‘YOU are the music,’ wrote T. S. Eliot in The Dry Salvages, ‘while the music lasts.’
That is certainly true for me. I can’t recall a time before music, nor imagine one in which music is no more. It seems I am the music . . . and when it ends? Well, perhaps the ensuing silence is simply the same one that’s here all along: the spaces between the notes—those emptinesses that so delighted Debussy.
Music runs in my blood. My father spent his life as an itinerant cellist travelling the globe, eventually settling in Australia where, late in life, he married my mother, a pianist. Consequently, I played cello and piano from a young age.
Later, I travelled to England, where I studied under Ula Kantrovitch and Raphael Wallfisch, earning licentiates from both the Guildhall School of Music and Trinity College London. Back in Australia, my career has been in performing, teaching and composing. I learnt to play other instruments as well, including guitar. But the cello remains my first love.
I began writing music in my teens, mainly songs. There’s something curious and magical about the way a melody floats unbidden into consciousness. Tunes rarely show up fully formed. They’re playful creatures who like to intrigue and tantalise. They enjoy the chase, revealing just enough of their charms to make you follow. They need proof that you’re serious because beauty is a transient thing. But once assured of your devotion, they will they let you dress them up in harmonies and dance with them. That’s the case for tunes new and old.
Other interests include poetry and travel. My wife, artist Francesca Bell and I enjoy journeying and adventuring to many places. If you’d like to read about our experiences, I’ve shared some on Endless Way, a site devoted to travel and the poetry of life.
All the material on this website I make available as a free resource to performers, teachers and students. I hope you find here something interesting and exciting.