Credits: Brenden Friesen.
Just a few years into her career, Chloé Dumoulin, a Canadian classical pianist, is already establishing herself as a distinctive voice in contemporary piano. Far from flashy virtuosity, her playing explores another path: music that is alive, sensitive, and in constant dialogue with the audience. From Schubert to Rachmaninov, including Liszt, she forges a demanding course. Listening, doubt, and instinct become its true driving forces.
This interview joins our conversations with pianists Kotaro Fukuma and Ingmar Lazar. In these exchanges, the stage already becomes a listening laboratory.
Virtuosity in the Service of Listening
In the abundant landscape of the young classical scene, Chloe Dumoulin pianist asserts herself with quiet clarity, carried by a rare rigor and deeply embodied sensitivity. A pianist trained in Montreal before continuing her studies in London, she belongs to a generation of artists for whom virtuosity is not an end in itself but a means to get as close as possible to a work’s truth.
What strikes at once in her approach is the quality of listening — a listening to sound, but also to silence, space, and the audience. For her, the piano becomes a place of passage: where the composer’s thought is transformed into a sensory experience, accessible without ever being simplified. “Making music alive,” she says simply. That says it all.
Her playing, often described as expressive, nonetheless avoids easy answers. Far from an exclusive search for beauty, she claims a total expression capable of embracing harshness as well as lyricism, tension as well as surrender. It’s a demanding stance that presupposes an intimate and ever-shifting relationship with the instrument. “The piano is an invaluable source of learning,” she confides, speaking of a bond that far exceeds mere musical practice.
In her repertoire, the dialogue between Schubert and Rachmaninov illustrates this quest for balance between simplicity and density. In the former, she admires the clarity and strength of a pared-down language; in the latter, the emotional depth and richness of textures. Two worlds that seem opposed, but that she connects through the same demand for authenticity.
On stage, that authenticity becomes tangible. Far from a one-sided posture, Chloe Dumoulin conceives the concert as a space of exchange, where the audience’s energy feeds and transforms the interpretation. A subtle, almost invisible interaction, but essential.
Through this already international trajectory, a conviction emerges: music is not owned, it is shared. And in that sharing, something irreducibly human takes place — fragile, intense, necessary.
Interview With Chloé Dumoulin
The Piano As a Place of Learning
Pierre-Antoine Tsady: People often talk about the piano as a very demanding instrument… but for you, what makes it above all indispensable?
Chloe Dumoulin: The piano is often called an orchestra-instrument, and that’s no accident. It has an ability to imitate other instruments and timbres that seems absolutely unmatched to me. Its range is exceptionally wide, and its harmonic resources make it an instrument of infinite richness. It’s this diversity that makes it, in my eyes, indispensable.
P.-A.T.: Has your relationship with the piano evolved over the years?
C. D.: My relationship with the piano is constantly evolving, and I hope it will remain so all my life. It is for me a source of invaluable learning and transformation. I have always felt that it teaches me things nothing else can; notably in its link to imagination, abstraction, and the body. On stage, I often feel that the best of myself is expressed. Each concert then becomes an experience of surpassing and intimacy, both with oneself and with others.
Making Music Alive
P.-A.T.: Your playing is often described as very expressive… what are you seeking above all when you play?
C. D.: I seek expression above all, but an expression that is not limited to beauty. It can be rough, biting, or conversely deeply lyrical: all of that is part of its spectrum. What matters to me is making the music alive, whatever its nature. Working on sound is also essential: it has the power to captivate and hold attention. I strive to be very demanding with my listening and with the instrument. Ultimately, I’m trying above all to understand the composer’s thought as best I can, and to make it tangible for the audience.
P.-A.T.: Do you think of music as something to understand… or to feel?
C. D.: I believe it’s a deeply personal experience that is constantly evolving. We each feel differently, and that influences how we understand. There is no right or wrong way to listen to music. It’s a human, intimate, and shifting experience that can take infinitely varied forms.
Schubert, Rachmaninov, and Works That Resist
P.-A.T.: Schubert and Rachmaninov occupy an important place in your program… what moves you about them?
C. D.: I’ve had the chance to play a lot of their music recently, and their difference is striking. With Schubert, I admire his ability to say the essential with disarming simplicity. His music is of great purity. Rachmaninov, on the other hand, unfolds a much denser writing, rich in textures, that explores human complexity. His sense of melody and lyricism is deeply moving. Both have marked history, each in their own way.
P.-A.T.: Are there works that still resist you?
C. D.: The major cycles remain major challenges. I’m notably working on Schumann’s Fantasiestücke op. 12, which I find particularly demanding to present in concert. This kind of work requires time to root itself deeply within. Performing an entire cycle, making it live fluidly before an audience, is an experience built over time.
Playing With the Audience
P.-A.T.: On stage, do you feel you play “for” the audience or “with” them?
C. D.: Both, without hesitation. The primary intention is to play for the audience, but very quickly a form of exchange sets in. You immediately sense their energy, their listening, their presence. Some works especially favor this dialogue, notably those that include an almost theatrical or improvised dimension.
P.-A.T.: Can an audience transform an interpretation?
C. D.: Yes, profoundly. It can even enrich it. I’ve felt so close to an audience that it instantly nourished my playing, allowing me to go further in my musical intentions.
Instinct, Doubt, and Authenticity
P.-A.T.: What place do you leave to instinct in your work?
C. D.: Being a musician is finding a balance between discipline and instinct. I am naturally guided by instinct, but I’ve learned to channel it. It is essential, notably to adapt, collaborate, and build an artistic identity. But it must be supported by rigorous and sincere work.
P.-A.T.: Is doubt part of your job?
C. D.: Yes, constantly. Over time I’ve learned to welcome it. Doubt pushes me forward; it forces me to question my certainties and to refine my aspirations. But it must coexist with confidence: one without the other is not enough.
Career and Transmission
P.-A.T.: Your path is very international… has that changed your way of approaching music?
C. D.: It has mainly brought me closer to the essential: authenticity. Audiences, wherever they are, immediately perceive sincerity. These experiences have allowed me to better understand what makes my uniqueness and to embrace it fully.
P.-A.T.: If someone who never listens to classical music came to see you, what would you like them to feel?
C. D.: I would like them to feel a kind of impulse, a new curiosity. That it makes them want to explore more, to discover other works. And above all, that it gives them a strong human experience — intimate, alive — and, why not, the desire to fall in love with music.