Désirée de Lamarzelle: For a long time, your piano seemed to carry the music on its own. On this new album, you’ve surrounded it with many voices. Did you want to open up your music to other voices?

Sofiane Pamart: Yes. After a trilogy of solo piano albums (Planet, Letter and Noche), I felt the need to start a new chapter. I’ve long been fascinated by great international voices, and I’ve built this album around them. I worked with an orchestra, the Prague Philharmonic Choir, and fourteen singers whom I envisaged almost as actors in a musical film.

Among them is Céleste, who, for me, follows in the footsteps of Nina Simone or Fairouz. My work involved creating, fourteen times over, a musical setting (a musical framework made up of chords and textures) so that these voices could dare to show their vulnerability. Because without that fragility, it’s very difficult to make music that’s truly moving.

You’re now one of the most streamed pianists. Do you still consider yourself a classical pianist?

S.P.: Yes, of course. I trained at the conservatoire: my fingers have classical reflexes, and my phrasing and nuances stem from that tradition. So I am a classical pianist, but perhaps a classical pianist of our time. My career path is less traditional. We’ll see, with the benefit of hindsight, how it will be described. For now, I’m throwing myself into it body and soul… and it’s working.

How does music come to life for you?

S.P.: I think beautiful music is music that reflects something genuinely experienced. When I’m going round in circles, I look for answers in life. Travelling, stepping out of my comfort zone, and confronting unfamiliar worlds forces me to adapt. In those moments, all my senses are on high alert, and that’s often when I feel at my most creative.

You’ve always surrounded yourself with artists from the worlds of rap and electronic music. Do these collaborations offer you something that the classical world didn’t?

S.P.: Perhaps the limitation of the classical world is that you never feel quite ready.

The works demand so much work that you can end up never seizing those spontaneous moments. Thanks to classical music, I’ve learnt the culture of excellence and depth. But I’ve also realised that you have to avoid getting lost in paralysing perfectionism. What I love about collaborations is the spontaneity they bring out.

In electronic music, for example, there’s a music of the body, of the night, something less cerebral. I want to create music that accompanies all the emotions of a day: those of waking up, of the night, of love, of sorrow or of anger.

You’ve built a very strong, almost iconic image (glasses, suit, aesthetic). In the age of social media, where image is part of the artistic language, is this a deliberate strategy or a way of creating a persona that protects the man behind the musician?

S.P.: Actually, it’s a bit of both. First of all, there are some very practical elements: the glasses, the suit on stage. These are things that protect me, because they’re the first impression people get when I arrive somewhere. Even before the music, the audience notices how a pianist presents himself: his outfit, his appearance, the suit he’s wearing that day. In fact, depending on the suit I’m wearing, I don’t play in exactly the same way.

These elements inspire me; they amplify my message. If I want to champion a modern piano, one that is fully rooted in its era, it must also embody the conventions of that era: the way of conveying a message, of engaging the audience. These days, people watch almost as much as they listen. And yes, it does protect me. I’m quite reserved when it comes to very intense emotions, whereas my profession requires me to constantly lay them bare. The outfit and the mask give me the feeling that a part of me remains protected.

Does this persona make you feel as though you’re on a kind of mission?

S.P.: Absolutely. My character serves something greater than myself: creating connections between people who might never have met otherwise. I’m convinced that the piano has an incredible ability to bring together people from very different backgrounds and walks of life. The more I manage to create a sort of interface that brings everyone together, the more I feel I’m fulfilling this mission.

Ultimately, this is also the role of art: to bring people together, to unite them, and to offer a moment of respite in a very turbulent world. Art forms that provide a space for introspection or an inner journey seem particularly valuable to me today.

You said that the piano allows you to remain silent. Yet you seem to have a lot to say…

S.P.: Yes, and I’ve found another medium: writing. Twice a week, I send a newsletter to my audience, Piano Scènes, on Substack. Reading can sometimes be a better way than a concert to convey a deeper message. On stage, the most powerful message remains the music. I don’t want to dilute it with anything else.

You say you love intimate venues, but you’ve also announced a concert at the Stade de France. How do you reconcile these two scales?

S.P.: They’re two very different experiences. I want to be the pianist for every occasion: for both large crowds and intimate moments. At the Stade de France, people come for a collective experience: the crowd is part of the show. In a smaller venue, by contrast, everything hinges on an almost fragile sense of intimacy. If I only performed in very large venues, I’d become nothing more than a spectacle. And if I stuck to the small, intimate settings of classical music, I’d simply be perpetuating a tradition. What makes my approach unique is precisely my ability to navigate between these two worlds.

Does the Stade de France fill you with dreams or worry you a little?

S.P.: I don’t always sleep very well, but that’s not really because of the Stade de France. When I wake up at night, it’s more because I’ve got ideas and I need to put them into practice. The Stade de France is still far enough away for me to keep my distance. For now, all my energy is focused on the next album.

In Los Angeles, where people are also starting to recognise you, is fame experienced differently?

S.P.: Yes, because there are so many artists and well-known figures there. Fame is almost part of the landscape. You can recognise someone, or be recognised, without it becoming a big deal. It’s a much more relaxed relationship with fame, and that’s also what drew me there. In France, I spent a long time living without fame before experiencing life with it. These two experiences coexist within me.

Your relationship with your manager, Guillaume Héritier, is often described as a true artistic partnership.

S.P.: Yes, because he amplifies my artistic intentions. Guillaume possesses both a strategic vision and an artistic sensibility. We complement each other very well: he is extremely refined, but also very driven. He’s a brilliant negotiator. And he writes a great deal. He’s even contributed to some of the lyrics on the upcoming album. He’s as much a writer as he is an entrepreneur.

What is your earliest memory of a musical emotion?

S.P.: I recently recalled a very specific moment: my first audition. I was eight years old. What struck me was the way my mother had organised the whole day around that event. She shielded me from anything that might have distracted me. I loved that feeling: it was as if we’d made a pact between the two of us. She protected the environment, and I had to excel in my art. I already felt like a great artist, even though these were my very first auditions. Perhaps that’s when something clicked.

Your family, and your mother in particular, seem to have played a vital role. Does she still protect you?

S.P.: Yes, but in a different way. These days, it’s an inner presence. She can’t step in as she used to: it’s all become too big. But she did her job very early on. And my family gave me immense confidence. I may not have had everything, but I never lacked love. And that’s probably what has mattered most in my journey.

What do you think is the most beautiful song in the world?

S.P.: It’s the one that best reflects your inner state at the moment you’re listening to it. So it’s constantly changing.

Right now, for me, it’s ‘Warden’ by Fairouz. There’s that extraordinary Lebanese voice, an almost majestic sense of solitude that moves me deeply. But the real answer is that the most beautiful track is always the one that resonates with you at the very moment you hear it.

Which performance has made the biggest impression on you?

S.P.: It’s hard to choose. But playing under the Northern Lights is undoubtedly the most memorable experience. The Olympic Games in Paris were also a very special moment: representing the country where I grew up. And then there’s Burning Man: a stage forty metres high in a setting straight out of Mad Max. A truly unique experience.

Credits:

HMC: Ada Nowakowska

Lighting assistant: Martin Cayssilié

Studio: La Brique rouge

With the support of Carrera

Article written by Désirée de Lamarzelle, featured in issue 15 of Oniriq Magazine

Translated by Bethszabee Garner