Maurice Ravel’s 2 piano concerti - the Piano Concerto in G Major and the Piano Concerto for the left hand - are some of the most important works for the genre to emerge from the early 20th Century.

While both are masterful in their compositional integrity, they each have very different contexts and origins in the life of Ravel.

Gwendolyn Mok is a renowned pianist, and artist here at tonebase Piano. She has taught extensively on Ravel, and has recorded much of his music.

This interview with Mok, presented by pianist/composer Robert Fleitz, dives deep into the roots of these concerti, offering a new perspective on how these concerti came about and entered the canon.

This interview was prepared in conjunction with this new YouTube feature on the subject:

RF: Gwendolyn, thank you so much for being here. Could you take a moment to briefly introduce yourself to our audience?

GM: Sure, I'm Gwendolyn Mok. I'm a tonebase artist, and you'll find some of my Ravel lessons on tonebase right now, which are the Pavane and the Sonatine.

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RF: When we were speaking last week in preparation for this interview, you said something really interesting to me that I hadn’t quite thought of before—about the dichotomy between the left-hand concerto and the G major concerto. These are such different pieces in character, but of course, there are similarities since they were written around the same time and are some of Ravel’s last works. I know you’ve recorded the G major concerto. Could you tell us a little bit about your perspective on how these two concertos relate to each other?

GM: Well, I don’t think they relate to each other at all, to be honest with you. One is written for two hands, the normal configuration for concerti, and the other is written just for the left hand. It was commissioned by a pianist who had lost his right arm. Interestingly, though, Ravel wrote them simultaneously, which is unusual. Usually, you write one concerto and then another.

He had just returned from a phenomenal tour of the United States. It was his first time in the U.S., organized by Robert Schmitz, president of Pro Musica, which was a great organization. I don’t know if they still exist—I should’ve looked it up. I remember Pro Musica presenting concerts for young, upcoming musicians. They’ve been a very important foundation for many.

I reviewed some letters Ravel wrote to his family and reminded myself of the tour. It was insane—he was constantly on trains, going back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast and to Texas. It wasn’t linear; he traveled back and forth. But Ravel loved trains. His father was an engineer, and Ravel was fascinated by watches and gears. He said he got some of his best sleep on trains, which was funny since he was famous for being an insomniac.

The two concerti were inspired by his exposure to the West and his visits to jazz clubs, where he met famous jazz musicians. A highlight of his trip was meeting George Gershwin in New York. Gershwin played Rhapsody in Blue, The Man I Love, and more for Ravel. Gershwin wanted Ravel to teach him, but Ravel refused, saying, “With your talent and instincts, you don’t need my instruction. You’d only end up writing bad Ravel.”

When you return to these two concerti, which Ravel started writing right after his trip, you’ll hear jazz infusions in both. The G major concerto has a lighter touch, like the violin sonata, while the left-hand concerto is heavily infused with jazz elements. The G major concerto is light and effervescent; Ravel wanted to call it a divertissement, which means a joyful, light piece. The left-hand concerto, however, mimics classic concertos, resembling Brahms. Ravel said those concertos were written not for the piano, but against the piano. The G major concerto is more like a chamber piece, with a reduced orchestra, making it a completely different animal. What do you think? Do you think that’s a fair description?

RF: Yeah, absolutely. You described it extremely well. There are a few points I’d like to dive into. To me, they feel like two sides of a coin—light and dark. For instance, there’s a similar 6/8 dance-like rhythm in the third movement of the G major concerto and in the middle of the left-hand concerto. Yet, they’re used completely differently. The bassoon solos in both are also used in very different ways. I’m curious—what do you think Ravel was trying to express with these different applications of similar ideas?

GM: While you were talking, I was thinking about a lesson I gave on the G major concerto. The bustling energy of the last movement reminds me of the urgency of travel, like being on trains, moving west, then east. It has an urban feel—like walking through New York, where everyone’s moving quickly.

The left-hand concerto’s dance feels heavier, reflecting Ravel’s Basque roots. Compare the openings: the G major concerto begins jauntily, almost playfully. The left-hand concerto starts in the depths, with a contrabassoon so low you can barely hear it, like a serpent rising from the ocean. Then the piano explodes into a massive cadenza.

I’ve studied the left-hand concerto but haven’t recorded it or performed it fully—it’s a physically demanding piece that requires incredible strength and endurance. Sadly, it’s the only Ravel work I haven’t recorded.

RF: That’s fascinating. And your observation about the opening—starting in the depths and rising—is compelling. It feels like a metaphor for Ravel’s own struggles. He seems to explore everything he could possibly do within the limitations of one hand, creating textures that often sound richer than those in the two-handed concerto. What are your thoughts on that?

GM: Absolutely. The cadenza in the left-hand concerto is monumental, a far cry from the light, Mozartian cadenza in the G major concerto. The left-hand concerto’s cadenza feels almost Brahmsian in its weight and struggle—it’s like a fight against the piano itself. Ravel wanted it to sound as if two hands were playing, which required ingenious techniques.

It’s poignant that these were some of Ravel’s last works. He was already experiencing medical issues that prevented him from composing further. I often wonder where he might have gone musically had he continued.

RF: That’s an intriguing thought. It’s also interesting to consider how he was inspired by jazz and by Brahms—a blend of the classical and romantic with something innovative and new. His approach to the left-hand concerto is emotionally broad and intense, quite different from much of his other piano music.

GM: Yes, and to perform it convincingly, I think you need a certain edge—almost a demonic or possessed quality. Pianists like Samson François, who lived on the edge and brought that daring quality to their performances, capture this intensity perfectly.

RF: Absolutely. The kinds of rhythmic modifications throughout his interpretation are just very... not out of time by any means, but they allude more to what you were describing before—this kind of Basque or more earthy dance-like quality, not perhaps the sort of Baroque dance that Ravel may have been working with in other pieces.

GM: Yeah, and I think Samson François was so creative and so intuitive. And one thing he said in a lot of his interviews—and this is something my teacher, Vlado Perlemuter, really hammered into me—was that it’s really important not to play Ravel’s music with any sense of sentimentality. Deliver the goods with a more objective kind of approach, you know? That’s how François delivered the left-hand concerto, for me at least. He was playful and mischievous, but he was not sentimental in any way.

This approach stands true in my own teaching and performing of Ravel. There’s always a little distance between myself and the emotions in the piece. It’s not that I’m playing it without feeling, but I try to avoid overly sentimental interpretations. François and even Casadesus embody this tradition, allowing the audience to listen without being overly persuaded emotionally.

RF: Yes, I was actually thinking about that, of course, because we discussed it previously. When I listened to your recording of the G major concerto, I was struck by this—especially in the second movement, which is such a beautiful and moving piece. You managed to create space for the listener to feel the music deeply without it becoming overly sentimental. How did you approach that second movement?

GM: Thank you for your compliment. That recording was an interesting experience for me. I got a call from conductor Jeffrey Simon, who invited me to record with the London Symphony Orchestra. Initially, I had to decline because of a prior concert commitment, which he found surprising. A few weeks later, he asked if I’d like to record the G major concerto instead, and I agreed.

When I arrived in London, it was chaos—a snowstorm, an attempted bombing, and the Tube shut down. I eventually reached the recording venue, a freezing church in Hampstead. They had gas heaters going, and in the commotion, my coat caught fire! It was so absurd that everyone, including me, just burst out laughing.

We didn’t rehearse; we went straight to recording. The first movement was filled with adrenaline. The second movement, however, required immense focus. That opening cadenza is one of the longest phrases in piano literature—around 36 measures. I trained as a singer because my mother was a Juilliard-trained vocalist, so I practiced sustaining that line as if it were sung. The challenge was to keep each note alive, letting them decay naturally while seamlessly connecting to the next.

RF: Wow, that’s an incredible story. I had no idea there were such dramatic circumstances surrounding that recording!

GM: Oh yes, the whole experience was surreal. I even had to buy a new coat at Selfridges, which nearly cost my entire recording fee. But in the end, it was worth it, and I was pleased with how it turned out.

RF: Incredible. I think we’ve touched on so many fascinating aspects of these two pieces. Is there anything else you’d like to share with us or with the tonebase audience?

GM: For the tonebase family, I’d say Ravel is a challenging composer because of his precision. His music, inspired by Mozart, Saint-Saëns, and Chabrier, demands pristine technique and exquisite pedaling.

If you’re new to Ravel, start small—perhaps with the minuets or Jeux d’eau. Once comfortable with his technical language, move to pieces like the Sonatine or the slow movement of the G major concerto. Avoid tackling athletic pieces like Scarbo or Alborada right away—they’re not meant to be conquered like etudes but understood through patience and careful study.

Ravel’s harmonies can be elusive, so analyze them harmonically to make them stick. Once you grasp his unique language, his music will become more accessible and rewarding to play.

RF: That’s such valuable advice. Thank you for sharing your insights. I noticed, for example, that even Yuja Wang uses the score for the left-hand concerto. What’s your take on using scores for performances?

GM: It’s totally fine. Franz Liszt popularized solo recitals without scores, but it’s not a requirement. With today’s technology, like iPads and foot pedals, using scores is practical and acceptable, especially for complex works or busy performers.

RF: That’s a great perspective. One last question: You mentioned earlier about practicing long lines in the second movement of the G major concerto. Could you share more about how you approached practicing that?

GM: Of course. The key is to think like a singer. For example, in the opening phrase, you have long notes tied together. I practiced sustaining each note, imagining how a vocalist would keep the tone alive without vibrato. You also need to connect the notes naturally, ensuring the next note picks up where the last one dies out.

It’s a meticulous process, but thinking vocally helps you shape the phrase beautifully. Ravel wrote this as a scholastic challenge, crafting a 36-bar phrase—far longer than the typical eight-bar phrases in most music.

RF: That’s such a useful approach. Thank you so much for this. And as we discussed last time, next year is a significant year for Ravel. Could you tell us a bit about what’s planned?

GM: Yes! Next year marks Ravel’s 150th anniversary, and there are many exciting events planned. One highlight is a concert I’m organizing in San Francisco, recreating a program Ravel performed at the Drake Hotel (now a Westin). We’ll present the exact program in the same room, possibly on a Mason & Hamlin piano like the one he played.

Additionally, at the San Francisco International Piano Festival, I’ll be involved in several events celebrating Ravel. Keep an eye out in January for my project Dancing with Ravel, which explores his dance-inspired works like Valses Nobles et Sentimentales and Le Tombeau de Couperin.

RF: That sounds fantastic. I’m really looking forward to it.

GM: Thank you for inviting me—it’s been a lot of fun!

RF: Really, thank you so much. It was great to chat with you. And to our tonebase audience, if you want to explore Ravel, be brave and structure your practice carefully.

GM: Absolutely. And if you’d like to see me teaching, check out sfpiano.org soon for lessons with two talented students on Sonatine and Jeux d’eau.

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