The things I do outside of playing the piano are done out of an inner necessity, not just because I want to try my hand at different things.
I love teaching.
No two composers were more totally at home in front of the piano than Debussy and Chopin, hands to keys to strings to sound waves to pen and paper in one perfect gesture of inspiration.
I would do a sort of violence to myself if I didn’t express myself in the directly creative ways of writing, both words and music.
I like the extras in life. Concentrating on serious things doesn’t mean you can’t also enjoy the lighter ones.
My place in London is very small, so a piano would take up a third of the room. I leave home in the morning when I’m there and go to my studio. I close the door, and it’s soundproof. There’s no phone or TV or computer, and I can work uninterruptedly. That has been a huge advantage over the years.
There are many doors to the heart.
Unlike a high-wire walker, I don’t think any musician strikes the wires of a piano or draws a bow across a violin’s strings primarily for the kick of an adrenalin fix. There is danger on stage, but dropped notes are not broken bones; a memory lapse is not a tumble to the ground.
Why do people compose music? Why do people listen to music? When we go into a concert, we go into a place where we want to experience a sort of ecstasy, to come out of ourselves.
To me, the heart of the ministry lies in being able to help deeply distressed people, not because of your own qualities but because you represent Christ.
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