If Morteza Mahjoubi’s pianism is alive today, it is not out of devotion or praise for his person, but rather on account of something internal to his virtuosity: a sublime rubato that penetrates beneath the level of surface and releases melodies that cultivate and nourish the soul. Mahjoubi’s tone is so striking, its kinship to Persian poetry so clear, that it would be insensitive not to see in it a half-calculated, half-inspired homage to Rumi or Hafez. How influential his musicality was in his native Iran is a matter of fact. His stamp, felt there throughout the 20th century, is still pervasive at home and abroad, as the Persian piano undergoes a quiet revival. But what counts above all is the grace and subtlety of the playing itself, which can hardly be approached, let alone understood, without reference to the world from which it emerged.
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