• July 2025 - Interview - Jacqueline Kharhouf
Violinist Rachel Kolly is a native of Switzerland, where she is currently studying to earn her Ph.D. at the University of Bern. After making her soloist debut at age 12, Kolly has performed widely throughout Europe and Asia, with both renowned orchestras and at music festivals. She has won many awards and competitions, including each of the major awards for Swiss violinists. In addition to her performance and recording work, Kolly is also an ambassador for Handicap International, and has worked with other charitable organizations. Brahms Violin Sonatas is her third album with Indésens Calliope, although she has made several recordings with Warner Classics.
In the following interview, I asked Kolly about her latest album, her preparatory work for recording Brahms, and her musical partnerships—both with pianist Christian Chamorel and her incredible instrument, the 1732 “ex-Hamma” Stradivarius.
I love your performance on this album, especially the melancholy weight that you reveal in your recording of the first sonata. In fact, I did not realize the reason for that melancholy until I read your absolutely excellent album notes. I wonder if you would tell me a little more about how you approached the heavy emotions within the piece. How do you craft a performance that honors the subject matter of a composition, but also leaves room for your own voice and interpretation?
When I start work on a piece, I often already have an exact idea of what I want, or some kind of ideal of beauty. Ninety-five percent of the work is to make this ideal sound under my fingers, to bring it out. I’m someone who works a lot and I rarely leave anything to chance. After that, I work out the details according to the indications in the score or manuscript. For example, I recently read that the “& >” found in Brahms’s (or Schumann’s) scores doesn’t mean that the dynamics of the bow should change, but simply that the note needs to be vibrated and treated with care. In the opening notes of the third sonata, for example, you sometimes hear these swellings in interpretations, whereas Brahms simply wanted care to be taken with the vibrato. This makes sense. In this recording, the architecture of each phrase (its tension and resolution) as well as the architecture of the movement as a whole was at the center of my reflections. Without going into too much detail, bow speed and vibrato control are essential to forging a perfect phrase. There are hundreds of hours of work behind something that will then seem obvious to the listener. I’m in a profession where perfection doesn’t exist. You can only come close.
Which Brahms violin sonata is your favorite? Why is it your favorite?
This is a difficult question. All three are special. It’s like asking yourself whether you prefer the morning, midday, or evening sun. You never tire of any of them, which is what masterpieces are all about: there are always details, inflections that you can rediscover. Last year, I played a lot of the second, which has no virtuoso aspects as such. On the other hand, it speaks directly to the heart. It is intimate. But it’s a sonata that can be very intense if you know how to measure its effects. The poetry and luminosity of the first sonata are impressive. The soothing, bucolic side of the second is captivating. The ardor and breathlessness of the last sonata tend to speak easily to the audience, but all three complement each other wonderfully. This is not to forget the effective Scherzo, which easily becomes an encore. Although this is an early work, we can already see all the composer’s passion and genius.
I wonder if you could tell me a little more about the project. Have you always wanted to release a Brahms album? And in recording Brahms, I wonder about the choice not to include Brahms’s seminal Violin Concerto. Have you recorded the concerto, or do you hope to record it later for an album?
Recording a concerto is very expensive. The Brahms concerto is already 45 minutes long, so I’m going to record it at a later date. I also prefer not to mix genres: Either we do a sonata album and it’s all sonatas, or if we do a solo album, let it be only solo works. In a single album, you have the complete works for violin and piano by Brahms. There’s no room for anything else. That said, I’ve always enjoyed recording less popular works. In my discography, I’ve always been careful to record works where I felt I had a real role to play. Chausson, Lekeu, Ysaÿe, and Franck have long been composers I feel at home with. As I’ve matured, I feel at home with more and more music, and I tend to turn toward a more varied repertoire because I know where I fit in. I’ve always made a distinction between works I like and works I play well. Just because you enjoy listening to a work doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good interpreter of it. I’m wary of musicians who record every genre—and even more so of those who sound the same playing Bach or Schumann or Sibelius. As far as Brahms is concerned, recording the three sonatas and celebrating thirty years on stage with the pianist was an obvious choice! We’d played them often.
I was intrigued by the sort of “Swiss” connection (if you’ll forgive me) between yourself and Brahms. Brahms’s most productive period of composition was during the summers that he spent in Bern—a place that must be familiar to you, both as a native Swiss and as a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Bern. In your album notes, you mention Brahms’s desire for a lighter handling of his later sonatas—and I was curious if that lightness is somewhat related to the open space and freedom that I imagine he found during his retreats to Bern. Perhaps the place is sort of indirectly a part of these compositions. Is that sense of place ever something you might consider during your preparation or recording process? Do you imagine the Bern countryside—the sensory experience of the place—while performing these sonatas? If so, what kind of sense memories come up for you? Is there a particular smell or sound or feeling that reminds you of home through Brahms’s music?
There aren’t many open spaces in Switzerland, unless you’re on top of a mountain. But you’re right that there’s a certain freedom that he was able to experience in Switzerland: It’s rather the bucolic, ancient, and peaceful character that makes it a land conducive to reflection. In Switzerland, your gaze is often interrupted by mountains, hills, lakes, or cities if you’re in the middle of them. I don’t think Brahms climbed any peaks, but according to his correspondence he did take long walks around the lake. The cover photo of our album was taken where Brahms spent his summers, near Lake Thun. He used to visit his dear friend Widmann in Bern, with whom he shared everything from recent inventions (cycling!) to cooking and literature. One gets the impression that this was one of the happiest periods of his life. What is certain is the peace and quiet that people allowed Brahms, despite his fame, to live as he pleased, to have space for creation and imagination. For me, when I think of Switzerland, it’s above all peaceful. The oldest established democracy in the world (over 700 years without a single war), and an unspoiled landscape, with very few changes over the centuries, inevitably gives that postcard image that does exist. It’s also interesting to note that the landscape Brahms saw in 1852 has hardly changed in the last century. What impresses me is precisely this contrast that I find in the landscapes of this region and the music of Brahms: The mountains plunge into lakes of pure water, amidst calm vegetation. The mountains could show the very solid architecture of Brahms’s works, and the water, the current that carries a musical phrase without getting hung up or lost.
Your sound on this recording is simply wonderful. I think we may definitely give credit to the sound engineer, who captured every nuance and precise movement of both instruments so clearly and brilliantly—but we must also credit the capacity and heritage of your incredible instrument. Will you tell me a little more about its history and how you acquired the 1732 “ex-Hamma” Stradivarius?
This violin was played in France for the last few decades, and in 2009 I was able to play it as a soloist in Toulouse. A few years later, the owner of the instrument called me because it had become available. I got on a plane and went to pick it up. It’s incredibly easy to play, with very warm, poetic tones. Its low strings are very mineral, and its high strings carry very well. I’ve played in Japan in 6,000-seat halls where you can hear this instrument very well because its sound is like a laser—enveloping, but with a great deal of focus.
And then, to follow up that question, I wonder if you could tell me about performing on this particular instrument. How does the play of this violin compare to others that you have used? Do you perform or practice exclusively with this instrument, or do you use any others?
I play almost exclusively on this instrument. Sometimes I play a modern violin made by the Swiss luthier Philippe Girardin. He made a copy of my instrument called the “Rachel,” which he recently sold for a substantial sum. To answer your question about the Strad, I have to say that I’ve been lucky enough to play several of them. My first recording for Warner of the Ysayë sonatas was on a 1716 violin from Stradivari’s Golden Period, but it was a less poetic instrument—a bit more acidic. I may have played 15 or so Stradivari for varying lengths of time. My violin is in my top three, after the Milanollo. I like to compare these instruments to painters’ palettes, and my instrument allows me to take a lot of risks and multiply colors. In another recording of French music for violin and orchestra, I played a legendary Vuillaume, the Saint-Jean. But although it was powerful, it didn’t have the softness that my instrument can also have. After that, I’m also interested in Baroque music, and having an instrument specific to this period of musical creation is also important. My Stradivarius is too modern!
Your accompanist on the album is also absolutely compelling. I wonder if you could tell me about working with pianist Christian Chamorel. Have you worked together before? With Brahms’s dedication to composing equally for both instruments, it seems important to select a pianist who can hold as much presence as Christian does—he is complementary without overpowering. Likewise, your performance is always within pace and context of the piano. Do you take cues from each other, or is there a clear leader in terms of who guides the direction of the performance?
I’ve been playing with Christian for more than 30 years now! As children, we’d both won the most important competition in Switzerland and were forced to play together. At first, we didn’t particularly connect with each other (I was 12!). But later, as young adults, our understanding became clear. Not only was he a very close friend, but our level of musicianship meant that we could get along musically on stage too. We’ve given concerts all over the world with very different repertoires: Busoni, Lekeu, Janáček, Lutosławski, Amanda Maier. Christian likes to play a more Classical repertoire: Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn. I find myself more at home in the late Romantic and early 20th-century repertoires, or even in the Baroque. But these differences are stimulating between us. On stage, we know each other so well that I couldn’t say who initiates what. As many of our ideas are not spontaneous, but on the contrary are worked on endlessly, we have fairly stable interpretations. A few years ago, we did a very special program, an open-air concert where the audience could choose the program like a restaurant menu: starters, main courses, seasonal specialties, and desserts. It was great fun to see an interactive classical audience literally shouting out the name of Stravinsky or Biber! There were over 10 hours of music to choose from. One evening we could play Elgar, Handel, Clara Schumann, and Stravinsky, and another evening Biber, Franck, Busoni, Lili Boulanger, and Strauss. It’s all very exciting. That said, precisely because we know each other by heart, it’s only with Christian that I can do a program like this.
Have you performed these pieces live in concert? If so, do you perform all three violin sonatas together, or do you plan a concert with this repertoire? And when you do perform live—either with these pieces or others—what is your favorite sort of reaction or response from the audience?
We’ve played the three Brahms sonatas in one evening several times. This year, however, we have rotated the program to include other sonatas so that our audience can see a little more of the extremes in our playing. Brahms kept us both busy with the purity of line, the general architecture of the work, and the thoughtful choice of faster tempos than in many recordings. The choice of vibrato was up to me. But the rhythmic structure is really the backbone of the work. The tension within the phrase is paramount. When you approach another composer, another type of repertoire, there are other considerations.
Will you have more concerts or more planned recordings this year?
To get back to my projects, first of all I’m going to record a disc of formidable women composers for violin and piano with the Indian-American pianist Pallavi Mahidhara, on which there will only be masterpieces. I’ve listened to hundreds of hours of music in order to put this project together. In September, on the other hand, I’ll be recording the Brahms Violin Concerto, which I’ll be coupling with the virtually unknown concerto by the Swiss composer Hermann Suter—a quasi-Mahlerian work, full of ardor, that will be a perfect match for Brahms. It has a Wagnerian first movement, a tempestuous and dark second, and a more pastoral and much more peaceful third. A triumph! To be continued!
And of course I am always on tour with different programs.