In the first part of our interview with Pierre Gallon, harpsichordist with Ensemble Pygmalion, we explored his musical career and his approach to performing on period instruments. In this second part, Pierre Gallon gives us a behind-the-scenes look at the three programmes that Ensemble Pygmalion will present during its first Australian tour at the Adelaide Festival in March 2026.
Between the grand choral frescoes of Monteverdi’s Vespers, the universal myth of Orpheus revisited by Luigi Rossi, and the musical connections that link Bach to his German predecessors, Pierre reveals how Raphaël Pichon and his ensemble transform each concert into an experience that transcends the centuries. The conversation also explores the influence of concert venues on musical perception and Pygmalion’s ambition to show that early music still has the power to change lives.
The Pygmalion Ensemble often talks about exploring the filiations between Bach, Schütz, Mendelssohn, Rameau, Monteverdi, etc. Can you give us a few examples of surprising links that the ensemble has discovered between two composers who are not usually associated with each other?
Yes, I’ll try. This is a question that Raphaël Pichon would probably have more to say about than me, but I can try to answer it. Earlier, I was telling you that when we play Rachmaninov, we have photos of Rachmaninov, we even have recordings of Rachmaninov. We have a direct connection to the Rachmaninov generation. If we want, we can talk to someone who spoke to Rachmaninov. There is a direct line of descent, and to understand his music, there is something that is much easier, let’s say than Monteverdi’s music, for example, because we don’t know anyone who spoke to Monteverdi, that’s for sure.
So, it’s true that all of Raphaël’s work, and not just Raphaël’s, there are many musicians and musicologists who approached the question of repertoire through the question of lineage, trying to trace the thread back by saying, well, I’m going to say whatever, but I know someone who spoke to Rachmaninov. Rachmaninov spoke to someone who spoke to Brahms. Ah, Brahms spoke to him and so on and so forth. Filiation allows us to understand legacies, playing habits, aesthetic heritage, for example, to weave a link between Lully, Rameau, Gluck, Berlioz, Debussy, for example, and to see how much these musicians are united by a language, in this case the French language, by the music of language. Like this music of language, it also provides a palette of colours and nuances that we also find in the lineages of painters, and that this great family allows us to forge a link that stretches from Lully to Debussy. At first glance, there doesn’t really seem to be any connection with Debussy, but when we take small steps to say Lully, Rameau, Gluck, Berlioz, etc., we understand better what these composers have in common. First of all, a language, a culture, a history, a shared history.
Filiation allows us to understand legacies, playing habits, aesthetic heritage, for example, to weave a link between Lully, Rameau, Gluck, Berlioz, Debussy, for example, and to see how much these musicians are united by a language, in this case the French language, by the music of language.
And this connection can be made in the same way between Praetorius, Schütz, Bach, Mendelssohn, Brahms and possibly Mahler. And in a way, every conductor, every musicologist, every musician can find their own path in this shared heritage, and I think that Raphaël also tells his story as a musician through these legacies, these threads that are woven together. I think his idea is to say that today, we are in the 21st century. What does our sensibility as 21st-century humans have in common with that of 16th-century humans? And when you ask the question like that, the gap is dizzying. It’s impossible to imagine. But when we ask ourselves, “What do I share with Gustav Mahler? What did Gustav Mahler share with Brahms? What did Brahms share with Mendelssohn? What did Mendelssohn share with Bach? What did Bach share with Praetorius? ‘ And then suddenly I can understand what I share with myself in the 21st century I share with Praetorius. And what can this music still tell us today? What passions, emotions, interpretations of the world, of our contemporary world, can this music stir up? Because we will have woven together the threads of our shared aesthetic heritage.
every conductor, every musicologist, every musician can find their own path in this shared heritage, and I think that Raphaël also tells his story as a musician through these legacies, these threads that are woven together.
And have you woven a thread that has changed the interpretation of a work?
Because I think Pygmalion is currently on tour, so there is no harpsichord, but they are on tour and they are performing Brahms’ first symphonies. And I think that, personally, for Pygmalion, for Raphaël Pichon, having spent so many years trying to understand Bach’s language, for example, is absolutely crucial when Raphaël now tackles later repertoires. Because Brahms knew Bach’s music very well, and Bach’s music was deeply rooted in a society with music that was also functional, giving rhythm to the life of a parish in Bach’s case. And I think that to understand Brahms’ music, you have to understand German culture, the history of religions, the history of religions in Germany, and the history of German philosophy. How the idea, the dream of a great nation, which led to romantic ideas and all that, was able to germinate in the minds of the German romantics. And, of course, to understand that, you have to go back to the source of things, and when you understand that, everything you say about the music of Brahms or Mahler will be informed by what Brahms or Mahler themselves were informed by, by their shared history, their history, their language, their culture, their country. And I think that’s absolutely essential for Raphaël to approach things in the right way, to first try to understand things at their origins, in order to go further.
to understand Brahms’ music, you have to understand German culture, the history of religions, the history of religions in Germany, and the history of German philosophy. How the idea, the dream of a great nation, which led to romantic ideas and all that, was able to germinate in the minds of the German romantics.
Coming to your concerts in Adelaide, is there a common thread or musical genealogy that links the three shows you’re going to perform?
Well, first of all, I think what connects the three programmes is that they are a good sample of what Pygmalion is today. I think that for this first contact with the Adelaide audience – I don’t know if that’s how the selection was made – but to tackle a great choral work like Monteverdi’s Vespers, a great choral fresco that has been of paramount importance to the history of music, it’s the Vespers, but it could have been Johann Sebastian Bach’s Mass in B minor, it could have been a Passion, it could have been something else. But in any case, a great choral fresco, that’s one of Pygmalion’s great specialities and one of Raphaël Pichon’s great interests in this repertoire.
a great choral fresco, that’s one of Pygmalion’s great specialities and one of Raphaël Pichon’s great interests in this repertoire.
So a great choral fresco, theatre, because with Pygmalion, we do a lot of opera. This is something that interests Raphaël Pichon greatly because it is a direct way of connecting this music from the past to an aesthetic experience today, simply through the stage, through what great universal myths can tell us today. The myth of Orpheus is a universal myth that has run through our Western culture from antiquity to the present day. It is no coincidence that this myth has been set to music so often, and not only at the beginning of the 17th century, but before the 17th century, in the 18th, 19th and even 20th centuries. It is something that always comes back. So it is a great choral fresco, a great universal myth of theatre. And of course, German music, the German language in all its complexity, its interpretation of the Protestant world, which is always present in our production of Pygmalion, allows us to pivot between 17th-century music, 18th-century music with Bach, which we discussed earlier, and later music with Mendelssohn or Brahms. So I think that if there is a connection, it is not necessarily musical, but rather a coherent sample of what has been driving Pygmalion for almost 20 years and what is likely to continue to drive Pygmalion for the next 20 years.
The myth of Orpheus is a universal myth that has run through our Western culture from antiquity to the present day. It is no coincidence that this myth has been set to music so often, and not only at the beginning of the 17th century, but before the 17th century, in the 18th, 19th and even 20th centuries. It is something that always comes back.
And in the Good Night World concert, I don’t know if you translated it when you performed in France. How do you choose which of Bach’s predecessors to include? And how do the works speak to Bach himself in their interpretation?
No, we usually leave the title in German. We know quite a lot about Bach’s life because it was well documented by his sons, particularly by commentators of the 18th century, chroniclers, and so we know a great deal. Bach also came from a family of musicians. They held official positions, which means that we have a great deal of documentation about him and we know a lot about his musical education. We know that at a certain age he went to study in a certain city with a certain organist. We know about the journeys he made to visit the elderly Buxtehude in Lübeck, and so on and so forth.
So today we can quite easily trace the music that inspired him, the composers who inspired him, the composers he himself played when he was an organist, the music he copied. We have many manuscripts in his own handwriting where he copied the music of this or that composer. We know that his family had a collection of family music, like a little family book of devotional music where, from generation to generation, the music of the ancestors was passed down and things were noted in this collection that was passed down from generation to generation.
It’s quite enjoyable to compose programmes based on all that. And then it all depends on the story you want to tell, because that’s what’s interesting, telling stories, that’s what continues to speak to us all. And so the story that Raphaël wanted to tell with this programme is the story of universality. That’s what always drives Raphaël, and when we delve into these collections, we find plenty to tell this story of universality, of a world that preceded us and will outlive us, of something greater than ourselves.
That’s what always drives Raphaël, and when we delve into these collections, we find plenty to tell this story of universality, of a world that preceded us and will outlive us, of something greater than ourselves
And whatever religion or spirituality we may have, I find it an incredible message of optimism to say that we are inheriting a world in which we will evolve, a world we must say goodbye to in order to leave it to future generations. In a way, this programme tells that story, and it is something that was at the heart of Protestant concerns in the 17th and 18th centuries and is still at the heart of our concerns today. What kind of world are we inheriting? How do we live in this world and what kind of world are we leaving to our children? It is something absolutely essential, and this music tells that story too.
we are inheriting a world in which we will evolve, a world we must say goodbye to in order to leave it to future generations. In a way, this programme tells that story, and it is something that was at the heart of Protestant concerns in the 17th and 18th centuries and is still at the heart of our concerns today. What kind of world are we inheriting? How do we live in this world and what kind of world are we leaving to our children?
And Rossi’s Orfeo is deeply rooted in an intercultural experience, being an Italian composer in France. How do you think this cultural shift influences the music and how does Pygmalion interpret it in his performance?
That’s a big question. It’s the question of influences that has always shaken up and fuelled musical languages, because we always talk about French music, Italian music, English music, German music. As if these things were fixed in their era, their aesthetics and their cultural context. But in reality, things are much more complex than that. The Sun King’s musician, the somewhat national musician of Baroque music in France, Jean-Baptiste Lully, was Italian, and so the founder of French music was ultimately an Italian. The orchestra at the time was called ‘The King’s 24 Violins’ in England. At the time of the Restoration, the English king, who was a cousin, brought over the 24 violins, and German musicians went to study in Italy and brought back Italian music. And finally, the Europe of nations was already at the centre of aesthetic issues in the 17th and 18th centuries, and the influence that countries had on each other was already very, very important. And it is true that this event, which brought Rossi and his instrumentalists to Paris in the middle of the 17th century, was an important moment in the very constitution of a French style.
When we approach Luigi Rossi’s L’Orfeo, we get the impression that we are going to play Italian music. But in reality, it was music in Italian with musicians who were partly Italian and partly French, which made French dancers dance, and they themselves brought this aesthetic to England. At the same time, German musicians were visiting Paris and bringing the French style back to Germany. Bach, who never left Germany, knew the French style so well. And here we realise the importance of mixing, the importance of migration in cultural identities. And this is also a way of reminding us of that. Rossi’s L’Orfeo is a great aesthetic encounter between several sensibilities, between several countries, between several cultures. That’s also what makes it interesting.
When we approach Luigi Rossi’s L’Orfeo, we get the impression that we are going to play Italian music. But in reality, it was music in Italian with musicians who were partly Italian and partly French, which made French dancers dance, and they themselves brought this aesthetic to England.
Monteverdi’s Vespers represent a turning point – sacred tradition meets lyrical drama. How does Pygmalion capture this duality in dance, performance, the sacred and the theatrical?
That’s something important because, in a way, theatre entering the church is really the beginning of the Baroque. If we could summarise the Baroque in a simple, convenient and somewhat simplistic sentence, we would undoubtedly be missing some of the nuances and complexity. But in any case, theatre entering the church is something fundamental. We must therefore examine these two concepts. What is the Church? What did it represent at that time? What does it represent today? Something of a political power, without a doubt. Of a spirituality, obviously. What was theatre yesterday? What is theatre today? A reading of the world that allows us to feel things tenfold, to have an educational power that conjures up images, impressions and heightened feelings that are very, very strong. In fact, it is always the same thing: what can this music from the past tell us today? Without necessarily sharing the Catholic message of Vespers, what spiritual contribution in the sense of contemporary spirituality can this music still offer us today? And what theatrical elements do we have at our disposal today that can help us grasp these major issues of spirituality? I think that here too, there are clear links to be drawn between the language of the Baroque and the culture of the 17th century and today.
So, in Pygmalion’s interpretation of these Vespers, I find something very grandiloquent. We seek out contrasts between things, from the very intimate, which speaks to the ear, speaks directly to each individual in the audience, to suddenly experiencing great moments of collective epiphany, with moments that are extremely luminous, sometimes extremely dazzling. Moments when we are truly overwhelmed by the power of the sound, by the truly dazzling nature of the tones. You will hear the whole family of brass instruments typical of that era – cornets, sackbuts, instruments that are very impressive in their ability to become very, very vibrant, very, very bright, and so on. Raphaël uses sound palettes that are very, very contrasting. And I think that this is the vision of theatre that he wants to defend, somewhere deep down.
The last time we performed Vespers in France, I invited some friends to come and listen to the concert. These friends aren’t into classical music at all, they don’t know much about it, it’s not really their thing, and so on. We were playing in their town and they had said to me, ‘When you come to play in our town, let us know.’ And every time I came, it was programmes that seemed a bit specialised to me, a bit far from their culture etc. And then one day, we came to perform Vespers and I told them, it’s an experience to be had, it’s far-reaching, it’s a rather special exercise. Vespers in music can seem very specialised. It’s typically the kind of programme where you might say, ‘Ah, that’s not for me,’ but I told them to come to this concert. They came out, and they were shocked by the experience, by the aesthetic experience, by the sound experience, by the introspective experience of this work. This work carries all that within it. Four centuries later, it’s extraordinary.
they were shocked by the experience, by the aesthetic experience, by the sound experience, by the introspective experience of this work. This work carries all that within it. Four centuries later, it’s extraordinary.
And when you play it in France, do you do it in churches and cathedrals? I ask because in Adelaide you’re going to play Vespers at the cathedral.
Yes, because in fact, it’s not so much for the obvious connection to spirituality, but because it’s also music that was made to be heard in those acoustics, the very, very generous acoustics where suddenly the sound is lost in space, navigating every nook and cranny of those incredible high ceilings. And in fact, this music, of course, in very beautiful concert halls, it works very well. But suddenly, when you find yourself playing this music in a church, there is a principle of obviousness that everyone agrees on, saying, ‘Once again, it’s the right tool in the right hands.’ And this music in a church, there’s something obvious about it that everyone agrees on, if I may say so.
when you find yourself playing this music in a church, there is a principle of obviousness that everyone agrees on
And how do you think the venue of a concert influences the way music is perceived by both the musicians who play it and the audience?
I think there are several things. It probably depends a little on the music and the era of that music. Well, first of all, it must be said that music is an art that plays with sound, and sound develops in a given space, and inevitably a concert… We were talking about the lute earlier, a lute concert in a huge cathedral doesn’t make much sense because the instrument is too small to fill the acoustics. Conversely, playing a Mahler symphony in my living room immediately saturates the sound and prevents it from developing to the extent required by this music. So you always have to find a venue that suits both the size of the ensemble and the composition of a piece.
you always have to find a venue that suits both the size of the ensemble and the composition of a piece.
So, as I was saying earlier, Pygmalion are currently on a tour of German Romantic music and in this programme of German Romantic music, they are performing a purely instrumental Brahms symphony, a very, very dense, virtuoso, rather thick, dense symphonic composition. And in the same programme, they perform a kind of a cappella crescendo, just with the choir, so the exact opposite. I was talking about this with Raphaël, whom I met in Paris a few days ago, and he told me about the venues where he was playing. So they started at the Royal Chapel in Versailles. And then he played in a venue in Bordeaux, a modern concert hall. And he said that in the Royal Chapel of Versailles, Brahms’ symphony was like an Olympic swimming pool. I think for the first five rows, it must have been very difficult for the ears. And from the 10th row onwards, no one could hear anything because the music is too virtuosic, too rich, too dense to be able to sound good in that kind of acoustics.
On the other hand, the next day, in the concert hall, this symphony was absolutely perfect because it was a large room, but not too reverberant and made for playing this kind of music, it was ideal. On the other hand, conversely, the grand a cappella motet in the Royal Chapel of Versailles was absolutely ideal because the acoustics there carry the voice, carry a simpler style of writing. Churches are designed to carry the word, to carry speech. And so suddenly, vocal music in a church seems obvious. It was much more complicated to achieve that feeling in the concert hall in Bordeaux. So you have to find the right acoustics for the right music.
Churches are designed to carry the word, to carry speech. And so suddenly, vocal music in a church seems obvious
Every piece of music has its own requirements.
Then it’s up to us to adapt the way we play to the venue. Last year, we did a big tour of Bach’s St John Passion, and we played it at Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris and at La Scala in Milan. And obviously, the acoustics are completely different. That’s why rehearsals are so important, precisely so that we can adapt the tempo and the nuances. We can create much more contrast in an opera house, which demands it, seeking out the softest pianos and the loudest fortes, than in a cathedral, where the halo of reverberation smooths everything out a little. We’re less interested in decibel contrasts than in fine-tuning the articulation so that everything is as intelligible as possible. And that means adapting to the acoustics, and rehearsals are very important moments for adjusting those little details.
So you can never just turn up somewhere and play the concert without doing a little rehearsal to get to know the space.
It’s impossible.
And given that these three programmes are very different, how would you like the Adelaide audience to understand the common threads or genealogical links that connect them? Is there a narrative or musical arc that you hope the audience will remember?
Between the different concerts? I don’t know. I would like our passion for theatre and our passion for storytelling to be understood. It doesn’t matter whether we’re playing Monteverdi’s Vespers, a Franco-Italian opera or sacred music by Bach’s precursors. The way we always approach each repertoire, each composer, each country, each aesthetic, each era is through this desire to tell a story that speaks to people – Raphaël always says this, it’s a bit like his mantra: he wants to show that this music has the power to change lives.
The way we always approach each repertoire, each composer, each country, each aesthetic, each era is through this desire to tell a story that speaks to people
I like to say that, and it may be a slightly naive image, but it’s also very powerful. I don’t think there’s a single note he approaches without thinking about that. He says that if he can change the life of just one person in the audience, then his mission will be accomplished. And to do that, you have to tell stories, stories that speak to each and every one of us. And if there’s one thing I’d like the Adelaide audience to remember about Pygmalion’s visit to Australia, it’s this little group of Frenchies who told us some beautiful stories.
if there’s one thing I’d like the Adelaide audience to remember about Pygmalion’s visit to Australia, it’s this little group of Frenchies who told us some beautiful stories.
That’s lovely. You’ve already answered this a little, but why should people come see you at Adelaide Festival 2026 ?
Because we’re nice. Because I think it’s always important to discover different sensibilities, just as I think it’s always nice to meet someone you don’t know. I’m delighted to have met you this morning and after an hour, I feel like I know you better and am more familiar with your features, with your orange beaded necklace.
I believe that meeting new people brings out the best in humanity, as we encounter new forms of expression and thought, and people from different cultures and countries, it is always an incredible source of enrichment. For that reason alone, coming to meet people you don’t know is worthwhile.
I believe that meeting new people brings out the best in humanity, as we encounter new forms of expression and thought, and people from different cultures and countries, it is always an incredible source of enrichment.
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We would like to thank Pierre Gallon from the Pygmalion Ensemble for this interview.
You can read part one of our interview here
KEY INFO FOR ENSEMBLE PYGMALION CONCERTS AT ADELAIDE FESTIVAL 2026
Bach : Good Night World
WHEN:
- Friday 27 February 7pm
- Saturday 28 February 1pm
WHERE: Adelaide Town Hall
HOW MUCH:
Adult Premium $139 | A Res $129 | B Res $119
Friends Premium $118 | A Res $110 | B Res $101 $
Concession A Res $103 | B Res $95
Under 40 B Res $40
Full time student A Res A $40 | B Res $40
HOW: Buy your tickets via this link
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Luigi Rossi’s Orfeo
WHEN
- Wednesday 4 March 7pm
- Friday 6 March 7pm
WHERE: Adelaide Town Hall
HOW MUCH:
Adult Premium 159 $ | Res A 139 $| Res B 129 $
Friends Premium 135 $ | Res A 118 $ | Res B 110 $
Concession Res A 112 $ | Res B 103 $
Under 40 B Res $40
Full-time student A Res $40 | B Res $40
HOW: Buy your tickets via this link
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Monteverdi’s Vespers – these concerts are already booked out
WHEN:
- Monday 2 March 8pm
- Tuesday 3 March 8pm
WHERE: St Peter’s Cathedral, North Adelaide
HOW: Check for a possible waitlist via this link
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For events with links to France and the Francophonie happening this month, check out our What’s on in January
