Tag: music

Let us make the case that the most successful music conservatory is not in Paris, Vienna or Berlin but rather, in a house on a tree-lined street in Nottingham, England. It might be an unpretentious structure, but it’s there that seven extravagant talents were nourished on a variety of instruments before setting off to perform at the world’s great concert halls, often as featured soloists with the world’s great orchestras. Each of the seven is still under age 30, representing the young crossover stars that the ever-greying classical music world so urgently needs. Oh, and one other thing: they’re all siblings. presenting: the Kanneh-Masons.

It’s rare these days to find all seven Kanneh-Mason siblings under one roof, but when they are back in their childhood home in Nottingham, old habits return quickly.

Amid the din, it’s hard to keep thoughts together, much less keep tempo, every room spoken for as the siblings practice Bach or Beethoven or Brahms. 

This was the setting that produced what is surely the most statistically improbable story in classical music history: seven siblings, each a virtuoso by almost any definition. Roll call: Jeneba, 23, Aminata, 20, Sheku, 26, Braimah, 27, Isata, 29, Konya, 25, and Mariatu, 16, the Gretl von Trapp, as it were.

The Kanneh-Mason siblings have toured the world, recorded chart-topping albums, won prestigious awards. They perform with each other in every combination. and as we saw at Carnegie Hall last winter, the bond between the siblings expresses itself as a kind of musical banter.

Jon Wertheim: We noticed when you play together there really seems to be this unspoken connection. This telepathy. What is it like playing with a sibling versus accompaniment you’re not related to?

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Well, because we’re so close, I think there’s, like, a speed at the– the way that we interact, and I think that kind of unspoken communication is just very quick because of how close we are, because we would listen to each other playing around the house.

Sheku Kanneh-Mason: Yeah.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: So we know each other’s playing very well.

That dynamic helped the Kanneh-Masons build a devoted fanbase: a diverse, young fanbase in a genre desperate for a wider audience.

Jon Wertheim: The overarching question to this whole story is how do seven siblings achieve this level of talent and success? 

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Well, I think the environment is so important, and because our environment was so intensely musical and loving and supportive, it was kind of bound to happen in one way or another, as in us feeling like we could achieve what we have achieved in– on our instruments.

Jon Wertheim: I’m hearing a lot of nurture.

Sheku Kanneh-Mason: Uh-huh.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Yeah.

Jon Wertheim: More– more than nature.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Yeah. I think that’s what we all believe. I think if there were a nature part, it would be having that base level of interest. You can’t force a child to like something. 

There was never a grand plan here, say the parents. Kadie Kanneh (born in Sierra Leone) and Stuart Mason (born in London) had taken music classes in school. But that’s it. When they started raising kids, music was just another entry in a packed schedule of after-school activities.

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: They went to cricket, down the road, do you remember?

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: Oh, gosh. Yes. The– the– the– forget cricket, yeah.

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: Lots of football, cricket, karate.

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: I’d forgotten, yes, yes– tennis.

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: Lots of things– gymnastics.

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: Gymnastics, yes. And so I think, in the end, what you want to do is fuel your child’s creative juices, really.

Jon Wertheim: It does not sound as though your children were, conceived, to have in mind, to be musicians. It sounds like you–

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: No, no. No, it was–yeah. 

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: No, it all happens, accidentally, really.

The eldest, Isata, started on piano when she was six. She took to it. And as the Kanneh-Mason clan grew, the younger siblings — as younger siblings do — imitated the bigger kids, a glorious chain reaction. 

As to which instruments they chose, there was healthy competition (perhaps with a dash of Freud thrown in).

Jon Wertheim: Sheku was saying that he took up cello in part because you had the violin and he wanted to play a bigger instrument.

Braimah Kanneh-Mason: Yeah. I think– I think there could ha– could have been something about, I think, I still–

Sheku Kanneh-Mason: And it helps it’s– objectively a better instrument. So then—

Jon Wertheim: You’re gonna take that?

Braimah Kanneh-Mason: I think the violin is more popular. There’s more repertoire. 

It became clear each also had talent, blazing, abundant talent, which Stuart (an executive in the travel industry), and Kadie (a former English professor) were determined to foster. It was intense: the kids attended local public schools; then practiced three and four hours a day. All seven were selected for the junior program at the renowned Royal Academy of Music in London…two hours each way every saturday…. any extra income went directly to instruments and lessons.

Kadie says that more than once, they nearly defaulted on their mortgage.

Jon Wertheim: Some people might hear the story and say, “Boy, I wonder what kind of pressure that must have been. That’s– must have been a real hot house.” Was it a hot house?

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: No. It’s not a hot house. I think it’s– it’s a house of children who had a love of music. They did work hard. 

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: It’s an interesting balance, isn’t it, because they told us this is what they wanted to do. So then, we had to be honest to say, “Well, if this is what you want to do, then you have to work hard. Because the reality is, if you want to be successful at anything, you have to go for it. 

Jon Wertheim: But if they said, “Music’s not for me. I want to be a champion darts player or a florist–“

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: Great. Great.

As the kids grew, the home grew into an informal music school. Every week, they’d all gather for what they called their Sunday Concerts. Each would play a piece, while the others would give notes.

Jon Wertheim: Put us in the room. What are those like?

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Well, the room was the hallway, usually, everyone would be sitting on the stairs, kind of looking down at the space.

Braimah Kanneh-Mason: Looking down.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Looking down at you.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: At the unlucky performer.

Mariatu Kanneh-Mason: Yeah.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: And then we take it in turns and perform.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Yeah.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: And it’s so scary, ’cause you finish performing and then everyone’s like, “Who wants to go first?”

Kanneh-Mason (all): Yeah.

Jon Wertheim: These were really critical– these were really helpful to your growth as musicians–

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Yeah. Uh-huh.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Yeah, because you have to get used to putting yourself under that pressure, otherwise you’ll go onstage, and it’s so easy to just crumble under the nerves.

If mom and dad weren’t typical stage parents, the pressure came instead from one another. As siblings, they can dispense with the niceties. They remain each other’s toughest critics, most demanding coaches…

Isata Kanneh-Mason: I think pressure comes from knowing the standards in the music world. And I suppose that’s not a negative pressure, but just a feeling of, “This is what’s required of me.”

In terms of career strategy, Kadie says the kids have always called the shots, and it’s never been about clicks, likes or commerce.

In 2015, they agreed to appear on “Britain’s Got Talent,” good exposure, but only if they could include real classical repertoire rather than a pop-heavy setlist. 

Jon Wertheim: You surely could have milked this story and the novelty of seven kids, and shopped a reality show.

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: Yes.

Jon Wertheim: How did you make these commercial decisions, what to pursue and what not?

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: Because they did not want that. They wanted to be classical musicians and be really good at what they did. 

Jon Wertheim: They had their convictions.

Kadie Kanneh-Mason: Yes.

Stuart Kanneh-Mason: Yes.

From there, the invites and accolades, you might say, crescendoed. 

Sheku won a major British music award, and caught the eye of a certain couple in search of a wedding entertainer. 

When he performed at the marriage of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle in 2018, the world heard him play.

And suddenly, Sheku was a bonafide star, the first cellist ever to crack the top 10 on the UK album charts. Here he is posing for British GQ. 

Ironic, because, of all the Kanneh-Masons, Sheku presents as the quietest, perhaps the least comfortable wearing the cloak of celebrity.

But get a cello in his hand… 

Jon Wertheim: Would you mind playing for us?

Sheku Kanneh-Mason: With pleasure.

And he transforms, and draws packed audiences, as we saw in London. The siblings came out to support, as they try to do whenever one of their own takes the stage.

Sheku’s performance quivers with intensity: yes, that’s sweat glistening on this $3 million Venetian cello he has on loan.

All seven still perform as a family from time to time, but Konya has pivoted, devoting herself to writing fiction. Aminata tried out acting school, but music tugged her back and she decided to return to conservatory.

Braimah branched out, too — touring with the dance pop band Clean Bandit before returning to classical. The youngest, Mariatu, plans to go pro. 

As to the four current professionals, they’re busy recording or touring. And in the spring, Sheku will take the stage as artist in residence at the New York Philharmonic. 

Jon Wertheim: You’ve come into the public as this unit, as the Kanneh-Masons. How do you balance the collective with also trying to carve out an identity as individuals?

Isata Kanneh-Mason: I think it’s something that probably gets easier as you get older, because you start to just get more confidence and more knowledge about what kind of things you want to be doing. And also musically, I think that gets easier. I mean, we play different instruments. We’re different ages. We play a different repertoire.

Though there are, well, some strings attached.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Out of all the sisters, we look the most similar. So a lot of the time, people come up to me and be like, “Oh, you played so well last night at Carnegie.” And I was like, “That wasn’t me.” So we try to do like–

Isata Kanneh-Mason: This happened to me.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Did it happen to you?

Isata Kanneh-Mason: A few days ago.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: This is the first time–

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: –this has ever happened.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: No. Someone said, “Oh, I saw you on TV this morning.” I said, “No. You didn’t. I was asleep. It was my sister.”

They confess: they remain fiercely competitive when, say, apportioning dinner or playing board games. So we wondered about competition in their careers. 

Braimah Kanneh-Mason: You should be inspired by those around you. And if someone is doing something that you’re not able to, I think you should feel that– encouragement and inspiration to want to do that. But I think as soon as that comparison starts to become about the external things, like, “Oh, you’re doing this concert,” I– then– then I think everything can just crumble very quickly.

Isata Kanneh-Mason: Yeah. And I think that kind of rivalry, if you feeling good about yourself as a musician is based on, “Oh, ha-ha, you didn’t get this concert and I did,” I think that’s a very weak base to be–

Jon Wertheim: So, you’ll joke about who got the biggest piece of pizza, but you guys draw a line. That’s not going to contaminate our music.

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: We draw the line at music because our instruments are such, like, an integral part of ourselves. And it would be like deeply attacking the other person.

Yet another way the Kenneh-Masons maintain harmony, an orchestra greater than the sum of its parts, this most remarkable of septets. 

Produced by David M. Levine. Associate producer, Elizabeth Germino. Broadcast associate, Mimi Lamarre. Edited by Peter M. Berman.