MUSIC / And the piano came too: Ragbag or variations on a theme? When Krystian Zimerman gives a recital, he doesn't just play the notes, he writes them too. Gillian Widdicombe reports

In the age of umpteen CDs, many of them classics by artists long dead, it is increasingly hard for a pianist to make his or her mark in a solo recital. Once there were a dozen pianists who could sell out any concert hall anywhere in the world; now the days of Titans playing ragbag programmes are over.

So why is Krystian Zimerman playing such a ragbag at the Royal Festival Hall on Thursday? A Polish poet, with a meticulous technique; a loner, like the young Ashkenazy; and a Titan, too, judging by his many award-winning Deutsche Grammophon recordings - Zimerman is all these things. But to begin with a transcription of Bach's C minor Passacaglia before moving on through Schubert, Mendelssohn, Ravel, Webern, Szymanowski . . .

Yet this is no ragbag: all these pieces are in variation form. And to prove that this is a fastidiously constructed programme, Zimerman has written his own explanatory notes. 'I try to compose a programme which makes sense for the audience,' he says. 'Either it's completely devoted to one composer, or it is some kind of concept. Last year one of my programmes consisted of three sonatas, by composers close to each other, which were dedicated to each other - the Schumann F sharp minor, the Liszt sonata, and the Brahms F sharp minor.'

Thursday's programme notes are chatty, chirpy, avoiding hefty analysis and telling you as much about Zimerman as about the works themselves: what surprises him, pleases him, even what he finds difficult. Thus of Schubert's Seven Easy Variations in G major: 'Is this Schubert at all . . ? Please do not expect too much] Schubert must have been eight years old . . .' And of Mendelssohn's Variations serieuses: 'One would have to have the meanness of a Horowitz to thunder the last three chords fortissimo . . . For those who only know the Horowitz version, you may miss something here or there]' And of Webern's Op 27: 'This is Webern's greatest work for the piano (what irony - just five minutes]). That's just it: time passes differently for Webern. It is a work full of contradictions. For example, he provides precise metronome markings, yet - if followed - the piece lasts just over four minutes instead of the 10 he states.'

This habit of engaging an audience without the embarrassment of speaking came about by accident. 'My notes, which are just some ideas dictated quickly on to a tape recorder, were not intended to be published,' he says. 'But some of the organisers on this tour said they couldn't see any sense in this programme, so I felt obliged to explain that these pieces were not just lying around under the table, they had been put together with a certain angle, and it had taken a long time to get the minutes right, the order and sizes. I was afraid that the range of styles was too scattered, but it works because there are two big pieces in each half, with a small piece in between - though it's grotesque to call the Webern small. After it, people are well prepared for Szymanowski's Polish Variations, and sigh with relief when they hear this human note coming out of the piano.'

The only hazard of a programme of variations, he now realises (having played it through in Stockholm and Copenhagen), is to find a piano which suits all the styles. 'For the Bach, which is my own transcription, you need a piano which is organ-like, then immediately you need something different for the small Schubert, which is like Haydn. Then the Mendelssohn is a great romantic piece, so you need a huge-sounding instrument. For Ravel's Valses nobles et sentimentales, something which comes close to French music: it's not an impressionistic piece, but it operates with a lot of colours. For Webern, something more harsh, a very precise tone. For Szymanowski, a piano suitable for Rachmaninov.' At least five pianos? 'Maybe you could manage with three, but I find it increasingly difficult to decide which composer to give preference to.'

Not surprisingly, the contractor who had agreed to follow Zimerman around Europe with a chameleon piano resigned at the last moment, so the pianist is, unusually, playing his own instrument - a Steinway on which he has recorded four records so far, including music as different as Debussy, Bartok and Schumann. 'Since I carry my own toothbrush, why shouldn't I carry my own piano? We're very well organised, with small machines that lift the piano in three minutes. It's not complicated. Either we use a small truck, or a specially built horse-box, which gives us more freedom.' And a few funny moments. 'Last time we crossed the German border, my piano transporter was asked if we had a horse inside. He didn't hear quite well, so he answered: 'Ja, mit Flugel,' which means a piano but also means wings. The Customs officer immediately wanted to see inside the transporter, thinking it was the one chance in his life to see a Pegasus.'

It is nearly 20 years since Zimerman won the Chopin competition (at 18, the youngest of all 118 competitors), so he has had plenty of time to establish a working routine which avoids undue stress and boredom. 'For me, the best way to work is on a large repertoire at the same time, even if I don't play it all in concert,' he says. 'Also, style-wise, so that I don't get stuck in one particular area or period. Last year I worked for about two months on Bartok. Lovely though his music is, I found the technique narrowing, also the expression. Suddenly I had a terrible need to play Bach, Mozart, everything which was opposite to Bartok.'

His idea of a large repertoire sounds like a family with children of various ages. 'Some of them just started, so they're about a year old, and have a few more years to go. The other pieces I've played for years, and at some point I feel OK, we're now ready to risk them in the concert hall.'

Zimerman plays only about 50 concerts a year, and prefers to arrange them in groups. 'I've found that spreading concerts out doesn't make sense, because of practising. Not only the discipline of practice, but because the moment people find out that you have time, then you have to do something - a course with students, or friends . . . But I'm not on holiday, I have to play a tour, which is a very responsible thing.'

There's also the problem of what to practise on. 'The moment the concert is over, the organiser is worrying about his next concert, so if you come back and say you want to practise . . . Sorry, no] If you go on to the next hall, they say, 'Sorry, we have two other concerts before yours'] Now I cut the tours very short - five or six recitals - so I'm away from home for about 10 days. And we try to plan them geographically, so I don't lose energy sitting around in hotels, waiting and getting nervous.'

Playing a solo recital in the Festival Hall's acoustics is enough to make anyone nervous. 'It's difficult to make a personal communication. You have to project very strongly. Nevertheless, you have to keep your dynamic differences, otherwise the whole thing becomes boring. So you have this loud theatrical whisper that carries to the back row. Colour and dynamics are two different things, and what we actually do on the piano is colour, not dynamics.'

Krystian Zimerman: Thursday 7.30pm RFH, South Bank Centre, London SE1 (071-928 8800)

(Photograph omitted)