But of course I recognize the folkloristic element. I see images from old Russian fairy tales in front of me, with wooden huts and fields and meadows, with singing and dancing.

AC: What do you think is so specific about Prokofiev's sound?

IL: Listening to some of the orchestral works again, I am struck by the conciseness of this tonal language, its originality and sharpness, actually also in the lyrical. There is a fantastic quote from Galina Vishnevskaya, the great soprano and wife of Mstislav Rostropovich. Both were close friends with Prokofiev. Vishnevskaya, as my former professor Karlheinz Kämmerling told me, described Prokofiev's music as "melting ice": extreme heat meets extreme cold. And this melting process releases an insane amount of energy. I can gain a lot from this picture. The combination of sharpness and softness, of cold and heat, of beauty and let's call it ugliness, requires a lot of courage. There is something almost Beethoven-like about it. You are quiet, and immediately you are loud. It is these abrupt contrasts that make dealing with his music so enriching, so unpredictable. And you could potentially get your hands bloody from time to time - but the audience shouldn't find out about that.

AC: How do you imagine the pianist Prokofiev?

IL: There are all sorts of wonderful descriptions of his playing style and physique that have been passed down. Like that elevator operator in the U.S. who grabbed him by the arm and, because of his steel-like muscles, mistook him for a boxer or an athlete. He must have had that dry, percussive touch and tremendous speed. There are a few fascinating video clips out there, easy to find online. One of my favorites is the one at
where Prokofiev plays a passage from “Romeo and Juliet.” His handling of the instrument is extremely direct, with very short finger movements to the keys. He has this penchant for wild, asymmetrical leaps. But what poetry in tone and phrasing! Whether he was truly a great pianist—I’m not sure. Sviatoslav Richter spoke of him as a man who could be brutal at times, someone who might just grab a man by the collar and press him against the wall.

AC: Can you imagine what is revolutionary about him? In 1913, at the age of 22, he performed the second piano concerto, which is probably his greatest, and not only in terms of size. Prokofiev presented himself as an ultra-modernist, and that's how he was perceived. A real citizen scare. Do you still feel that today?

IL: Yes—because this music still has that tremendous explosive power. The Second is without a doubt the most important and, in a way, also the most powerful of his concertos. The story behind its creation is basically absurd: His best friend, Maximilian Schmithof, wrote him a letter stating that he had committed suicide and asking that no one investigate the reasons why. In the wake of this, he composed this piano concerto, which begins in an incredibly lyrical manner, with a poignant melody for solo piano. The movement transitions into a slightly sarcastic middle section, but what happens next is a single gigantic, megalomaniacal, hyper-energetic piano cadenza that really gets to the heart of the matter, both musically and pianistically. Absurdly difficult, notated across three staves. It’s like a cathedral rising up before you. And after that, the fun—and the pitfalls—really begin, because this concerto doesn’t actually have a slow movement. Finally, there’s the finale, which once again pushes you to the limits of what’s possible. The middle section is a truly moving moment. After all the turmoil, I always feel that in this one solo melody—the elegance of his writing, the ingenuity, these melodies...
—the narrator pauses briefly and tells us how he himself is actually feeling. By the end of this concert, you feel completely drained, because it tells such a merciless, self-destructive story.

AC: A word about the first concerto in D flat major...?

IL: The guy finishes his studies with it! Write such a super hit at the end of your studies, at the age of 21! How wide-legged do you actually have to be? The play is so ingenious, so full of ideas, so self-confident, rousing and funny. However, it is debatable whether most first works are really that successful. Not here. This is immediately a summit work. You haven't even played the fifth concert yet. This really is an unjustly neglected masterpiece by Prokofiev. He premiered the concerto with Wilhelm Furtwängler in Berlin in 1932. It is incredibly unpleasant and difficult, even for the orchestra. The formal structure with its five closely related movements is also very original. Yes, there is this new-fashioned coolness, but the euphoric end, storming across the finish line, is all the more rousing. Everything really falls apart at the seams. And the Larghetto, another one of those heavenly slow movements. Where does he get that from? For me, this is really such a Mendelssohn enigma, this overabundance of beauty and ideas.

AC: Prokofiev's temperament must be very similar to your mercurial disposition.

IL: This very quick change of perspective...... I'm working on becoming a bit more agile and faster again. But yes, basically that suits me!

AC: The festival motto of "Liberated Time" is aimed at the opposite: the attempt to break out of the hamster wheel of to-dos and the "fear of missing out" and to really experience time again as a "long while", as an extended present. How does this correspond with your own desires and needs?

IL: That has already played a role in Brahms 2024. One of the main reasons why I played so little of his solo music over the years was actually that I didn't have enough patience for it. At some point, there came a moment when it suddenly worked, and I was all the happier for it. This longing has only intensified. When I hear a work like Schubert's String Quintet today, the experience is completely different from three or four years ago. I can hear it and I don't need an agenda, I can just hear it. Whereas I used to analyze it simultaneously or think about a thousand other things.

AC: Does that have anything to do with allowing passivity? Let it happen?

IL: Not passivity, but letting things happen. The intensity and speed with which we are bombarded by impressions and information today is simply sickening. In the meantime, I'm trying to read the news more like I used to: once a day. The program of a Musikfestival will certainly not save the world, but I think it is very important to create a space where people can experience concerts in the awareness of how precious time is. One of my piano teachers used to tell me: "You don't have to do it - just think about it! The accent does not have to be actively set, the awareness of its presence is sufficient. A little thought about how precious such a life is, how precious time is and how toxic our present has become in this respect, that is worth a lot. Schubert's famous lengths really are gifts. A gift of time. I feel this more and more strongly, and I hope that others feel the same.