Pianist - Composer - Choir and orchestra conductor
Ritz W. Rakotomalala
In a few words
Pianist, composer, choir and orchestra conductor of Malagasy origin, his musical specialty is choral singing. Here is an insight into his personality through a few questions.
What does the 'W' that always appears in your name mean?
It's my middle name, Weljohn, given to me in memory of a great-uncle who passed away when he was just a child. And I cherish it!
What kind of man are you?
I'm the kind of man who still believes humanity is worthy of trust, even when thousands of reasons suggest otherwise every day. The kind of man who stands up if someone is standing in the underground tube, even when there are empty seats. The kind of man who still believes that music is a weapon of mass pacification… In short, a lucid dreamer, in a way.
What are your inspirations for composition?
Some great composers can be sources of inspiration: Francis Poulenc for his boldness, Thierry Machuel for his simplicity, John Williams for his imagination, Bach for his supreme wisdom, Fauré for his melodic sense, Schumann for his tortured soul... a bit of all the 'Greats' somehow. The idea is not to imitate them but to offer something of our own in our turn.
Who is your favourite composer?
It is impossible for me to answer this question. They are all brilliant, yet so different. For example, Beethoven is, in my opinion, the greatest symphonist, but he is not my favourite. Mozart is an absolute genius—we all know that no success is possible without going through his music. But he is not my favourite either. On the other hand, Bach is a divine genius; his music is composed for God, yet one does not need to be a believer to understand it. There was even a time when I refused to collaborate with people who had no affinity for Bach.
In short… I actually believe that a 'favourite composer' cannot truly exist. I can spend three months immersing myself in French Baroque music, and then the next three months listening only to Wagner and Berlioz.
How do you compose for choirs?
In choral music, the choice of text is crucial. It determines everything else: the rhythm, the atmosphere, the emotion, and even the melody. I rarely write the lyrics for my own works, so I either choose existing texts or commission them from friends.
Once the text is selected and understood, the next step is to highlight the melody that naturally emerges from it and experiment with harmonies. This is the most exciting and enjoyable part of the process. For example, the choice of a chord can differ depending on whether your text is about 'love' or 'death.' Instinctively, one might use a tender or bright chord for 'love' and a dark, cold one for 'death.' But why not try the opposite?
Ritz, do you believe in God?
You're touching on an extremely personal subject. So, I will only say what those who know me already know: I am a Calvinist (Editor’s note: Protestant).
I can hardly imagine composing or even performing sacred music by Bach, Handel, Mendelssohn, or others without having at least some affinity with God. This is, of course, a deeply personal perspective and therefore open to debate.
But allow me to say no more!😊
What are the greatest challenges in composition?
When composing, there is always the temptation to create ‘mainstream’ music, something that pleases everyone, specially in today’s superficial world, obsessed with easy and instant gratification, which can lead us to betray our own musical identity.
And yet, if we compose, it’s because we have something to say, and we must accept the risk of being understood by no one or, on the contrary, of surrounding ourselves with flatterers. In my view, the greatest challenge is no longer just about technique or inspiration; it’s also about confronting the fear of our own musical ways and the inevitable way the audience will interpret it.
To call oneself a composer is to give up humility without falling into arrogance. It’s a delicate balance.
What is your best memory on stage?
There are a few that stand out. I think, for example, of those concerts I performed when I was part of youth choirs between the ages of 20 and 25. Often, in such ensembles, singers are bound by strong friendships that music only amplifies. And it’s that somewhat naïve emotion that stays and that we try to preserve over time.
But if I had to choose one defining memory, it would undoubtedly be a concert on Saint John of Damascus, a lesser-known work by Sergey Taneyev. The piece was so powerful and emotionally charged that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a concert quite like it. It ends with soft, distant chords sung a cappella by the choir, like the irrefutable voice of a God bringing peace. When I slowly lowered my arms, the silence that followed before the applauses lasted perhaps a full minute, as if every soul had been struck still. Then came the long applause and the tearful eyes of a few singers. That is a memory that remains vivid.
