Ludovico Einaudi is one of the most streamed classical artists worldwide, and I will admit to considerably adding to those numbers. When I’m not sure what to listen to, when I’m feeling a bit out of sorts, Einaudi is my go-to guy. His latest album is his first solo piano album in 20 years. Simply titled Underwater, it has an understated simplicity that gives you space to breathe again. During the struggles of the last two years, for the first time in a while, Einaudi found himself with the time to sit at his piano and just be with the music – and himself – again. Born out of this experience, the record’s title is a metaphor, with Einaudi describing it as ‘an expression of a very fluid dimension, without interference from outside’. It’s a fitting description of the last couple of years when many of us were in lockdown.

There is something rough to the sound of the piano here, compared to the bright concert sounds of a Steinway. When researching the album, I discovered that when the lockdowns originally struck, Einaudi was up a mountain with only an old, somewhat out-of-tune piano to work with. And somehow this sound has permeated all the compositions on the album, even though it wasn’t recorded on that mountain-top piano. Instead of feeling like you’re in a concert hall, you are in Einaudi’s living room with him, sitting on the piano stool as he explores sound, the decay of the instrument and little rhythmic ideas that repeat and grow and then stop.

I particularly love that the album cover is one of Einaudi’s own photographs, as the image truly encapsulates the feeling of Underwater: a moment of stillness, on water that is always moving, with a living breathing creature who could almost be said to be a representative of ourselves. Gentle, lyrical and strangely wholesome, this album made my month.

Kate Rockstrom is a friend of Readings.