“Christian Thielemann and I are musically so aligned,” Igor Levit tells Apple Music Classical about his album of Brahms piano concertos and solo works. “We trust each other blindly. We never really talk things through; we just give it a go. And time and again, I’m really surprised by how similar we breathe, and how similarly we think about these pieces, fantasize about these pieces, and imagine them.” It’s rare for a musician to find someone so attuned to their own mind. Some spend their entire lives searching for that perfect counterpart. And when they find it, they stick with it. So there’s no doubt that the sheer scale of this project (most pianists would be happy to release one Brahms concerto at a time) is a case of carpe diem—Thielemann and Levit simply seized the chance to record as much as possible together, while diaries allowed. “When something feels right, and you really want to do it, and you have the best purpose to do it,” says Levit, “you would be absolutely stupid to miss that chance. Or, to quote the great song by Eminem, lose yourself. If you have that one chance, should you let it slip? No. You capture it.” In any case, Brahms’ passionate and youthful Piano Concerto No. 1, premiered (semi-successfully) in January 1859 and conceived as a joint tribute to Robert and Clara Schumann, requires tight teamwork. It’s a gargantuan piece of almost 50 minutes, its sheer symphonic weight a challenge in itself as the pianist at times fights to keep head above water. In places, the music of the 22-minute opening movements feel like a battle of wills—yet here, that struggle is wonderfully calibrated: Thielemann coaxes stirring playing from the Vienna Philharmonic, but never overwhelms Levit, who admits his own inner battles with the work. “No. 1 is so emotionally demanding. It’s the darkness of it, it’s the length, the intensity, the musical language, the tonality of the whole piece… It sucks a lot out of you.” Yet despite his protestations, Levit brings an unparalleled radiance to the “Adagio,” one of the loveliest moments in all Brahms. And, in line with some of the concerto’s best interpreters, the serious-minded final movement achieves a combination of levity, Romantic soul, and dynamite energy. It’s perhaps in this movement that you can best sense that exquisite balance of orchestra and piano. Piano Concerto No. 2 is something of a paradox. Written 20 years after No. 1, it’s even longer and more technically challenging. Yet there’s a generosity and warmth about the music that is evident from the disarmingly gentle opening bars, as Brahms’ piano responds to the lone horn as if calling from across an alpine valley. The second movement is passionate and rhapsodic, orchestra and piano tussling, falling over one another, while the third is an unexpected ray of sunshine as a solo cello steals the limelight from the piano. The final movement might be a virtuosic tour de force, but its character is pure Mendelssohnian grace. Levit is in agreement. “It’s so unbelievably hard,” he admits. “There are so many moments and slippery slopes, and all these double notes and octaves. It’s just crazy difficult. And yet, every time the piece ends, I feel like, ‘Oh, let’s just do it all over again,’ because it’s so rewarding. It’s like interacting with the most beautiful person you can imagine.” Following on from the Second Piano Concerto, Levit presents the composer’s last solo piano works, Opp. 116, 117, 118 and 119—mostly short and condensed works that shine a light on Brahms’ more reflective, private side. The intermezzos (in particular Op. 117, No. 3 and Op. 118, No. 2) are beautiful, and emotionally complex. “For many years I always wanted to play these pieces,” says Levit, “but I felt I lacked so many of the qualities which you need for them—the emotional patience and the breath. And it took me so many years to actually feel like, ‘now I’m there, let’s just do it.’”