Crazy things happen on the battlefield. Thankfully, this is a battle you’ll want to remember (29 August).
Two classical pianists from Berlin walk into a festival. There’s only one slot left. What do they do? They fight it out.
As polar opposites across all conceivable axes, Paul Cibis and Andreas Kern tousle and vie, swap and switch for audience affection: through the narratives of Bach, Liszt, Chopin, contemporary composers, and an airplane safety message simulation.
After Andreas is voted by the audience as victor for the first round, Paul pulls out the gaff tape and marks a finish line across the front of the stage. Andreas’ piano is dragged a few inches closer to it.
Seating himself for Round Two, Andreas jibs to his defeated counterpart “will you also play, or will you skip this round?”
Paul replies that (for this challenge of ‘playing something delicate’) he will play Debussy’s 'Clare de Lune', much to the silent, spiritual delight of spectators.
“Yeah I think I heard that song recently in an elevator. . .”
Andreas plays Schubert. I shut my eyes. I wanted to cry out like at a rock concert, or in church. Or a football match.
Image © Inken Rauch
But this is none of those situations. Caressing the back of my neck with his cascading fingertips, from 20 rows away, this is an experience of submission. And scoring. Paul responds by delicately moulding the piano keys into an aural image like a baker meticulously adorning a lamington with each crinkled crumb of coconut. It’s as though Australia rejoices with Debussy, in his gentle arms.
I realise that the versions of these songs I’ve seen sheet music for are not the real ones. It feels like the ridgy-didge sheet music could perhaps only be fully expressed in Braille. Or by professionals, translating it.
We are in good hands.
Before the voting, Andreas wishes to let us in on the sadness of Schubert’s short, 31-year life, and to encourage sympathy to guide our choice.
“He had a very troubled life, and I’m sure he would appreciate–” but we are laughing at the cheekiness of his approach. All night.
Paul wins this round. His piano inches closer to the front. Andreas leans against it to nudge it back a little.
Paul’s contemporary staccato study is answered by Andreas morphing into a one-man-band stand, making percussion and playing. He uses his foot, his chin, then bangs the bass strings inside the Steinway’s body.
“It’s a proper piece!” he defends. . . “by Moritz Eggert.” All the notes and body parts are written into it, we’re told.
Paul implores: “why aren’t you satisfied with just your ten fingers? Don’t you think the limitation makes the challenge?”
From there though, Paul too enlists the visual, donning a backwards baseball cap and blue tracksuit jacket: audience members become minions in a competition that transcends the keyboard.
Later, like phases of the sun and moon they reflect and thwart each other; playing some of the same song. . . And both jackets come off. Andreas has a sleeveless black shirt on and Paul a white dress shirt so they have now become both Yin and Yang to the eyes.
Enlisting onlookers as tactical guides in the fight, they take requests ranging from 'Für Elise' to Rachmaninov to ‘Happy Birthday’. . . Chopin style.
Image © Mathias Bothor
When the blindfolds come off (?!) and they make their final petition to we, the jury, music’s toughest questions are proffered.
“Does it have to be entertainment?” Paul asks. “It’s a question of trust, and magic.”
Yes, I suppose it’s not always black and white.
“Humour, like classical music helps humanity to survive,” Andreas implores. “The composers who created these pieces were innovators, pioneers,” he says, as he encourages us to let the pieces have vibrant lives of their own.
“Stay curious,” he says.
Nothing has been more clear.
★★★★☆ 1/2.
