About
Lambert plays piano and dons a mask. The grandiose simplicity of his compositions is enchanting. If you are curious to find out more about him one thing is essential: imagination. Lambert is a character without a history. If you wish to write about him, then you must tell your own story. And mine starts in Lisbon. Many years ago I was wandering around a flea market and noticed a small crowd gathering. They were standing around a piano where a figure was clearly immersed in his playing. Adorning his face was a peculiar leather covered mask shaped like a bull’s head with two horns perched on top. They were similar to an antelope’s yet when viewed at a distance they appeared more like those of an insect. His appearance certainly attracted the audience’s attention yet in no way overshadowed the music. In my memory the simple piano music is overlaid with the soundtrack to Amelie, that seemed to somehow be playing everywhere at the time. As the last sound rang out and it became clear to all that the masked man would not play another single note, we began to applaud. We looked at one another in astonishment as if by some miracle we’d all awoken from the same dream. When we turned back to the piano he had gone. All that was left was an old suitcase that the pianist had used as a stool. he himself had disappeared. And now he walked unmasked amongst the throngs, just as unrecognizable to us as he had been when he wore one.
Soon that will be 10 years ago. A few weeks ago I met with a colleague who writes for a popular magazine. He was currently working on a grandiose report on “The New Classical Music as Pop Culture Phenomenon”. During his research he chanced upon, and I quote, “The strangest musician in existence”. Apparently he composes pieces for piano and records them himself on an old upright or an un-tuned grand or the like. And the music really has something. A bit like Gonzales’s piano albums or Jan Johansson if he’d been interpreting Swedish folk songs. You know what I mean. And the guy? Intense! And then he described to me the same figure I’d seen at the Lisbon flea market. I turned to him excitedly. He simply had to put me in contact with him. I’ll go and find him at once. I’ll make a story out of it. Whether I liked it or notI had to make the acquaintance of a concert promoter’s email address. If it was going to be at all possible, this was the way to reach him. And he actually wrote straight back: “An interview? With Lambert? Well you can try.”
Determined to do so I arranged to meet him and found myself sitting in a café on Kreuzberg’s Oranienstrasse a few days later. As i waited there impatiently, keen for the secret to finally be revealed, I suddenly realized: I have no idea what Lambert looks like! I only saw him once 10 years ago, wearing a mask. Then the door opens and he enters the café, wearing the same mask as he did 10 years ago. I get up and go to free him. “Lambert?” I ask, automatically pronouncing his name with a French accent. Then, coming to my senses, I repeat: “Lambert?” Now it sounds like an English footballer’s name. “Lambert?” once again: this time it sounds German. The mask nods – three time. “Do you speak German?” He cocks his masked head. I read that as “a little” and slip into English. I ask him if he’s been in Berlin a while. The mask nods. Did he come for the music? The mask nods, and then sakes his head. Is this his first album? Cocked mask. I have no idea how I’m supposed to interpret that and ask him who his influences are. The mask nods about the room. Has he received positive feedback? The mask shrugs his shoulders. At some stage Lambert suddenly stands up. My questions appear to annoy him no less than they do me and he walks past me toward the window where a piano stands. He plays a key, lets it resonate, listens, then plays another. It almost appears as if he is introducing himself to the instrument. Then as if in response to an invisible gesture he sits down and begins to play. The other customers at the café, who have been responding to the startling appearance of the apparition by speaking rather loudly, fall silent. Lambert plays and suddenly we are all at a flea market in Tejo.
Later when we part ways I say to him in Portuguese that I saw him play in Lisbon. The mask seems puzzled. A little unsure I ask him again in German. “But you were in Portugal?” The mask answers in the negative. I am still standing there as the door shuts behind Lambert. I know that I have just been a witness. But to what I am not exactly sure. –Matthew Graves
