Uno de los pianistas clásicos preferidos del panorama musical actual. Nacido en Zabrze (Polonia) el 5 de diciembre de 1956, mostró desde temprana edad afición y talento para el piano. Su padre, en un tiempo pianista profesional, le dió las primeras lecciones. Pero fue Andrej Jasinski quien continuó su formación desde 1963 hasta que en 1975 ganó el concurso Chopin de Varsovia, lo que constituyó un trampolín para extender sus actuaciones a Alemania, Holanda, Bélgica, Italia, Noruega y Suecia. Al poco tiempo conoce a Arthur Rubinstein quien tiene una gran influencia en su evolución como músico.

Ha trabajado con directores como Herbert Von Karajan, Leonard Bernstein o Zubin Mehta.

Sus grabaciones de Beethoven y Chopin son auténticas referencias para los estudiantes y muy apreciadas. Es uno de los pianistas exclusivos del sello alemán Deutsche Grammophon. Su repertorio incluye además autores como Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Brahms, Liszt, Schumann, Schubert, Grieg, Debussy, Rachmaninov, Prokofiev, Bartók, así como otros compositores polacos contemporáneos (Szymanowski).

It was in the darkest night I remember. I walked alone, lost, I did not remember in what city I was or how I had gotten there. Something caught my attention in an alley, isolated, in the gloom. It was a gravestone. Without understanding what a grave was doing there alone I approached and sat down in front. Terrified, I was able to read that my name was inscribed in it ... with my date of birth ... and with the date in which we were.

At that moment, like an apparition, I could see that behind me was a man, blond hair, long, dressed in white, holding an electric guitar case with one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniel's with the other. "Good evening, I'm Paul White, are you okay?" I was confused ... "I just discovered that I died." He, undeterred, offered me the Jack Daniel's bottle and asked: "And will you let that detail stop you?" Not knowing what to answer, I took a long drink, cleared my throat, and then noticed a figure in the same alley, a humanoid figure, like marble. "But ... what the hell ..." Paul White sat next to me. "He's an old friend, known as Sir Beljerick," I could see him smile as he added, "Let's wake him up." He took the guitar and, with a frenetic, wild rhythm, began to scratch his strings, singing melodies of fury and disagreement, of passion and nocturnality.

It had not been just a few minutes when a car, at full speed, stopped skidding just before us. From there 2 individuals got down, armed with an electric bass and a battery respectively. The one who called himself Pibi, placed himself on the drums, began to beat his instrument as if it were holding onto his life, with the despair of those who can lose everything, except music. His partner, Mario, addressed me. "I was resting on a cruise ship, in a Jacuzzi with a drink in my hand. But I heard you and I had to come. " For a moment I wanted to ask how he could have heard us, how he had been able to get there so quickly ... but it soon passed. I did not want to understand anything, not anymore. Mario grabbed the strings of the bass and joined what was already a party, or a coven. Moving his fingers between the frets I seemed to hear wolves making love to the corpse of their last prey.

They all looked at Sir Beljerick ... and, somehow, his statue opened its eyes, and began to move. It came alive. He approached us while I, riding between the bars of music, was barely aware of the night, of the city, of life or death. With voice of torment without surrender, of a thousand hells overcome, Sir Beljerick, he sang, pointing out: "Get up and let's make the revolution".