Name: Alexandra Dariescu
Occupation: Pianist
Nationality: Romanian
Recent event: Alexandra Dariescu performs Clara Schumann, Nadia Boulanger and Mozart with the Academy of St Martin in the Fields on 21 March 2025 at the orchestra’s historical home, St Martin-in-the-Fields. She will perform the Doreen Carwithen Piano Concerto with the BBC Symphony Orchestra on 11 April at Barbican.

If you enjoyed this Alexandra Dariescu interview and would like to keep up to date with her work, visit her official website. She is also on Instagram, and Facebook.



When did you first start getting interested in musical interpretation?

For me, interpretation has always been at the heart of making music. Even as a child, I instinctively felt that shaping a phrase could alter the entire meaning of a piece.

One of my earliest experiences of this was playing Chopin’s 24 Preludes—each miniature felt like its own world, demanding a unique character and sound. Later, when I discovered Liszt’s Ballade No. 2, I was drawn to the sheer storytelling power of the music, the way it unfolds like a dramatic tale.

That fascination with bringing a piece to life, exploring its emotional and narrative depth, has stayed with me ever since.

Which artists, approaches, albums, or performances captured your imagination in the beginning when it comes to the art of interpretation?

I’ve always been drawn to artists who bring a unique perspective to their interpretations while staying deeply rooted in the essence of the music.

Listening to the great pianists—Lipatti, Argerich, Lupu, Perahia—was revelatory. I was also profoundly influenced by my mentor, Imogen Cooper, whose artistry taught me so much about depth and integrity in interpretation.

Early on, I became captivated by recordings where you can feel an artist’s soul shaping every phrase, where technique becomes invisible, and only the essence of the music remains.

Are there examples of interpretations that were entirely surprising to you personally and yet completely convincing?

Absolutely! One that comes to mind is Sokolov’s approach to Chopin’s Mazurkas—so raw, so unpredictable, yet deeply organic.



Another is Glenn Gould’s second recording of the Goldberg Variations. It’s the complete opposite of his first, and yet both are utterly convincing in their own way.



It reminds me that interpretation is never static; it evolves with time, experience, and a willingness to re-examine.

What do you personally enjoy about the act of interpretation? Are you finding that this sense of enjoyment is changing over time?

I love the process of discovery—the feeling that a score is an invitation to a conversation across time. Interpretation is where music truly comes alive; it’s the bridge between composer and audience, shaped through the prism of the performer’s experience.

Over time, I’ve found that my approach has deepened. As a young artist, I was often searching for the “right” way to play something. Now, I embrace the fact that there is no definitive answer—only ever-deepening layers of understanding.

How much creativity is there in the act of interpretation? How much of your own personality enters the process?

Creativity is essential in interpretation, but it must always serve the music rather than the ego. Every score is a dialogue between composer and performer.

When I play something like Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1, I bring my own experiences and emotions to it, but I also remain deeply aware of its historical and cultural roots.

It’s about striking a balance—bringing my voice into the piece without overshadowing the composer’s.

Could you describe your approach to interpretation on the basis of a piece, live performance, or album that’s particularly dear to you?

A piece that has profoundly shaped my approach is Clara Schumann’s Piano Concerto. When I recorded it with the Philharmonia Orchestra in London, I spent months diving into her letters, her life story, the influences she absorbed. It was important to me not only to play the notes but to understand her world.

There’s a youthful brilliance to the concerto, but also an incredible emotional depth—especially in the second movement, where she writes a hauntingly intimate dialogue between piano and solo cello. My goal was to bring out the richness of her voice, not just as a composer but as a woman breaking barriers in her time.

One project especially close to my heart is The Nutcracker and I. Tchaikovsky’s music is deeply ingrained in my repertoire, and when I first imagined combining solo piano, digital animation, and ballet, I wanted to bring a fresh perspective to a beloved work.

My interpretation had to serve not only the music but also the visual storytelling. In the Liszt and Chopin Ballades, the narrative is already in the music, while in The Nutcracker and I, the interpretation had to align with the animation, creating a seamless artistic experience.

What was your own learning curve/creative development like when it comes to interpretation—what were challenges and breakthroughs?

A key moment was when I began working with orchestras more frequently.

Shaping a concerto alongside a conductor and musicians taught me so much about dialogue, flexibility, and the power of collective interpretation.

In many cases, the score will be the first and foremost resource for an interpretation. Can you explain how “reading” a score works for you?

Reading a score is like deciphering a map—you’re given landmarks, but the journey is yours to navigate. I look beyond the notes to understand the phrasing, harmonic structure, and underlying rhetoric of the piece.

I often sing the lines, imagine them orchestrally, and explore different voicings. And I always ask questions: Why did the composer mark this dynamic here? What does this articulation suggest?

It’s a process of uncovering layers of meaning. I do the same in my teaching, always encouraging my students to be curious and ask themselves questions.

One of the key phrases often used with regards to interpretation is the “composer’s intentions.” What is your own perspective on this topic and its relevance for your own interpretations?

Understanding a composer’s intentions is fundamental, but it’s important to remember that music is a living art form. Composers themselves often changed their minds, adapted their works for different circumstances.

I respect the score deeply, but I also believe that true interpretation requires bringing it into the present moment—engaging with it fully, rather than treating it as a fixed monument.

When you have the score in front of you, what’s your take on taking things literally, correcting possible mistakes, taking into account historical aspects, etc.?

I take historical context seriously, but I also believe in playing music as a living, breathing thing. If a composer’s manuscript contains inconsistencies, I research, compare sources, and make informed decisions.

But I never approach a score with dogma—music isn’t a museum piece, it’s a dialogue.

With regards to the live situation, what role do the audience and the performance space play for your interpretation?

A huge role! The acoustics of a space influence phrasing, tempo, dynamic choices.

But beyond that, there’s an unspoken energy between performer and audience—each concert is unique because of that connection.

When I feel the audience leaning in, listening deeply, it transforms my own experience of the music.

Tell me about a work you’ve returned to throughout your career.

Grieg’s Piano Concerto holds a special place in my heart—it was the first Romantic concerto I ever played, and it marked a significant milestone in my journey as a musician. From the very first time I performed it, I was captivated by its sweeping lyricism, its folk-inspired rhythms, and the way it balances grandeur with intimate tenderness.

Every time I return to it, I discover new depths within its pages and a different shade of freedom. Last year, I had the immense privilege of recording it with the Philharmonia Orchestra, an experience that allowed me to explore the piece in a completely new light. Revisiting it in the studio setting, with the luxury of time to refine every phrase, brought an even greater appreciation for Grieg’s craftsmanship.

It’s a concerto that continues to evolve with me, revealing something new each time I play it.

Are there interpretations that feel definitive to you?

I believe interpretation is endless, but there are recordings that feel almost untouchable—Lipatti’s Chopin Waltzes, Richter’s Schubert B-flat Sonata, Argerich’s Ravel Gaspard.



They set a standard, yet they also inspire us to find our own voice.