Maria João Pires

Or, in full, Maria João Alexandre Barbosa Pires. You probably know her - she’s world-famous for her masterful interpretations of the great classical composers, from Mozart to Chopin (the big names of the 18th and 19th centuries).

I enjoy listening to Mozart through her. The playful melodies feel alive in her hands. She plays with mastery without being flashy; you can see it in the way she carries herself - her calm body language, her subtle expressions, and the effortless grace with which her hands move across the keys. I really, really like her.

I never cared much for those “big names,” nor for other pianists who tried to interpret them. Not that the compositions aren’t great - of course they are - and the pianists too, in their own right. But I rarely felt a connection. Except with her. With Pires, it’s different. She plays as though the music is speaking to the listeners, inviting them to feel it and respond, creating an intangible yet deeply felt exchange. It’s what she does with the music that restores dignity to something that might otherwise be stripped away by pianists who make it too performative.

And then there’s her grey hair, which makes me admire and revere old age. She wears it with dignity: exuding confidence, grace, and authenticity. She makes age beautiful. When I say ‘she wears it with dignity,’ I mean it apart from her status as a world-famous pianist - the same way I might say it of a homeless old man whose grey hair reflects years carried with quiet strength, unbowed by circumstance.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: Dignity isn’t just inherent; it’s also something that can be bestowed. By wearing her grey hair as she does, Pires grants it a beauty and strength that make age itself dignified.

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