Thomas Luke, pianist & composer

Who or what inspired you to pursue a career in music?

I can’t really remember a time when music wasn’t a huge part of my life. Some of my earliest memories are of playing keyboard games with my Grandad. He was an amazing man, loved by so many, and had countless admirable skills. He was a particularly wonderful amateur musician, with a special love of the guitar, piano and organ. He took great pride in his Roland electric organ, which lived in the room under the stairs, and I treasure memories of sitting next to him on the organ bench whilst he excitedly showed me around this beast of an instrument, playing me new pieces he’d been practising – anything from a Bach Invention to a Joplin rag.

One of our favourite games was called ‘Lion and Mouse’. I played the mouse, beginning in the light, twinkling top end of the keyboard, and he played the lion in the growling bass register. We’d slowly creep towards each other, playing scales inwards until we met in the middle, where the lion and mouse spotted each other, got frightened, and ran back to their respective ends of the keyboard again.

Music was an omnipresent force throughout my childhood. My mum can coax a melody from just about any instrument she picks up. However, I hadn’t seriously considered music or anything else, for that matter – as a career until a pivotal moment with my first piano teacher, Jude Harvey. I’d been learning with her since the age of four, and when I was around ten, I returned from a mid-lesson bathroom break to hear her playing Chopin’s Étude Op. 10 No. 12, “Revolutionary”, on our piano. I was completely bowled over, not only by the drama and ferocity of the sound, but also by how effortless she made it all seem. At that moment, I knew I had to learn how to do that myself. That was when I decided that being a professional pianist was my calling.

Who or what have been the most significant influences on your musical life and career (as a composer/performer)?

There have been countless influences throughout my musical life, far too many to list comprehensively. I’ve never been someone who limits their listening to particular genres, and whilst I certainly have favourites that I’ll play on loop for hours, I actively enjoy seeking out sounds I haven’t heard before. I think that that curiosity inevitably feeds into my own music, which tends to draw inspiration from just about anywhere. I’ve never been a big fan of the concept of “genre” at all. I trained as a classical pianist, but I’ll happily play or listen to anything. At the end of the day, it’s all just sound!

As a pianist, though, there are certain figures who’ve had a particularly strong influence on how I play and write. I’m deeply drawn to individuality and spellbinding, impulsive musicianship that prioritises character and risk over surface-level perfection. For that reason, I’ve always gravitated towards older-school pianists such as Vladimir Horowitz, Martha Argerich, William Kapell and Vladimir Sofronitsky. Hayato Sumino is a much younger musician who hugely inspires me, both through his classical playing and his original music.

I’m also a big fan of modern jazz and fusion – the edgier and spicier the better. Pianists like Hiromi and Tigran Hamasyan have been especially influential, as have bands such as the 8-bit metal jazz electro fusion band Sungazer. And of course, iconic artists like Michael Jackson and David Bowie remain towering influences in terms of individual brilliance and emotional directness.

I’ve learnt a great deal from all of the above influences, but alongside all of this, I’ve been incredibly fortunate to study with inspiring teachers and mentors throughout my training. Jude Harvey instilled in me a love of music rooted in curiosity and joy from the very beginning. Eleanor Hodgkinson at the Junior Royal Academy of Music played a crucial role in shaping my foundations, and Vanessa Latarche, with whom I currently study at the Royal College of Music, has challenged me to refine my craft whilst finding my own way in the world as an artist. Alim Beisembayev also gives me countless invaluable insights and piano life hacks! I’ve additionally had opportunities to play to and learn from extraordinary musicians such as Stephen Kovacevich, Lang Lang and Arie Vardi, each of whom has left a lasting impression on how I think about music-making at the highest level.

What have been the greatest challenges/frustrations of your career so far?

As a child, I was artistically mature beyond my years, but I was never a technical prodigy at the keyboard. I had to work extremely hard throughout my teenage years to catch up technically, and whilst those issues are rarely a concern for me now, getting to this point was a long and often frustrating slog.

More recently, I’ve struggled to reconcile my eclectic musical influences with the career path I found myself on from my early teens onwards, which was very much orientated towards becoming a traditional “concert pianist” within the classical music industry. I love that world deeply and wouldn’t give it up for anything, but I increasingly felt constrained by an environment that can prioritise conformity and a narrow aesthetic of perfection over raw, unfiltered artistic expression.

My debut album, See Me Now, emerged partly as a response to this tension. It was an attempt to explore what might happen if the different sides of my musical life were allowed to coexist and inform one another, rather than being kept separate. In that sense, the album represents a step forwards, an effort to carve out a space that feels more honest and more reflective of who I am as an artist.

Of which performances/recordings are you most proud?

This is a revealing question, because I’m a terrible perfectionist. I’m always the first to give myself a hard time over even the most minor of shortcomings on stage, and whilst that can be useful in pushing my standards higher, it can easily spiral into something unhealthy if I’m not careful. I worked with a performance coach fairly recently, and during one session, it became painfully clear just how difficult I find it to say that I’m proud of anything I’ve created.

That said, I am proud of my debut album, See Me Now. It was a mammoth project that I took on almost entirely independently, from running a crowdfunding campaign and organising logistics, to recording, editing, producing and mixing the album. I spent hundreds, if not thousands, of hours obsessing over every detail to make sure everything ran smoothly. Because I handled the production myself, I’m acutely aware of every tiny blemish, which makes it hard to enjoy listening back to it now, but I hope that, with some time and distance, the self-criticism will soften. Deep down, I know how much of myself I poured into the project, and how hard I worked to bring it into existence. I think that, in itself, is something I can be proud of.

Which particular works/composers do you think you perform best?

Many teachers and mentors over the years have commented that I’m most truly myself on stage when I’m performing my own music, and that something shifts to a different level in those moments. I’m inclined to agree. That said, I also love interpreting other composers’ music, and I currently feel particularly at home in the worlds of J. S. Bach and Ravel.

How do you make your repertoire choices from season to season?

Deciding on programmes is always a balancing act between what I want to play, what others want me to play, and what I can realistically manage within my workload. However, one thing is non-negotiable: I must enjoy the music. Fortunately, that includes most things. After all, if we don’t enjoy what we do, why do it?

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in and why?

A few years ago, I performed at Wigmore Hall for the first time, playing Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps with some wonderful friends. Making my debut there was a dream come true. The piano was gorgeous, beautifully prepared by my friend John, but what truly sets Wigmore Hall apart is the acoustic. There’s a richness and warmth that allows the sound to bloom without ever becoming blurred or muddy. Every detail reaches the audience with clarity and perfect sympathy. I’ve never played anywhere else with quite that balance, though I very much hope to again.

What is your most memorable concert experience?

My Wigmore Hall debut is certainly up there, for obvious reasons. However, a more recent and equally powerful memory is performing at Jimei University in Xiamen, China. I’d never before felt such an immediate and beautiful connection with an audience. Visiting China for the first time was a huge culture shock, and adjusting wasn’t easy initially, but from the moment I stepped onto that stage, I felt so warmly welcomed. The audience, particularly the many young people present, were so attentive, enthusiastic and deeply engaged. It was a truly joyful experience and I left the stage feeling genuinely moved.

What do you feel needs to be done to grow classical music’s audiences?

A lot is often said about cost and accessibility, and whilst this is certainly an issue in some places, cities like London actually offer many genuinely affordable options, from student tickets to ‘rush hour’ and free concerts. With streaming platforms and YouTube, access to the music itself isn’t always the main barrier. Access to music education, however, is a different matter entirely. The neglect of musical activity in schools is deeply upsetting.

Music must not be treated as an optional luxury. Of all the human civilisations that have ever existed, not a single one has existed without music in some form. That alone speaks volumes about its role in our human and societal wellbeing.

Atmosphere and vibes within the classical music scene are, unfortunately, another major issue. Some people genuinely enjoy the formality and tradition of classical concerts, which is absolutely fine, but when it comes with an air of snobbery and class, I find it deeply off-putting. Even as a professional, I’ve experienced moments of feeling alienated or unwelcome due to audience culture in certain venues. The idea that you need to be educated, refined or “classy” enough to deserve to be there is a huge deterrent. Many people claim this no longer exists, but it does. I’ve experienced it.

That said, classical musicians also need to take responsibility for holding audiences. If musicians keep presenting the same repertoire in the same formats, with little imagination or ingenuity, we cannot then be surprised when audiences disengage. Truly creative concert production is hard, but it really matters.

How do you work, as a composer? What methods do you use and how do ideas come to you?

It never really feels like ‘work’ – perhaps “how do you music?” would be a more appropriate question. Many ideas come from improvisation, or from realisations of feelings I need to express, process, or simply can’t keep inside. Music is a necessity for my wellbeing.

For the expansive multi-piano nonsense I’ve been producing recently, I don’t record full layers all the way through and stack them neatly. Instead, I work in tiny fragments, multi-tracking ideas as they arrive and jumping around a Logic session like a baboon on crack. Most of what I do is experimentation.

A huge breakthrough for me was embracing the notion of “what if?” – realising that nothing is forbidden, nothing is inherently bad, and that, musically, I can do whatever I want. That freedom changed everything.

How would you characterise your compositional language/musical style?

Finally, the dreaded question. Ermmmmm… Frankly, I have no idea. But as streaming platforms, reviewers and journalists understandably want labels, I’ve had to wrestle an ill-fitting answer out of myself on many occasions. People may hear influences from classical, jazz, prog, minimalist and ambient worlds, but I’m happiest not boxing my music into genres or assigning rigid labels.

What do you do offstage that provides inspiration on stage?

I take inspiration from all walks of life, including academia, sport and other art forms. As one example, I recently watched the third season of Squid Game, which I absolutely loved. It’s extraordinarily well-crafted, and taught me a great deal about narrative, pacing, tension and emotional intensity, all of which are integral parts of music-making.

It’s also vital to go out and live life. Musicians spend huge amounts of time locked away in practice rooms, and whilst that’s necessary, my teachers have often reminded me that “careers aren’t made in practice rooms”. The older I get, the more I agree. We need to engage with the world, meet people, build relationships, draw inspiration and inspire others. Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

I’m someone who’s always asking “what next”. I’m terrible at resting, and I think that’s partly positive, as it means I’m constantly striving to improve. The danger, though, is letting that turn into a permanent feeling of inadequacy, which isn’t healthy. For me, success would be finding a state where I’m striving, growing and challenged, whilst still being genuinely happy and mentally well.

What advice would you give to young or aspiring composers/musicians?

Only pursue music as a career if you truly love it enough that you wouldn’t be happy doing
anything else, because a music career will be tough. It demands enormous things from us, and often comes with levels of rejection, stress and pressure that feel wildly disproportionate. So know what you’re signing up for.

That said: follow your gut. Rules don’t create art. If something feels right, if it sparks a visceral reaction inside you, it’s worth something. That realisation was crucial for me, and it’s probably the most important artistic advice I ever allowed myself to hear.

What’s the one thing we’re not talking about in the music industry which you really feel we should be?

I think we don’t talk enough about how classical training shapes musicianship, but also where it sometimes falls short. Standard training can be extraordinarily rigorous and valuable, but it often prioritises replication over creativity. We become very skilled at refining and reproducing established ideas, yet we’re not always encouraged to develop a personal musical voice alongside that process. In a system built around competitions, consensus and “good taste”, individuality can become a risk rather than an asset. It can inherently be divisive, and in a competition, if you are the most interesting musician, you may only appeal to 50% of the jury. No matter how strongly those judges like you, you aren’t ticking boxes for the others, and so you may lose out to those who play more ‘perfectly’ but lack strong personality.

I also think we’re hesitant to question the way we think about the music we play in general. Many classical musicians place ‘the great composers’ on an almost untouchable pedestal. Their music is extraordinary, undoubtedly, but when that reverence turns into something approaching deification, it can quietly suggest that meaningful creation belongs only to the past. I’m far more interested in a living tradition, where engaging with great composers includes not only performing their music, but also responding to them, learning from them, and having the curiosity and freedom to create new music, rather than purely existing in the shadows of the past.

What is your most treasured possession?

I have two answers to this question, one probably more expected than the other! The expected one is my pianos, who are utterly irreplaceable to me. They’re not just work tools they’re how I process and express my innermost thoughts, feelings, struggles and desires. They’re crafting tools, sources of joy, therapists and best friends, all contained within a box of wood, felt and metal. They feel like extensions of my being, each with a personality and soul of his own. Of course they have names – Freddy and Domenico.

The second answer may be less expected. I often joke that I love music almost as much as I love motorsport, especially Formula 1. I have a red baseball hat on which I’ve collected autographs from drivers including Gabriel Bortoleto, Juan-Pablo Montoya, David Coulthard, Johnny Herbert, the late Jules Bianchi, champions such as Nico Rosberg, Damon Hill and Sir Jackie Stewart, and legends like the late Sir Stirling Moss, Derek Bell and Valentino Rossi. If my pianos are companions, this hat is my most treasured possession.

Thomas Luke’s debut album See Me Now is released on 16 January

thomasluke.co.uk