After a marathon day of Mozart in the company of three intense string players who get along literally like gangbusters, I have been justifiably exhausted. It is only partly due to the energy involved in the day itself: in that kind of company the energy flows so freely in all directions that one is as much borne up as exuding effort.
Intense preparation consisted of sleepless nights entering the works at the level of their compositional conception. Only that can generate the kind of steam that will cause life to be truly shared. It is fair enough that I, the pianist, took on that charge. Mozart himself played those piano parts, of that I have no doubt.
How on earth do I dare face him?
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