No – I’m not talking about a steak. Or a day off (my own fault – I am a workaholic….). I played a concert on Sunday. That in itself wasn’t rare. I played with my dear friends Raff and Janet Agostino. That wasn’t rare either. I love playing with them, and try to do so lots. The concert was in an amazing space (also not rare – I play in some excellent places!). And the audience was lovely – also not rare.

But this next part was. I turned up and didn’t have to set anything up. Other people did that. They even moved my piano stool for me. And I didn’t have to worry about ticketing – I wasn’t financially underwriting anything. I didn’t realise how much I worry about that.

You see, before a concert I run, I am worried about the music – of course. Will I play it well enough? Will I do justice to what the composers want? Will I play well with my other musicians?

But I am also worried about the finances. Will I sell enough tickets to break even? Will there be enough people there for it to feel full, and give a ‘vibe’ to the evening? How can I generate more publicity on my tiny weeny budget?

And I realised, after Sunday’s concert, that I worry about that A LOT.

How wonderful to NOT have to worry about that. To just be able to sit and play. And just be the cellist, rather than the promoter, the roadie and the musician once those jobs are done. What a joy!

I was reading this article the other day – and it’s so true. People are buying tickets for things later and later these days. And it’s scary – really scary, being someone who puts on concerts – and guarantees fees for the performers I work alongside.

I understand that people are waiting to see if gigs fit in with what they have to do. I understand that people don’t have as much disposable income. But it’s becoming riskier and riskier to put on concerts – and more and more stressful. Thoughts happen like ‘will I be able to pay everyone?’ and ‘will I be able to pay myself?’. And then the spiral begins… ‘maybe I’m not good enough anymore’ and ‘possibly what I’m doing isn’t artistically relevant anymore’.

Please don’t think I want comments about my playing. Or that what I’m doing is artistically okay. That’s not what I’m after here. You see, as a small concert-putter-on-person, I am having to have difficult conversations with other artists about cancelling things, or putting in huge amounts of practise only to have to cancel things at the last minute. It’s really disheartening. And it also means that smaller series, people doing intimate performance things, will probably stop. And I just want to start a discussion here, and let concert-goers know what it’s like from the other side…

I used to have concerts sell really quickly. They’d sell out months in advance. Last week I sent out some publicity to a pretty large mailing list – and there were no tickets bought. Nothing. Sometimes, artistically, I want to do things that are a bit different. I need to do these things to challenge myself, and keep myself growing as an artist. I thought that after so many years of people coming to my concerts that they’d learned to trust that what I’d choose to play, and how it would be presented would be good. It’d be worth coming to. But it seems not any more. I get messages like “We liked it better when you streamed concerts and we could watch in our pyjamas.” But you see, as a performer, streaming things, with no audience, isn’t very satisfying. And there’s such a huge amount of work put in, I would hope that you’d respect that – and for me, watching through a not-so-great sound system, in your pyjamas, well….. it’s not what you’d wear to the Opera, is it?

Please don’t think I am telling anyone off here. I’m not. I’m just shaking my head and wondering. Do I still take artistic gambles? Do I still bother putting things on? I could make my life so much easier if I stopped. It’s a scary path at the moment, let me tell you….

Last year, I found myself playing at the 80th birthday party of Martin and Peter Wesley-Smith, down in Kangaroo Valley. Martin died in 2019 (for those of you who don’t know about Martin, he was a composer, and big influence on me – I loved him dearly), but Peter (who I also adore!) is very much alive, and decided to celebrate with a really beautiful afternoon in the local church hall, full of family and friends. The Wesley-Smith twins had lived in the Valley for decades, and Martin used to put on loads of concerts, and run a little choir down there. Loads of people at the party used to come to concerts of mine when I played down there (playing lots of Martin’s music!). I had SO many conversations with people about music, and concerts, and how much they loved Martin’s music.

I had been asked to play some music at the event – a piece that Pete had written lyrics to (not by Martin), and then a piece for singing cellist by Martin (no lyrics – just wonderful music), and then we finished with a children’s song (by Martin) called ‘Walking in the City‘. Ben came to sing that with me – and the audience joined in too. It was wonderful. Before I played, I was introduced as ‘the cellist that plays Martin’s music’. Which is right. I do.

On the way home I said to Ben ‘What a shame no-one else plays this music. It’s really excellent.’ Ben pointed out that there were no recordings of some of the pieces. And then others had been recorded, but not very well. So it was hardly surprising.

So we hatched a plan. I would record them. All the pieces for solo cello Martin had written. I don’t like recording much, but if I didn’t do it, then who would? And lucky me – Ben is a very good sound engineer, and an even better editor. So we’d do it together.

This project is HUGE. We’re still going. But these pieces sound good, you know. (I hate listening to myself, so ‘good’ is all you’re going to get from me.) And they are excellent pieces. And soon, there’ll be a CD of them (or a neat download), with really good notes written about them. And I can’t help think that Martin would be pleased too….

I’ve been meaning to write a new blog post for a while, but I’ve been doing a lot. The start of the year in schools is always big – setting up spaces, timetables, over-arching plans for the years, plans just for term 1. I’ve just started a new program in a new school – and that’s always a big thing. And I’ve been practising a lot – I’ve had some hard programs to learn, and a big piece to record.

And it was when I was sitting and practising for the umpteenth hour that I stopped and thought something. It was that playing the cello well, as well as I can, is incredibly important to me. Hugely important. And it might be different for other musicians, but the only way that I can maintain the standard I want to be at, and possibly even get better, is to sit and spend hours – many hours – at the cello, exploring pieces, trying new things, making myself play hard things, taking myself out of what is comfortable.

And to do this I need time. And mental space. I’ve changed what I do each week this year – I am not in schools as many days as I was in 2025, because I could feel my cello playing slipping away from me. And I’m not ready for that yet. I know it’ll happen, at some point, as I get older, or care less. But I’m not at that point.

It interested me that I cared so much. Still. And that I cared SO much. I can’t tell you why. But I do. And I’m loving playing more than I could before. And having time to think up new things. It’s exciting. It reminded me of a Bill Withers song….

Mr. Jones, Booker T., said to me
Don’t worry about it,
Just do what you do –
And do it good.

I knew a man. I knew him for a number of years. He was a very good man. He was an artist. And a gallery owner. And a classical music lover. And frequently, he would open his gallery and host concerts. He’d spread the word. And provide the supper. And the space. And he’d invite musicians around to play, and then give you all the money from the tickets. It was good money. They were great concerts. And he made everyone feel special, and welcome, and important. He also looked after young artists. He’d let let live in the space out the back of the gallery. Or he’d introduce them to people. Or he’d show their work. I think you now know the type of person I am talking about.

A few weeks ago he died. He was over 100. He had a very dignified death. As he died, he was with a friend of his that knew him so well – one of the artists he’d mentored – and they were listening to the Bach cello suites. And during a particular prelude he died.

Today is his memorial service. And I will be playing that particular prelude for him. It’s an honour to do this. I am in the space of St James church – a space I know and love. And I am playing to honour this most excellent man.

It got me thinking about the importance of music. How we use it to mark occasions – perhaps weddings, or births, or deaths, or break-ups. And how certain pieces have such significance. And also it got me thinking of the importance of musicians. And how we can be those people that bring to life that music. It’s special. Very special.

It’s sad that musicians aren’t valued more by the decision makers and the people in power, you know. Because as much as a CEO is paid, that particular CEO can’t do what I will be doing today. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the only person who can do what I’m doing today. But there’s not so many of us that can…. And if young people aren’t taught music properly, there’ll be less of us.)

The musicians, and the artists, and the writers, and the poets, and the singers, and the story-tellers – when there are important moments, that’s who everyone needs. It’s a special job we all have. I wouldn’t do anything else.

And today, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but playing that prelude.