I wake up with an irresistible need to conquer my morning grumpiness, and the only reliable ally in this endeavor is music. A hasty coffee, an equally hasty cigarette (though one of the few that are actually enjoyable), and I’m sitting at my electronic piano, concentrating on learning new pieces that I look forward to playing in public. At this time, Korngold’s Quintet and Messiaen’s Exotic Birds alternate on the lectern. After all these years, the purely practical dimension of my work as a pianist continues to amaze me with how effectively it clears the mind and sharpens the senses.

The first defeats of the day are the only ones I accept with joy, if not pride. My son beats me at ping pong and boasts that he solves a Rubik’s Cube in seconds, and I stand there and can’t remember the algorithm. It’s time to look for your small, daily victories in other sports. The unchanging morning route from home to the Concert Hall proves to be the best place for strategic thinking and organization of the day. I walk invisible and insignificant – but also temporarily invulnerable – in a hurrying crowd, and there is something liberating in this.

Landing in the multifaceted yet familiar reality of the Athens State Orchestra. At some point, an unfinished text with an analysis of the next concerto symphony, a biography of the soloist and conductor, a very diplomatic e-mail to the English manager, an orchestra rehearsal plan, several YouTube videos, and possibly a few orchestral scores will be simultaneously open on my computer screen. At the same time, we must discuss with the director who will replace the conductor who canceled the concert, with Angela – a press release, with Alice – the program of concerts in the provinces. How does this Sisyphean feeling that chaos cannot be conquered no matter what you do become so sweet and existentially necessary?

A quick lunch in Mavili Square turns into an opportunity to gossip with Manolis about everything and everything (with the same pleasure as twenty years ago), to look into the virtual reality of social networks, and to get detailed information about the last victory of Rafael Nadal or the whims of Ronnie O ‘Sullivan in the current snooker tournament.

“The first defeats of the day are the only ones that I accept with joy. My son beats me at ping-pong and boasts that he solves a Rubik’s Cube in seconds.”

I peek at the piano in an empty rehearsal room, deliberately disarming any outside or inside interference. I return to my favorite Brahms Concerto No. 1 fifteen years later and in every phrase I see how much we have changed – both he and I. His stories became more sober, but strangely more painful, I again became more sensitive (or maybe insecure?) and more open to listen to them in anticipation of the first revelation. Lonely hours at the piano keys, an inexpressibly romantic relationship, not subject to exhaustion, habit, betrayal or disappointment.

Evening meeting with Panagiotis at our classic Antart Studios lair, where Finos Film was once located. I speak into the microphone about my favorite music, record on the obedient Steinway of a large studio, indulge in the magical sound of amazing speakers, admire Panagiotis’s skill with countless console parameters and check my hearing for subtle nuances. mixes, nibbling on an Elvis skewers and drinking cold beer. And somewhere in the middle of all this recognition, criticism, laughter and grandiose plans find a way to refreshingly invade.

“And again in art I take a break from his work.” So, as if out of an absurd duty to justify the kavaf verse, I take advantage of the stillness of the night to listen to music. Angelos often gives me new ideas to listen to, and I dutifully follow them, knowing full well that I will rarely disagree with his choice. Unless, of course, tired ears and an even more tired soul do not force me to throw out my fears, doubts and hopes, watching the next action of the demonic criminal Raymond Reddington.

• On August 29, Titos Gouvelis (piano) and Angelos Liakakis (cello) will perform the Erich Korngold Piano Quintet, a rarely performed piece, as part of the Chania Chamber Music Festival.