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From long form to short form: that seems to be the voyage Jean-Nicolas Diatkine leads us in his new release, from Sonata no. 3 to the 24 Preludes. Yet this impression is partially deceptive. Granted, these preludes are miniatures, however they also form a whole twice as long as the sonata, when considered in their totality. Hence the work overcomes confrontation between fragment and whole, between unity and diversity. Yet a first paradox of this magisterial work is that this consistency is nonetheless varied and complementary in style – so much so that certain imaginative performers have foisted evocative titles on each prelude. The second paradox is in its title. Even though the genre is clearly defined, a ‘prelude’ must always pose the question of what it is a prelude to. And yet notwithstanding restricted dimensions, it allows us to wonder about the infinite because, even ended, narrowly circumscribed, and signed off, it remains inconclusive, suspended like an introduction to which no development follows. Without doubt, the denomination ‘prelude’ is interesting partly because we have no ready answer to the question of what a prelude really is a prelude to, which obliges us to rephrase the question. From this perspective, Jean-Nicolas Diatkine’s version of the preludes is neither a performance (although literally speaking it is one), nor a demonstration, but possesses rather a quality that may seem unreasonable: spontaneity. This interpreter’s spontaneity is not an intrusion of his own self into the composer’s ideas, nor substituting a hermeneutic inspiration to that which gave rise to the work. No, his spontaneity is the clear-sighted audacity to believe in interpretation where a musician can be so immersed in a piece (or in 24 for that matter), as to take the liberty of showing the listener what the work has revealed to him, what it has opened him up to.