The function of an object varies depending upon the intention of its user.

Love letters and hate mail are written on the same brand of laptop. We can harness a nuclear reaction to generate abundant electricity or destroy an entire city.

Pianos are complex devices designed to resound delightfully, to produce harmonies that please their listeners. Still, it takes the right kind of skill — enlightened hands — to accomplish this. A piano without a player is like a lightbulb without a socket. It can’t shine on its own.

Pianos belong to a special category of machine. Neither tools nor toys, pianos simultaneously exhibit characteristics of both. When a piano key is played, a hammer strikes a string. And hammers are certainly considered tools. But we do not say that a pianist works the piano. Rather, we say that musicians play their instruments. Hammering out a tune suggests the jouissance of amusement.

Great artists tend to give the impression of effortlessness. Concealing the immense labour necessary to create outstanding works of art is part of the artist’s job. Nonetheless, it is obvious that the Montreal-based pianist Alain Lefèvre enjoys his work — and takes playing very seriously.

“I need to create because it helps me to go through all I see,” Lefèvre tells me.

Lefèvre has called from Greece where he has just completed a tour and will remain throughout the winter to map out a new recording. A gifted raconteur as well as a virtuoso musician, he cycles through stories that always suggest some moral lesson, some higher meaning to be learned. “I believe,” he insists, “that consolation is something that we all need.”

Lefèvre is referring at once to music as a conciliatory force and to the title of his most recent album, Consolation, his eighth collection of original compositions released earlier in the year via the Warner Classics imprint. Arriving amidst a resurgence of interest in Post-Classical pianists, fuelled locally by the likes of Alexandra Stréliski and Jean-Michel Blais, and in a moment of unprecedented political and economic uncertainty, it couldn’t have come at a better time. “I feel like I need to be consoled myself,” Lefèvre laughs.

Yet, every joke contains a kernel of truth. This album of melancholy and widescreen cinematic solo piano pieces reveals a musician offering a gift to his audience that he secretly needs himself.

“After the pandemic, all of us thought that the nightmare was finished,” Lefèvre explains. “But we woke up and saw all this war, all this hatred. And one day, I came back from Quebec City, and I saw all those tents along Notre-Dame and all the homelessness. I imagined the suffering. I do remember, this was an inspiration. Consolation was born out of that.”

Lefèvre is one of Montreal’s most accomplished musicians, having worked with prestigious labels like Koch, Analekta, and now Warner Classics. He is the recipient of numerous honours including the Order of Canada, the Order of Quebec, a Juno, an Opus, and ten Felix awards recognizing his immense contribution to performing arts in the province. But he exhibits a humility that betrays an artist only now becoming comfortable with his successes.

“When you spend your entire life working back to Chopin, to Brahms, to Rameau, the vision you have of your own composition, unless you’re a megalomaniac, is very cruel because you cannot say to yourself, ‘wow, I’m a great composer.’ I never gave myself an inch,” he discloses.

Lefévre’s family immigrated to Montreal from Poitiers in 1967. “My parents were dreamers,” he says. “They were French people who thought Quebec was something very new, very fantastic.”

His first piano recital was at the age of five, where he won the top prize that included a recording of Glenn Gould playing Beethoven’s 3^rd piano concerto. “I would say that after listening to this recording, I was even more sure that this is what I wanted to do, to become a pianist,” Lefèvre explains. “I think that when I listened to this concerto, I was starting to have music in my head that was not Beethoven, that was my own composition. So, I was starting to compose already at seven or eight years old.”

Lefèvre has lived in Montreal ever since, touring in more than 50 countries and playing concerts in hundreds of cities worldwide. “To be honest, I don’t like winter. But I do not like Florida either. So, I spend a couple of months every winter in Greece. But I am a proud taxpayer in Quebec.”

I became aware of Lefèvre’s work by way of his classic 1999 album entitled Cadenza, a litany of Romantic piano hits including Claude Debussy’s “Clair de lune,” Erik Satie’s “Première Gymnopédie,” and Beethoven’s “Sonata no 8, opus 13,” which has become the definitive Canadian recording of these pieces.

However, as Lefèvre tells me, the album almost didn’t happen.

“Cadenza was done with a lot of respect,” he recalls, “for the compositions, for the tempi. I didn’t want to do a corny recording. So, the deal was, you find someone to produce you. And the CBC produced the Cadenza recording. And after, you send the master tape to your label, which was Koch, and Koch prints it. That was the deal. And I sent the master tape to Koch and got no news from them. So finally, I called and I said, ‘hello, how are you? Did you receive the master tape?’ And then I hear this bonk. And the artistic director said to me, ‘you know what that noise is?’ And I said, ‘no.’ And she said, ‘it’s me putting your master tape in the garbage.’ And to be honest, I hung up the phone and I started to cry. Because I’m stupid. I’m too sensitive. And I thought and I thought, and I came back to CBC and told them that Koch doesn’t want to put out the CD, and they immediately said, ‘we’ll take it, we’ll make it.’ And since, Cadenza has become quite a big success. But Koch disappeared. We always believe that the drama is what we’re going through at the moment. We never see the big picture.”

Lefèvre possesses a strong sense of social responsibility and understands the inherent affective power of music. “It’s about humanity. It’s about love. It’s about forgiveness. It’s about tolerance. All of those things are the most important,” he claims. “We saw before the last U.S. election all those artists coming against the president. This is not the way for me. In our society today, the disease is hatred. Artists have a voice. But our voice needs to be a tool for love.”

Nevertheless, Lefèvre has strong words for what he sees is the deplorable state of this city. Specifically, the Old Brewery Mission in Old Montreal, for which he is planning a Gala benefit concert in 2027, is a cause near and dear to Lefèvre’s heart.

“I’m not pessimistic,” he tells me. “But I’m not optimistic. There’s something wrong somewhere. There is no way I could accept to see the poverty I see in Montreal. There is no excuse. This is not the Montreal I know. This is not the Montreal we fought for. This is not the dream we had. When you are in the street, and I saw what I saw. I’ve worked in prisons. I know misery. But what I’ve seen for the last few years, it’s disgusting. Finally, the administration of Montreal, the government, they don’t care. They say they have programmes. They say they have solutions. But where is the result? This is why I put my energy into music. In a city like ours, to see what we see, it doesn’t make sense. We should do better. Especially us Canadians, we have been raised thinking that democracy is forever, that we will never lose it. And it’s a false conception. Democracy is very fragile and we can lose it easily.”

Despite these harsh indictments, Lefèvre seems to have faith in the resilient potential of this city, itself a complex machine capable of darkness and light.

“I’m still in love with Montreal,” he admits.

“I still believe that this city could be a major light. Montreal has a conception of tolerance that is quite amazing. But politicians are so afraid of making decisions. And I hope that we will have people who love Montreal who make decisions. Something is special about Montreal for me.”◼︎

Consolation is out now via Warner Classics.

_{Cover image: © Caroline Bergeron}