Emmanuel Pahud, in my eyes, is the greatest flutist in the world. He’s the principal flute of the Berlin Philharmonic — a position that speaks volumes — and this summer, he’s on tour in China. Two concerts and one workshop. I’m attending all three. As a flutist, I can’t help but reflect a little on his influence on me.
I started listening to Pahud’s recordings back in high school, during the pandemic. I was bored, like most people, but suddenly, even Bach and Beethoven didn’t sound boring anymore. His recording of Beethoven’s Sonata for Flute in B-flat Major (Anh. 4) and Bach’s Partita in A minor (BWV 1013) completely captivated 17-year-old me — his tone sounded otherworldly, like the flute had become something transcendent.
And yes — he’s also very, very handsome.
Flute wasn’t always my first love. I was good at it, sure, and I’d been playing in a pre-professional orchestra for years. But I never thought it was the “cool” instrument. Piano? Maybe. Harp? Definitely. Like unless you played flute at the absolute top professional level, you looked kind of nerdy and awkward. I also struggled with criticism — years of hearing I lacked “musicality” from my mentor wore me down. It made me question everything.
But maybe it just wasn’t time yet.
Being able to read music or having perfect pitch is like knowing a language — but not yet understanding literature. You can sound out the words, but the meaning is still out of reach. Music began to make sense only after I had stepped away from it, lived a little, and come back with more stories in my bones.
Just like a six-year-old girl will never understand why Giselle dies for Albrecht after discovering his betrayal. But a 16-year-old, madly in love, might agree with Giselle completely. The same goes for music: you don’t really “get” Rachmaninoff until you’ve known anxiety or the depths of melancholy. You don’t understand Beethoven until you’ve had to struggle — really struggle — for something. And sometimes, one small thing happens, and a piece suddenly clicks. It just makes sense after some moment.
For me, that piece was the third movement — Rondo — of Mozart’s *Flute Concerto No. 3 in D. It’s fast, lively, joyful. And watching Pahud play it in his 20s, newly appointed by Claudio Abbado as the youngest principal in Berlin Phil history — just 22 years old — I was awestruck. The confidence. The charm. The pride.
Today, what Pahud represents to me is not just technical mastery or brilliance. It’s a musical philosophy — a sense of classicism, elegance, ease, humor, and playfulness. A free spirit, exquisitely supported by formidable technique. What makes him more than just a great musician, though, is the artistry: the sensitivity, intelligence, experience, and sometimes, even logic.
Oh, and yes — still very, very handsome.