Monday
Today is the launch of the JMI (Jewish Music Institute) Archive, a project we’ve been working on for a long time. The Archive holds thousands of rare items – vinyl and shellacs donated by individuals, families, collectors and institutions over decades. The collection was housed for years in a warehouse in the countryside, and through meticulous curation by experts, we’ve created a JMI boutique collection.
We invited DJ and composer Tai Rona to create a deep-listening set at London’s Stone Nest Theatre, drawn from the physical, un-digitised collection. He first encountered the records only a few days before the show. I live in north London, and my morning starts with grabbing coffee and banana bread before heading to Audio Gold’s shop in Crouch End, which kindly provided vintage hi-fi systems so we could play our shellac 78s beautifully. We carefully load the speakers and amplifiers into an XL Uber and head to Stone Nest.
By the time we arrive, the crew is setting up. I meet with the rest of the team as the space fills with bar staff, a filmmaker and performers. I take a quiet moment upstairs to finish my speech and give an interview. Elana Sasson, composer and vocalist, opens with her double bassist, and Wajima Tapes, our archive curator, closes the night with a late-night selection.
The theatre fills with people of all ages and backgrounds. Tai’s 40-minute long-form composition breathes life into records that haven’t been heard in decades. It’s an emotional moment for our collection to meet an audience this way for the first time, and potentially the last before they are placed in a permanent home. We document the evening for an upcoming broadcast, then fold cables, lock up equipment and finally grab a celebratory drink downstairs. Exhausted, hungry – having survived only on coffee and cake – but satisfied, I make my way back home.
Tuesday and Wednesday
I’m due to fly to Montreal to take part in the Azrieli Music Prizes (AMP) Composition jury panel. I manage a brief stopover in New York for a couple of meetings and a quick catch-up with friends.
I arrive at JFK quietly confident, until I’m told at check-in that I can’t board the flight without a Canadian visa. An oversight on my part: a combination of being my usual space cadet and things being quite full-on menat I forgot to fill it out in good time.
The next hour feels like a scene from a film: I’m frantically completing the online application while in the queue, trying to reach the team in Montreal, sprinting across terminals with my phone buffering the confirmation email. Somehow, miraculously, I make it onto the flight.
It’s my first time in Montreal. Over the next two days, the panel and I spend long hours immersed in scores and recordings, discussing and debating each work. It’s fascinating, intense and full of generosity from everyone involved. Before sessions, I take short walks soaking in the summer light, discovering a favourite coffee shop that becomes my morning ritual. It’s 32 degrees, the conversations are inspiring, and by the time we agree on this year’s winner, the sense of purpose is very much rewarding. As the group disperses, I find myself back at Montreal airport after this whirlwind of listening, discussion and conversation – tired but quietly content, looking forward to hearing the winning piece performed in 2026.
Thursday
Back in London, the day is mostly about catching up and recovery. The afternoon disappears into calls and emails. I manage to squeeze in a long-awaited gym session in the early evening, laundry, tidying and a home-cooked meal.
It’s uneventful, but grounding, the kind of day that gently resets everything.
Friday
I start the following morning grabbing coffee on my way to the tube, getting to Liverpool Street, then the train to Ipswich and onwards to Aldeburgh. After a 45-minute wait between trains, I finally reach Saxmundham and optimistically try to order an Uber to Snape, quickly realising this is futile: no Ubers, hardly any signal. I step into a nearby hotel, find a taxi leaflet, and call a cab the old-fashioned way. Fifteen minutes later, I’m winding through the Suffolk countryside, fields glowing in late-morning light, on my way to Britten Pears Arts. I was here quite some time ago at a composer residency, and it’s really nice to return in a slightly different capacity.
Today I’m here for a sharing of a JMI-commissioned project weaving Ladino, Judeo-Arabic and Ibero-Christian interfaith musical traditions. We brought together Ana Silvera, Lydia Samuels and Tomer Damsky, alongside Syrian Oud player Nawras Altaky and vocalist Kate Huggett, for a week-long residency exploring this musical meeting point.
In the intimate Kiln Studio, the group performs an hour of new material shaped in just a few days. Ancient melodies intertwine with contemporary textures, filling the space with sounds both familiar and entirely new. The audience is warm and curious, the discussion lively.
Afterwards, we head to the local pub, only to be told the kitchen’s closed. The chef is kind enough to fix us up with the last fish and chips of the night. My rural B&B code doesn’t work when I arrive, and for a moment I’m standing outside in the dark, suitcase in hand, no signal, until I finally manage to get in somehow.
Saturday and Sunday
In the morning, a couple from the show recognise me and offer kind words about the performance. No taxis are available, and the B&B owner kindly drives me back to Saxmundham so I don’t miss the once-an-hour train – a gentle end to a magical, slightly surreal day in Suffolk.
Back in London, I unwind slowly and catch up on lingering work before taking a break to have dinner and spend time with family and loved ones. I try to keep a good portion of the weekend for music-making. Recently, I received support from Help Musicians towards the development of my next album. I spent time back in March writing material for it, and in January I’ll be retreating to St Rémy Studios – a rural musical haven about an hour-and-a-half drive from Bordeaux, surrounded by forests. The studio is filled with beautiful instruments, including some vintage keyboards I’ve grown deeply attached to.
Having been a musician since early childhood, I sometimes find it challenging to switch gears from curator-manager mode into a music-making headspace; it takes me time to make that transition. On Saturday morning, I walk through Highgate Woods with coffee and a pastry, clearing my head. I spend the afternoon revising sketches and developing new material, shaping the pieces we’ll soon record. For now, I leave the sketches on the piano, ready to return to them next week. The album will be released through Orthodox Records in 2026.
