Ravel Rediscovered - Interview with Vincent Larderet
Translation from Dutch – Original text by Eric Schoones

A Humble Servant of the Composer

About ten years ago, pianist Vincent Larderet stumbled upon Ravel’s own piano version of Daphnis et Chloé, which closely resembled the lesser-known First Orchestral Suite. He was surprised:

“This version was clearly intended for concert performance and sounded fantastic — it was so well written for the piano. I only slightly revised a few passages that Ravel had clearly simplified.”

His first recording of this version was very well received, and that’s when the idea emerged to make a complete recording — including these special, lesser-known pieces.

So that’s how this unique project came about?
Yes! For Ravel, piano music was always intertwined with orchestration. He thought in orchestral colors and preferred to speak of "transposition" rather than "transcription." That’s why a complete edition should always include works like La Valse, which sounds fantastic on the piano.
Considering the many pieces that exist both for piano and orchestra, I believe the question of which version is “better” is pointless. They are two sides of the same coin, and we need both to truly understand Ravel.

He’s a fascinating figure. His biographer, Vladimir Jankélévitch, wrote about the “mystery” surrounding Ravel. He could adopt a different persona masterfully, keeping his inner world hidden. I find that very beautiful — in French we call it pudeur, a kind of refined emotional reserve. This partially explains why many of his works draw inspiration from outside music — from poetry or nature.

He even mocked that reserve in himself, calling Gaspard de la nuit a “romantic caricature.” But let’s return to the piano vs. orchestra question. Can the piano truly capture the magic of orchestral effects — like the final bars of Ma Mère l’Oye, the Lever du jour from Daphnis, or even Boléro?
The piano obviously has limitations — orchestral tremolos, for instance. But on the other hand, it can bring out textures more clearly, offering a more abstract perspective. Like Stravinsky, Ravel always composed at the piano — so orchestration was a second step.
He didn’t orchestrate Gaspard because it was specifically conceived for piano. He wanted to create something extremely challenging for pianists — something even more difficult than Balakirev’s Islamey, which was then considered the hardest piano piece. He also had Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes in mind.
Highly idiomatic piano music, like Chopin’s, is very hard to orchestrate. One rare successful example might be Respighi’s orchestration of Rachmaninoff’s Études-Tableaux.

Precision and Integrity

There are very precise metronome markings. Pedaling was especially revealing to me. In Jeux d’eau, I change the pedal much more frequently in my new recording, which gives perfect clarity. Ravel, like Debussy, disliked vague “Impressionist” sounds.
Another detail: at the beginning of Oiseaux tristes, that arabesque can sound academic if played too rigidly. A slight tempo fluctuation is necessary. In Une barque sur l’océan, there’s a kind of pedal point before every wave — again, don’t play it too strictly in tempo.

I only met Vlado Perlemuter once, after winning the Brest Piano Competition, where he was honorary president. He said to me:

“Ravel knew exactly what kind of interpretation he didn’t want.”

We know from Marguerite Long that Debussy — who meticulously marked every nuance — got angry with pianists who ignored the score:

“Some people compose or arrange music, and then this gentleman just does whatever he wants!”

Ravel also said:

“No rubato, no interpretation — only the text.”

This is fascinating. Debussy’s notation was even more detailed than Ravel’s. I’m always shocked, for instance, when I play Ravel’s G Major Concerto — many conductors slow down one bar before the Meno vivo, following a bad tradition. But Ravel hated that. We know this from Long, who premiered the piece with him.

Respect, Not Rigidity

You once said: “True love for music means being ready to sacrifice yourself without ego.”
Yes, and that same spirit guides my work. Being a humble servant of the composer is my absolute and only goal.
But I wouldn’t call myself a purist. Respecting the text alone isn’t enough. To understand what the composer intended, you must know the historical context. That’s why I’m so grateful to have studied with Carlos Cebro — a favorite student of Perlemuter and close friend.
When Perlemuter died, Cebro inherited his Steinway and annotated scores.

From 1927 to 1929, Perlemuter played Ravel’s piano music for him — both at his home and in concerts. They worked together on the music.
I’ve visited Ravel’s charming house in Montfort-l’Amaury, now a museum. I remember the beautiful sound of his Érard. I once practiced on a similar instrument — the shallow key depth lets you repeat notes quickly.

The scores, filled with annotations from Ravel and Perlemuter, are a treasure — practically an Urtext, a foundation for a critical edition. Not just to correct errors in modern editions, but more importantly, to offer insights into expression, tempo, phrasing, and nuance.
For instance, Ravel didn’t want Ondine to play too slowly — he wanted it dolce and singing. And Scarbo starts “like a tambourine,” he wrote.

A Pianist with a Composer’s Heart

You’re labeled a Ravel specialist. Does that bother you?
Not at all. But I’ve always aimed for a broad, versatile approach — like a chameleon. Still, I don’t mind the label.

You even learned the basics of piano tuning.
Yes, and I think it should be mandatory in every conservatory. All instrumentalists, except pianists, know how to care for their instrument. I learned to better understand sound production and mechanical regulation. It helps me communicate precisely with tuners — and in an emergency, I can replace a broken string. I always carry my tools!

Lipatti once said that tradition becomes distorted over time.
Absolutely. I love Lipatti. The word “distorted” says it all. In French, we say fausse tradition. Boulez even said tradition equals trahison (betrayal). That’s why I’m so grateful to access Perlemuter’s annotated scores.

You allow your interpretations to mature over time.
Yes — truth in interpretation can be slow to emerge.
I remember preparing Beethoven’s Hammerklavier for a concert organizer. I was very young and had only six months — which is not enough to grasp its philosophical depth. Some pieces need to age with you.
But sometimes it works. I once added Berg’s Sonata last minute to a Brahms CD — but I had lived with that music since I was twelve.

You originally wanted to be a composer.
Yes, my father was a musicologist. Our house was full of books and scores. I loved music first — piano came later. I wasn’t a prodigy; I gave my first real recital at fourteen.
I consider myself a nonconformist. I didn’t attend the Paris Conservatory, which is the usual path in France. I studied with Bruno Leonardo Gelber in Lübeck. He was very demanding, especially regarding sound — and extremely precise technically. He had a great sense of musical architecture.

Ph © Karis Kennedy