Self-portrait on harpsichord | The Press

I rarely talk about my instrument because it is… divisive. Some are charmed, electrified by this sound (hello, Yves P. Pelletier, Rosalie Vaillancourt!), others politely tell me “we like you, but why did you choose such an unpleasant instrument?” »

Today, I pay homage to the harpsichord to salute the end of my modest performing career. Yes, no more concerts! We are in the era of energy efficiency: life is short and my energy is now better spent elsewhere.

The instrument is still there; I play it for pleasure, never again out of obligation.

I am often asked the question: why the harpsichord?

In the choice of an instrument, there is often chance, or simply practical aspects. We play the guitar to drag it to a park or to the basement, it accompanies a known song, it allows us to invent a new one. We play the piano because a friend has one, the recorder because the school requires it.

Already, for the violin or the cello, you need a more complex mix of will and perseverance: determined parents, a keen and disciplined child.

So imagine the strange path that leads a teenager to one day choose the trombone, the double bass or the harpsichord. There is always a component of chance and another of identification: we come across the instrument (by chance) and the body suddenly recognizes itself, finds its bearings, establishes a natural dialogue.

When I was 10 years old, my father took charge of a small harpsichord in poor condition, abandoned by one of his friends who had gone to live in France. This music-loving and original architect built it from a kit. OK, already a big helping hand from destiny.

Even more, a music teacher from my high school, Hermel Bruneau, was one of the rare harpsichordists in Quebec City and he introduced me to the charms of the instrument.

I entered the harpsichord class at the Conservatory at 13. Pause here to shout loudly that teaching at the Conservatory is FREE for young people: at least a little talent and a lot of determination is the price to pay.

In 4^e secondary school, having to compose a self-portrait in French class, I wrote this clumsy little poem, but strangely still true.

I am made like a harpsichord

Thin and elongated stamps

Of nuances and phrasing

And a cursed dignity

My bones stretch and extend

In this fragile instrument

From which spring semiquavers

The crooked curls of my hair

Bach is all my wisdom

Couperin my tender madness

Yes, it is Bach’s instrument, who entrusts it with high mathematical challenges, requiring fiery concentration so as not to miss anything in a four-part fugue. He also knows how to create perpetual movement, a sound wave where each sound stands out.

It is the instrument of the Couperins, a dynasty of Parisians. If François Couperin invented good taste and delicacy, declined in a few hundred short pieces, his uncle Louis Couperin, in the 17th^e century, was the master of an intriguing genre: the unmeasured prelude.

No bar lines, clusters of notes, sometimes gathered under large curved lines, very bizarre melodic detours: diving into these works and understanding their flow was an intense pleasure of my late adolescence. We have the indie folk that we can…

Desperately dry and small in a large modern hall, the sound of the harpsichord can now be discreetly amplified to come to life. No shame: Mick Jagger or Jane Birkin would never have sung without their microphone.

But when the instrument I love finds itself in favorable acoustics, with wood and a well-proportioned space, it can say everything, express everything.

Here, it’s a dark and proud character, like Carmen, with an almost flamenco energy. Fiercely enjoyable to play, I assure you.

Each sound is the product of a plucked string, a real little explosion of energy.

I have always loved the harpsichord which has teeth, which cuts up time like the hi-hat of a drum, in a Bach Brandenburg concerto or in a Piazzolla tango.

But the greatest challenge is to “touch the harpsichord”, as the ancient French said. Make it sensual, as if the finger itself were pinching the string with its pulp.

Astor Piazzolla, Sadnesses of a Double A

This is where it touches the heart and stays there forever.

A rare opportunity to hear a harpsichord recital: Carole Cerasi, from England, will be the guest of Harpsichord in concerts on April 26.

Visit the Harpsichord in concerts website

And if you’re keen, in July you can attend the trials of the Jurow harpsichord competition, the largest in North America, which will be held for the first time in Canada, at the Montreal Conservatory.