Cellist Inbal Megiddo has just released an album of Bach’s complete Cello Suites on Atoll Records (ACD233). We spoke with her about her approach to these classic works, her mentor Aldo Parisot, life in New Zealand, and more.
"Why another recording of the Bach Cello Suites?"
"The Suites, to me, are a lifetime." This is how I begin my liner notes, and it captures the essence of why this recording needed to exist. The Bach Suites aren't just six works I've mastered—they're companions on life's path that have grown and evolved with me over decades. Every time I return to them, they reveal new dimensions, changing as I change.
What makes my approach distinctive is constantly trying to find the freedom within the structure. I view these works as a complete emotional and spiritual journey that mirrors human experience itself. I hear the innocent curiosity of childhood in the G major, the turbulent angst of adolescence in D minor, the confident optimism of young adulthood in C major, the complexity of midlife in E-flat major, the profound reflection of old age in C minor, and finally, transcendence in the D major sixth suite.
But beyond this personal narrative, there's the fundamental mystery at the heart of these works. Since Bach's original manuscripts are lost, each performer must create their own edition based on surviving copies—Anna Magdalena Bach's, Kellner's, and two anonymous copies. These have minimal dynamic markings and often unclear bowings. While we could mourn the loss of the originals, I believe this mystery is part of the magic. It gives us the sublime freedom to search for beauty and truth in our own way.
My mentor Aldo Parisot taught me something crucial: you must find your own voice, not imitate others. He would say, "Bach created a masterpiece. Our job isn’t to recreate it, but to create something even more glorious." This recording represents decades of living with these suites, performing them on the world’s stages from Carnegie Hall to the Berlin Philharmonie, and constantly discovering them anew. Just as every day contains both the routine and the unknown, every performance of the Suites is simultaneously known and improvised—the next step in life's ephemeral journey.
Question 2: Your musical life in New Zealand
The transition to New Zealand has been transformative in unexpected ways. After performing in the world's major concert halls—Carnegie Hall, Kennedy Center, Berlin Philharmonie—and working with conductors like Barenboim, Mehta, and Mintz, I wondered how moving to the other side of the world would affect my artistic development.
What I discovered is that first of all, it is entirely possible to continue traveling from here, and I do. So I spend a bit more time on planes. But musical life in New Zealand also is very full. There is a lot going on considering the size of the country, and at very high levels. There is also quite a bit of support for the arts, and audiences are quite adventurous. That may go along with the kiwi spirit – we are at the edge of the world, so experimentation and self-reliance are a must. The beauty of nature, and the bird song that NZ is known for is also something unique, giving space for deep artistic exploration. As Associate Professor at the New Zealand School of Music, I've been able to balance performance, teaching, and creative projects. My work with the Te Kōkī Trio has been particularly rewarding—our Debussy recording was a finalist for Best Classical Album at the Aotearoa Music Awards.
I've also founded the Cellophonia International Festival here, which brings together cellists from around the world. There's something about New Zealand's geographic isolation that paradoxically creates a hunger for connection and excellence. The audiences here are sophisticated and appreciative, and the musical community is incredibly supportive and collaborative.
This environment has given me the freedom to pursue passion projects like my upcoming "Forbidden Composers" album—works banned by the Nazis—alongside core repertoire like these Bach Suites. The distance has actually liberated me to take more interpretive risks and to trust my own artistic instincts more fully. In many ways, being in New Zealand has brought me closer to Parisot's teaching about finding your own authentic voice rather than following established traditions.
Question 3: Studying with Aldo Parisot
My first encounter with Aldo Parisot was at age twelve in a masterclass at the Jerusalem Music Centre. He spoke about circles, breathing, phrasing, passion, and kept repeating this paradoxical phrase: "free, but in tempo!" I left that lesson exhilarated, inspired, confused—and with a hole in my new sweater from his lit cigarette! It was an incendiary lesson in every sense. Four years later, I became his student at Yale.
What Parisot gave me wasn't just technique—though his technical principles were transformative. He taught me that artistry comes from within. He was fiercely opposed to teachers who create copies of themselves. As he would say, "You don't need a teacher if you have the curiosity and drive to discover yourself." His role was to help us find our own voice.
His technical approach was revolutionary for me. The concept of circles—in shifting, in bow movement, in musical phrasing—changed everything. He taught that shifts should be like breathing, natural and organic. "Maximum sound!" he would demand, but always with beauty and resonance, never forcing. He had us sing everything first, then find that same expression on the cello. This came from his own training—he studied two years of solfege before even touching the instrument.
But perhaps the most profound lesson was about the relationship between freedom and structure. That phrase "free, but in tempo" became central to my understanding of Bach. It means maintaining the rhythmic integrity while finding infinite expressive possibilities within each phrase. He would demonstrate how the same passage could be played completely differently while still being truthful to Bach's vision.
The trajectory change was complete. Before Parisot, I played from instinct. He gave me the tools to channel that instinct into conscious artistry. He taught me to question everything—"Bach was not a saint," he'd remind us, "I respect the man and his work, but I don't worship him." This irreverence paradoxically led to deeper respect for the music.
His influence extends beyond my playing. In my own teaching at the New Zealand School of Music and as Master Teacher for iClassical Academy, I carry forward his philosophy: technical excellence is mandatory but insufficient. True artistry comes from finding your authentic voice and having the courage to trust it. As my DMA thesis on his teaching methods explores, Parisot didn't just create excellent cellists—he nurtured artists who happen to play the cello.
Final Thoughts
This recording of the Bach Suites represents a convergence of everything I've learned and experienced: the technical foundation from Parisot, the musical maturity gained through performing with the world's leading orchestras, and the artistic freedom I've found in New Zealand. These aren't just six suites—they're a complete universe of human experience, and I invite listeners to join me in this never-ending journey of discovery.