Epilogue
James Rhodes A NOTE ON MENTAL WELLNESS
Words by STEFFEN MICHELS
Potography by ALESSANDRO RAIMONDO
James fucking Rhodes. There, I said it. The same way people say Bob fucking Dylan. Nina fucking Simone. Or Johannes Theophilus Amadeus Gottlieb Chrysostomus Wolgangus Sigmundus fucking Mozart. I’m horizontal, on my bed. The lights are off, with the exception of the surprisingly bright torch of my BlackBerry resting on my chest. It emits an icecold white. As if prompted by the music, I lift my arms and stretch out my fingers. Ten thin shadows appear on the ceiling. They slowly descend upon an imaginary set of keys: fifty-two shiny white, thirty-six dark black. It all looks rather beautiful because shadows, in their simplicity, hide messy details and render my hands’ every move graceful and, perhaps, a bit magical. That is until I stop playing the keys and my hands initiate a poorly coordinated mating dance that finally results in a rather childish depiction of copulation principles. This is what happens when James Rhodes tells you to listen to Ludwig van Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 32 in C Minor, Op. 111, Second Movement: Arietta: Adagio molto, semplice e cantabile, performed by Garrick Ohlsson on piano. And it’s not just Beethoven. Every chapter of Rhodes’ recently published memoir Instrumental is accompanied by a piece of classical music the pianist and author deemed relevant to its contents. All songs are available for streaming free of charge on a Spotify playlist to be enjoyed alongside the book – talk about combining art forms. Just like Rhodes starts off every chapter discussing a particular composition, its creator and the motive behind it, the music man with boyish features also pursues an unusually personal touch when playing in front of an audience. Determined to sweep the dust off the classical – to make it more accessible, interactive, authentic and actually about the music –, Rhodes has set up his own record label Instrumental Records. Why this is so important to him? Because if it wasn’t for Bach, Brahms and Beethoven, the Holy Trinity of classical music, James Rhodes would not be here today, sitting opposite me in a West London flat.
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EPILOGUE — JAMES RHODES
Elaborate, cleverly devised, occasionally mathematic and generally grand compositions have been his place of refuge for decades now. The first one was Bach’s Chaconne for solo violin in D Minor, transcribed by Busoni. It enlightened the world of a seven-year-old Rhodes who, by that time, had come to know the meaning of blood running down one’s legs. A formerly happy and healthy child, his physical and mental health was destroyed from age six to ten. That’s for how long the raping went on for, at a time before child protection became a concern and gym class teachers were trusted. Every time it happened, the artist remembers, he left his body to fly to the ceiling, out the window, into freedom; somewhere reality didn’t feel quite so real. By the time a ten-year-old Rhodes left for boarding school, his spirit had been shattered into countless pieces – only classical music managed to somehow prevent from further drifting apart. Descending the stairs into misery and self-hatred, the traumatized child spent its days at the new school in toilet cubicles, both performing oral sex on older boys and staff for Mars, Snickers, and the like, and going through the agonizing aftermath of what rape does to an immature and disputing body, “bleeding and shitting” at 3am. Things slowly seemed to improve when Rhodes attended another boarding school at age thirteen, meeting not only his first ever piano teacher, “a total dude”, but also his first ever love interest – a boy, despite being straight. It wasn’t long, however, until the adolescent had come across alcohol, which quickly became a constant in his tumultuous life and, along with previously discovered cigarettes, would ultimately catapult him into substance abuse. Five years on, a grown up Rhodes commenced his undergraduate studies at an Edinburgh university. He does not remember much of his first and simultaneously last year in the Scottish capital, apart from shoplifting, hearing voices in his head and being physically paralyzed for prolonged periods of time as a result of cramming his system with vast amounts of whatever drug would come his way – marijuana, acid, speed, cocaine, heroin. What followed was his first confinement in a psychiatric ward. Faking progress and emotionally manipulating his doctors, Rhodes was released after five weeks and decided to start over in the city of love. For twelve months, the former patient sustained a tiny flat in Paris on a tinier income grilling burgers at Burger King and on March 29, 1995 he poured away the rest of his last ever drink. In a
less favourable move, Rhodes subsequently gave up the piano for what would become an entire decade. Back in the UK, he enrolled on and successfully graduated from a Psychology Degree at University College London before an unfulfilling corporate career made him decisively richer than the average twenty-two-year-old. Besides being aware it would not work out, Rhodes got married for the first time in 2001. A mere 48 hours later, two planes brought down the World Trade Center, changing the course of history and eerily foreshadowing what the following years would have in store for the pianist who had quit the piano. “War” – Rhodes states in Instrumental – “is the best word to describe the daily life of a rape survivor.” The sudden terror of an “atomic bomb of love” exploding inside him, after fathering a son whilst continuously standing on the edge of slipping back into addiction and furthermore guarding the heavy secret of his childhood, was too much to handle. And so he spoke, for the first time ever. What followed was a whirlwind of physical self-harm through cutting, suicide attempts whose planning gave Rhodes an overwhelming and worrying sense of liberation, stints in clinics for sexual abuse victims and institutions for the mentally ill, being stripped of his personal rights, and transferred into yet another hospital where he was diagnosed with “bipolar disorder, acute PTSD, autism, Tourette’s, clinical depression, suicidal ideation, anorexia, DID and borderline personality disorder” and administered an even larger number of drugs. All this was exacerbated by financial debt, a divorce and his now ex-wife moving their child all the way across the Atlantic Ocean as well as the many devastating traces the traumata of his childhood have left on Rhodes and which he continues to battle to this day: anger, anxiety, mistrust, paranoia, dissociation and above all, a fatally underestimated and perversely ironic feeling of deep, tremendous shame. That is why classical music is of such importance to James Rhodes. It kissed his wounds when he was seven years old. It kept him company in Edinburgh, where he never made a friend. It convinced him to get better after he put a TV cable around his neck and stood on the toilet seat in a hospital bathroom. Classical music was the sole thing that stuck with him through the years to remind Rhodes that in spite of exasperating hardship, and the bitter appreciation that he will never fully recover from the consequences of victimhood, there still re-
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mained an undeniable and all-encompassing goodness in the world, an excellence that has overcome all obstacles of history and would continue to do so – and that was something, if not everything, worth surviving for. It comes as no surprise that the British pianist has been able to capture some of this quality in his book. Readers of his memoir will quickly notice that Rhodes’ tremendous talent spreads from the stage to the page. His writing is sincere, revealing, compelling and full of wit. 254 pages burst with a wisdom many authors would struggle to provide in a volume twice the size of Instrumental. And so it happens that what stays on the mind when the book has been put aside, above all, is a genuine sense of hope and enlightenment, which Rhodes himself has come to represent. A turning point in the artist’s story, the moment he first understood “how although he was responsible for his life, he was not to blame for it”, depicts a significant move from the pessimistic towards the optimistic. Rhodes reflects upon the world we live in with clarity and insight and always from a unique standpoint. His ideas on falling in love and why he much prefers the notion of “walking beside one another in love”, for instance, appear to be a direct response to a past characterized by meaningless one-night stands, sex with prostitutes and a marriage for the wrong reasons. Similarly, his advice on how to sustain a healthy relationship speaks of the continuous efforts whose importance has become so irrevocably clear to the pianist years later. His readers appreciate both – not just for their individual arguments, but for the former laying the foundation out of which the latter has grown: Rhodes has acquired and recorded different stages of awareness not as a sequence of one another but rather in a way that implies one being the consequence of the other. “Continue learning as you go along” could be written in bold letters on the back of his book. An example of this is how the classical music lover’s life has become more about giving and less about expecting. This is a truly valuable lesson, especially for those struggling with the intricacies of romance – something Rhodes has an astonishing amount to say about, making for at least as many borderline romantic moments as purely borderline ones. But there is more to learn than relationship etiquette. Equally appealing to his audience is a section dedicated to the finding of the secret of happiness. Though only briefly discussed, it’s a reminder of just how simple life can be if we only ad-
just to an idea that seems almost frivolous in modern times, yet ultimately paves the way to a fulfilled life. It is, in fact, a thought so self-evident; naming it in this context would in some way defeat its point. And because happiness goes two ways, Rhodes also makes sure to weigh in on what he believes is the very basis upon which to build a peaceful coexistence between any two parties: kindness. The pianist’s musical skills, of course, are equally impressive. Working his way up, from Richard Clayderman’s Ballade pour Adeline – the first composition he ever learned to play and the first detail in this article he would no doubt roll his eyes at me for – to being celebrated around the globe as the man who made Mozart sexy, Rhodes’ performance hits the zeitgeist in much the same way his voice utters some of the most seminal and hence relevant views the industry has heard in years. Currently at six albums, several TV shows, one live DVD and countless live performances around the world, the Londoner has found his way into the ears and hearts of people everywhere, playing all the right notes. Given how much easier it would seem to have a miracle cure, the final and single most substantial lesson to be learned from James Rhodes’ Instrumental, however, is almost annoyingly stereotypical: Every evil is home to something beautiful, every pain is worth the while and in every calamity, there lies hope – as long you find something you know will get you through it. Cling to this thing and you will eventually experience a genuine epiphany, embrace whatever causes your distress and move on; though of course these are all different ways of expressing more or less the same idea. Whilst it does not by any means render it right, and the very thought of trying to find a gain in something as appalling as child rape is repulsive, it’s simultaneously the only way to overcoming victimhood rather than drowning in it. Some might find Instrumental a collection of horrors, at first, but they will eventually understand that good and bad are just one phenomenon with two faces, that there is a perception of events that escapes the binary of right and wrong, that a piano’s black and white keys constitute the melody of its song in equal measure. And that this finding alone is reason enough to celebrate. Steffen Michels: I know you tend to get up very early and have large amounts of coffee so, to start off, I would like to know when you got up this morning and how many li-
tres of coffee you have got running through your blood at this point. James Rhodes: This morning I woke up around four and I thought I would go back to sleep but I did not. But I am not drinking coffee at the moment. I have gone three months without caffeine now which is very unusual. The doctor said I should just ease off a bit and it’s weird when you are so used to being so tired. Actually, I think it’s slightly better for me mentally, because I get less stressed about things. I just don’t have the energy. I literally, physically don’t have enough energy to get really whined up. So things feel quite calm and I will probably go to sleep around ten tonight. That’s not too bad. SM: Have you listened to any music so far today? Or have you played any? JR: I have not played because my wrist is a bit sore. I think I overplayed the last few days so I am forcing myself to take a day off today. But I have listened to a lot of music. I have listened to some Scriabin and some Mozart and I have written a piece. Not a piece of music, an article for The Guardian, about your 20s. They are doing a whole feature about people in their 20s and I am nowhere near my 20s. It’s about what you would say to yourself looking back. So I wrote that. And yes, phone calls, caught up on emails, went for a walk. It has been a nice day so far. SM: That’s incredibly productive. JR: Yeah, it’s only eleven o’clock. Fucking hell. It’s weird, isn’t it? SM: Only a bit. Classical music has obviously played a huge role in your life. At age seven, you heard Busoni’s piano version of Bach’s Chaconne in D Minor, Bach’s epic fifteen-minute testimony of his love for his previously deceased wife, for the first time and it put the traumata in your life into perspective. It amazes me that classical, out of all genres, could have this kind of impact onto such a young child. JR: Yeah, me too, looking back. It’s weird because I think if it were an adult, you would not question it. We know classical at times can have more depth and obviously it’s longer than pop or rap, you know? You have a fifteen-minute or a thirty-minute piece and it’s not defined by one key or one mood. Whereas a pop song will be upbeat
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or it will be a break up song. But classical goes through every single emotion. I think as far as an emotional reaction to music, classical has more depth to it. But to a child, especially to a young child, I guess it’s a bit weird. But I did not even question it. I did not sit there and think, “This is to put all my traumata into perspective.” I just sat there thinking, “Fucking hell, this is amazing.” SM: Did you have a general liking for music or art at that age? JR: Yes. I mean, of course I liked music. I know there was a gramophone player I liked. And Scott Joplin. And Top of the Pops, I used to love pop music as well. And then I heard this piece of classical music and it absolutely changed everything. But that’s what is amazing. Even today, thirty-three years later, it’s the same. It’s exactly the same. Every time I listen to it. You know, when you get high and you take heroin and you take speed or whatever, over time your tolerance grows and you need more and more. But imagine that every time you took just one line of something, it had the same effect it had at the beginning. It never gets old. It always works. SM: I believe when you were younger, one of the reasons classical music enabled you to experience this joy and a sense of freedom was that it seemed to belong to you. It was your thing, for no one else to know about. Fittingly, you mention in Instrumental that you feel ashamed for enjoying certain aspects of life unless they are hidden. JR: Yes, that’s a really good point. I guess there was so much bad stuff that was hidden, that I could not talk about, that it felt really lovely to have something that was good. And it was just for me, I did not have to share it with anyone. I did not have to explain it or justify it. It was just this thing that was there and it was so good. SM: The Chaconne was also the first song your close friend and manager Denis asked you to play for him when you first met. I know that whenever you felt anxiety from that point on, you just played the composition in your head, ultimately letting it “save your life.” How does a piece of music do that? JR: You know, when you see shrinks and they talk about how you have to find your safe place…? For me, it’s like that. And of
EPILOGUE — JAMES RHODES
course it’s not just that piece of music. It’s so many pieces of music that I play in my head all the time. I suppose it’s a bit like a safety blanket when things get too much or too overwhelming. There is a kind of inbuilt mechanism that I automatically go to. And I just find it very calming, very soothing and, also, it’s a great reminder that things are not as bad as they seem. You know, when you fall in love for the first time and then you have a bad day and you think of your girlfriend or your boyfriend – you look at their picture and you think, “Ah, it’s okay”? It’s the same with music.
the arts.” It goes underneath everything. It goes underneath words. If you play a piece of music to a thousand people, each one of those people will have different reaction, a different experience, different pictures and stories in their head. It just plugs straight in. There is no filter, you know? With words, you have to interpret. But with music, it’s just…
SM: I know exactly what you mean. I think that’s what music always was for you.
JR: The best thing!
JR: Yes! SM: Fast forward a few years, after you had entered, escaped and re-entered a clinic for victims of sexual abuse, an old friend of yours hid the newly released iPod nano in a plastic bag inside a shampoo bottle he got you. The Bach composition on it got you more ecstatic than you had felt in thirty years. JR: It really did! It was much more effective than all the medication – also because it was played by Glenn Gould, whom I love. And also, because I thought I knew everything Glenn Gould had recorded but this was a new thing – which was even more of a treat! You know, when you think you know everything and suddenly, there is something new. It’s like suddenly seeing an episode of Friends or Frasier that you have never seen. It was really extraordinary. SM: Like finding a diamond in an ocean of shit. JR: That’s exactly it! And also, it was hidden and secret… Again, it was just me – it was through headphones. It was very intimate and it was like when I was seven. There was that same element that if something like this exists in the world, things are okay. They have to be. SM: The composition ultimately filled you with lasting hope and once and for all made you realize you need to pull through for the sake of your son. Do you think music’s immediacy, its direct appeal to our emotions, is its most powerful force? JR: I think so. E.M. Forster said, “music is the deepest of the arts and deep beneath
SM: It’s just like you cannot help being touched. I remember when I lived back home and had a car. I would just drive around and listen to music.
SM: Literally the best thing! Especially in Germany, where there is no speed limit and you can go really fast. JR: (Laughs.) SM: And you listen to music and, all of a sudden, it changes from an upbeat song to a sad one and with it, your emotions change. JR: Exactly. It changes your heart rate, it increases serotonin levels. It’s an extraordinary thing. So if you respond in a certain way to classical music, which is so multi-layered, with so many different time signatures and instruments and melodies and motives and key changes, it’s like a more intense high for me. SM: I tend to also believe that it’s about a universal experience everyone can relate to, at least to some extent. We can still connect to compositions from hundreds of years ago, and it’s just mind-blowing to know that there is something so eternal, it has outlived all threats of history and it will continue to do so. Hence, it has this powerful healing quality. Classical music takes you to a place from where your own issues seem much less threatening, less relevant. That’s quite something to rejoice. JR: Yes. I think if you put anything next to something that’s as extraordinary as that music, you are going to feel some sense of perspective and distraction. I mean, can you ever envision a world where music does not exist? I think it’s as necessary as oxygen and water to most of us. And we take it for granted so much. SM: I know a lot of people who don’t have access to certain types of art, like photography or painting, and they don’t really mind.
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It’s not a necessity for them. But I don’t think I have ever met anyone who does not enjoy listening to music. JR: Yes. And if you look at every single teenage kid in the world, what is the one thing where there is so much snobbery? More than any classical piece attracts. Which band is better? And of course now, with these little devices in our hands, we have access to pretty much every piece of music ever written. For free! You use Spotify, SoundCloud… It’s extraordinary what you can do and how much there is. SM: In 2012, you did a programme for Channel 4 that entailed you going into a locked, psychiatric ward to get to know a number of patients, listen to their stories and find a piece relevant to each patient’s background to subsequently play this composition to them. How did these patients react and what feedback did you get? JR: It was really cool! I mean, I am not naive enough to think that if you are suffering from schizophrenia and you have been in a locked ward for ten or fifteen years, listening to a piece by Bach is going to change anything in the long term. But the point for me was that, when I was in a locked ward and I heard that piece of music, it had an effect and it cut through the medication. The medication is so strong and it really knocks you to the floor. And I just thought, “I wonder what would happen if you can break through it.” And it was amazing because it seemed to have an effect on all of them. In a very kind of private way, and it did cut through the medication. And just for those five minutes, or twenty minutes, or for an hour, it did make things just a little bit brighter and a little bit happier. And I think that’s what music does, isn’t it? So it was kind of an experiment: music versus medication – and of course music does always kind of win. SM: I think it could be worth investing in musical therapy for people. My research suggests this approach is not something commonly embraced and employed by a lot of facilities; however it seems to be gaining momentum. JR: Music therapy and art therapy are definitely gaining momentum. But I am a big fan of people just generally finding forty minutes a day to do something creative. I mean, can you imagine sending your kids to school and there is nothing creative at
“I think music provides the soundtrack, but you make up the story in your own head. If you don’t have lyrics, it can be anything you want. You make up your own lyrics, your own mood. And to me, that makes it even more open and less restrictive.”
all? There is no painting, there is no music. You would be horrified! And yet all of us, as adults, we work on the tube, we commute, we worry about the mortgage payments, we don’t sit down and paint with the kids or learn a piece of music we used to play on the piano when we were kids and we don’t write. But why don’t we? Forty minutes a day to do something creative is incredibly important as a counter-balance to the dayto-day stuff, the nine-to-five stuff. SM: I actually read a piece you did for The Sunday Times just the other day where you discussed how people should take even the smallest amounts of time, and how Picasso nailed it with his statement that all children are artists and the problem is how to remain one when you grow up. And it really is true. JR: It really is true. It’s a great quotation, isn’t it? I really, really believe in that. It’s so important, now more than ever. We are so fucking stressed. We are under so much pressure. Everything has an app. I mean, really, fucking everything! You can do your groceries and your banking and get laid and watch a movie, all on your phone. It’s insane. So the thought of just switching off for an hour doing something that does not involve that is amazing. SM: Yes, especially because you don’t really acknowledge it. You don’t question it anymore, but looking just five years back the world was so different. Maybe Instagram was just starting out. But now it’s the most normal thing, a part of life. But you never really think about what it means that there are big corporations or apps that just force these things down your throat and you just buy into them. JR: Of course. And now, you go to a restaurant and the food comes out and everyone just pulls out their phone and takes pictures because before you eat, you send an Instagram. And you think, what the fuck? I
mean, you might as well take your dick out and put it on the table, it’s so rude. I mean, really! I have conversations with people while they are texting and I think, what the fuck are you doing? What happened? Why is that okay? It’s really weird, isn’t it? SM: Perhaps it’s because the actual action, what you do in that moment, is so much smaller than what it means. Obviously it all adds up in the end, though. So if you post content all the time, it becomes something huge. But each and every time you do it, it feels like nothing and you don’t really perceive it to have any consequences. JR: Yeah. And it’s also the motive behind it. The thing with music and creative stuff is that it’s an internal thing, just for us. Instagram and Twitter are basically saying, “What do you think of me? Am I okay? Look at me, look at me.” And I think looking outside is the wrong direction to look into. Because you become more and more dependent on how many likes you get, how many followers you have. It’s crazy. SM: Whilst filming the show, you and your now wife Hattie broke up and you fell into a year-long depression. I imagine it must have been therapeutic allowing music to establish bonds with other people suffering from mental illness as well. Did you find consolation in their company and in getting to play for them? JR: I don’t know if consolation is the right word. It was very emotional. It was very scary. Because I had worked so hard to get out of those places and suddenly, as each day went by, I thought I was getting closer to going back to them and I remember just thinking, “Fucking hell, this could end really badly!.” It was scary. And, you know, it’s still scary to be honest. I am only ever a couple of weeks away from being back to the hospital, which is not a bad thing. I think it’s something important to be aware
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of. I don’t want to get complacent. It was not an easy time. SM: In your book you talk about suffering from dissociation, which you developed when the rape in your childhood started, in an effort to leave your body and fly out of the window into freedom. Music appears to be a somewhat similar escape mechanism. JR: It does, doesn’t it? SM: However, one that leads to something beautiful and full of emotion whereas dissociation does the opposite. I remember reading “there is nothing as terrifying to a mentally-ill person as a feeling.” JR: Yes, good or bad! SM: Do you think dissociation can cause more damage than it can prevent? JR: I don’t think so. I think it’s a last resort. So if you don’t do it, chances are you’re probably going to end up dead. So it’s like a computer system shutting down rather than exploding, or a plane cutting the engine rather than blowing up. It’s like the last line of defence when things get so fragile and so difficult. And suddenly you go because you have to. It’s not a conscious choice. And, of course, long term it’s not particularly healthy. But if it’s happening for a reason, once you address that reason, it will start to get less and less and that’s the way forward. SM: So you mean you need to get out of the habit before you allow it to completely numb you to a point where you don’t feel any emotions, positive or negative. JR: Yes, I think so. I think you need to learn to feel safe with any emotion in any environment, you know? SM: It seems like you ran away from a lot of things that could have been hugely benefi-
EPILOGUE — JAMES RHODES
cial to you – honesty, self-acceptance, love. What made you so afraid of them? JR: I don’t know if I am afraid of them. I mean, I love those things. They just don’t seem like viable options most of the time. I wish it was that easy. I mean, those are all things that we all want, aren’t they? I mean, I hope. I think so. But I think we tend to look in the wrong places sometimes. I know I do. Or we just think it’s not possible, sadly. SM: You have a lot to say about the current state of classical music. It’s perceived as outdated, irrelevant, boring and run by arrogant performers, unimaginative and uninspired labels, mostly listened to by an elitist establishment that puts glamour over authenticity. Don’t you think it’s the same with other classical art forms? Think painting or sculpture. With regards to modern art, you mention TATE Modern in the book as a good example. JR: Yes, look at TATE Modern. You would not think twice about anyone going to TATE Modern. It’s every section of society, every race, every colour, every financial background. You certainly would not expect those things at a symphony concert, would you? Art is somehow opened up now, as it needs to be. Classical music is not really, it pretends it is, and in some ways it got better, but it’s still very, very closed, which is just appalling. Just because there is no need for it… Nothing bad will happen if it opens up. SM: I believe what helps modern visual art forms is that they are easier to differentiate from the classical than modern classical music is from historical classical music. JR: Yeah… SM: It often appears easier to read, more simplified and more consumable. Even modern classical music sort of demands something of you. It’s not easily consumable. JR: No, it’s not. And I am not a huge fan of modern classical music. For me, I think, the biggest barrier to getting into classical is how you find it. How do you find what works for you? So if you want Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and you type it into iTunes, there are 500 fucking recordings of the same piece. And not only that, there are four movements! What is a movement? What is adagio? Is that another symphony? Is that part of it? And then you go, “Fuck
it!”, and you buy Classic FM 50 Best Chillout Classics Ever. And I just want to blow my fucking brains out! That’s why one of the things in the book I am most proud of is the Spotify playlist that has these extraordinary pieces, with the performers I want performing them, so that people can listen and can find out a bit more in a way that is kind of controlled and easy and not so overwhelming. I think part of the big problem is that you get these record labels and radio stations that think, “Let’s make an accessible recording for people.” But they do it in a way that is designed purely to make money. And they think the average person is too stupid to handle a thirty-minute symphony, so they say, “Okay, we will give them that five-minutes bit they will know from the advert and take out everything else.” And it just drives me crazy. So they either really simplify the music or they are incredibly kind of sacred and pretentious about it. And there is very little in the middle. And one of the things I always try and do at my concerts is to be right in the middle. To keep the music exactly the same but to introduce the pieces, to talk to the audience, to talk about what was going on with the composer when he wrote it and why this piece is so fucking amazing. What Chopin did with this piece which was way ahead of its time. Then you set it up and they can make up the story in their head but they are informed enough to know what is going on. It’s not completely novel and overwhelming. And also, then they are not reading programme notes while you’re playing, which drives me crazy. SM: That’s such a good point. I never even considered that. JR: I mean, you go to a concert now and the lights are up, and people are reading about sonata forms in Beethoven’s Vienna while the guy is playing the fucking thing. And you think, “Hang on, wait. Why doesn’t the guy come out on stage and have the lighting completely off so that you’re completely immersed?.” You can talk to the audience. Tell them Beethoven was almost beaten to death twice before he was even an adult by his drunken father. This is the background he came from. He is not just a deaf composer. And then he gets a new piano, which is bigger than the old one, with bigger sound. And he is so excited and he does things that no one has done before with the piano. And you set it up, and you told the story, and then you play it, and suddenly it becomes about the music, the performer and the au-
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A NOTE TO MENTAL WELLNESS
dience rather than just the music and the performer. Because most concerts, nowadays… I go, but I think I might as well be at home, listening on iTunes with a cup of tea because it’s more fun. SM: Yes. It’s like there is no real connection. The performer has no presence. JR: There is nothing. SM: Music in general has become broader and deals with themes you might not even find in modern classical music. I think a lack of lyrics makes it more challenging to understand a song.
JR: Yes, and it’s boring. Look, of course the idea of sitting down and listening to a seventy-minute symphony is overwhelming for anyone. I mean, it’s insane. You don’t start there. You start with Beethoven’s sonata, just a movement of it. It’s like cooking. You start out making an omelette; you don’t start out making a giant fucking meal for thirty people. You can enjoy it and you learn a bit more and you find out what your limits are and you get used to it and then you push it a bit further. And things like Spotify and Apple Music are so good with things like that. I mean, back in the day, you would go to HMV and you would have to pay £15 for a CD, do you remember?
JR: But, does it? I would say the opposite. I mean, obviously there are lyrics in opera, which is different. But no, I think music provides the soundtrack, but you make up the story in your own head. If you don’t have lyrics, it can be anything you want. You make up your own lyrics, your own mood. And to me, that makes it even more open and less restrictive.
SM: I actually don’t.
SM: There are some themes and emotions that I feel like are very difficult to portray in classical music and I think that might be an issue for its appeal. For example, where is classical party music? And I don’t mean soirée; I actually mean the kind of music people listen to when they go out.
JR: Beautiful! Me too. But the point is, you could not listen to it before. You could hear it on the radio if you were lucky. But now you can listen to anything you want for free and decide what you like.
JR: (Laughs.) No, but that’s not what it’s designed to do. SM: That’s interesting, though. Because it means classical music is, in a way, restricted to certain themes, to a certain grandeur, which not everyone takes an interest in. JR: But what about music you go out clubbing to? You wouldn’t want it on at home when you’re reading. There is a lot of very upbeat classical music. It’s just like you would not have jazz when you go clubbing. I mean, fuck, you would have Rihanna when you go out clubbing, you know? That kind of thing. But there certainly is classical music you go jogging to and that can get you excited. To me, it’s a bit like saying Picasso never drew any cartoons or graffiti art. Well, of course, he did not. That’s not what he did. Within the classical, there is immense scope, an immense range. But maybe going out just is not within that range. SM: So is it just a matter of finding classical music one can identify with?
JR: No, you don’t! Fuck you, because you are young! (Laughs.) SM: Actually, I do remember buying CDs. There are certain artists whose physical CDs I still buy because I love the idea of it being an object.
SM: Which actually means our perception of music as such has changed because we made it so available. It’s being exploited a lot more by people who really use it rather than simply enjoying a song the moment they happen to come across it. As for classical music, perhaps most fatally, the term “classical” itself suggests a profoundness that can be grasped exclusively by an elite. It’s understood to be more about its image than its artistry. How can we achieve a shift in this perception? JR: It’s a lot of work. I mean, the very phrase “classical music” implies “better than” or “somehow more valuable” or “you require a certain amount of knowledge or intelligence.” And they love that shit! Those fucking cunts at the Royal Festival Hall, in the Barbican… I mean, that’s why you have these corporate sponsors that pay so much money – because you feel better than other people. If Mozart or Schubert came to a concert today, they would fall down laughing; they would be horrified by what is going on. It’s changing. Look at The BBC Proms, which is amazing, – you clap when you want, it doesn’t matter if you don’t know
how to pronounce the name of the composer, tickets are from £5 to £80, they have them at lunch time, early evening, midevening, late night… That’s an amazing festival. You know, it’s the biggest music festival in the world, of any genre. And it’s sold out within a couple of hours – hundreds of thousands of tickets, the greatest living orchestras and performers. It’s insane. What they do is amazing. SM: I remember my parents talking about it a while ago. They were watching it on TV back home. It must be broadcast globally. JR: And it still is. Everyone is on the radio, a lot of them are on TV, and that’s an amazing thing that happens. That’s something we need to emulate across the board now. SM: It actually made my parents say, “Look at the English; they seem to be really fun.” JR: Which is true! Which is a great thing. SM: That’s quite a statement, if you know what I mean. Music really does bring people together. JR: I know, it’s a statement! (Laughs.) Of course, I know what you mean… We need to do a lot of work. You know, there will always be an audience for that kind of sacred, extensive, academic performance. And that’s fine. And I will be one of them. I love the performance and the music and I will go because it’s amazing. But that’s a tiny fraction of the percentage of the audience that could be there. And we need to work hard to change that. SM: Yes, it’s a shame that there is so much potential for people to experience beauty and it’s not being made use of. JR: Yes. And, of course, it really starts in school. Music education is just dying. Nothing is happening. It’s getting worse and worse and worse. It’s in real, real trouble. It’s in a crisis. So forget about how many musicians we are going to produce. How many audience members are going to be there in the future? It’s going to be minimal. SM: It’s sad how many people are missing out. I mean, look at all the incredible talent. It’s a bummer.
ers, those who are still relevant and whose work is played to this day, as well as contemporary classical musicians, have either been through an awful lot of trauma in their lives or exhibited highly irrational behaviour. However, their work remains restricted to the bizarrely formal world of what classical is today – or, as you put it, “they don’t even have the luxury of ripped jeans, groupies and cocaine.” How come they were and are such rock stars anyway? Where do classical and fucked up intersect? JR: You know what? Humanity and fucked up intersect. I cannot stand this concept of the mad composer. It’s a myth. It’s bullshit. I have not met anyone, not a single person, who would not be diagnosed with at least one thing. It might be mild anxiety or mild depression or it could be much more serious. It could be an addiction. Everyone has something. And the way out of that thing for these composers, who were depressed or anxious or they were entrenched with grief or they had terrible social skills or they were alcoholics, was music. Music was the solution for them. If they hadn’t put this stuff down on paper, they would have thrown themselves out the window. So, actually, I think composing is a sign of mental wellness. It’s not a sign of mental illness. We’re all crazy and some of us are lucky enough to find a way out through writing or composing or painting. And some of us do it through work or through relationships or friendships. So yeah, these guys were pretty crazy but no more than anyone else who’s around today. We just know a bit about them because they left this extraordinary legacy. SM: So it’s a myth that has manifested itself over the years. JR: Yes. Of course, it’s very romantic. SM: Absolutely. It’s comforting looking back and thinking that such vast creativity, beauty and celebration came from a really dark place. JR: It’s bollocks, though. I mean, the only one of the big composers who I think would genuinely be hospitalized today would be Schumann, who was severely ill – I mean, chronically bipolar. All the others, yes, they were pretty crazy but no more than any of us. I mean, fuck me, look at Keith Richards!
JR: Yeah. SM: Funnily, it seems most iconic compos-
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SM: It’s funny that you would mention a rock star. Because there is a bit in the book
EPILOGUE — JAMES RHODES
A NOTE TO MENTAL WELLNESS
“There is immense cruelty, but I think you cannot experience immense joy without immense sadness. You have to experience both of them. That’s the human condition.”
where you call composers rock stars and a lot of them really were. Are you one as well? JR: No. When I say rock star, I mean that they had that attitude of, “I just don’t give a fuck.” Look at Beethoven. He was kind of wooing his audience. Beethoven just kicked down the door; he put bombs under their seats. He was like, “Fuck you, listen to this.” The same way real rock stars do. They have that swagger, that absolute belief in what they are doing. And they are not willing to apologize. SM: But that’s something I see in you – maybe in a tame, 21st century kind of way, definitely not planting any bombs under people’s seats. But you’re incredibly passionate about what you do and you don’t apologize for your opinion. JR: Well, if that makes me a rock star… Great! SM: Do you remember the whole concept about not feeling comfortable enjoying certain things? I think you might not feel comfortable with that label “rock star” because it’s quite a cool thing to be. JR: I don’t know. There was a quote, years ago, “the rock star pianist James Rhodes.” I don’t even know what that means. But if that means I am unapologetically in your face about what is important with music, then fair enough. I have no problem with that at all. But this fucking book took €2 million to get published in the end because of the legal fees and the Supreme Court. So to be willing to fight that hard for something, if that makes me a rock star, then so be it. SM: The record label you have put together sounds like a really exciting venture that finally bends the rules of the industry and can potentially tackle the hierarchy within
it. You even encourage people to cooperate with you in your book and you have done this before on Twitter. Why do you think the element of interaction is so crucial to a creative field? JR: Because it’s the human condition, isn’t it? We all need to interact; we all need to feel connected. And there is so much of life now that’s based around not being close to people. There are all these boundaries that have gone up and I think it’s so easy to become very insular and just to hide behind a screen. Remember, back in the day, you would go to the pub if you wanted to find a girlfriend; you wouldn’t go on Tinder or match.com. You just go to the fucking pub, or you hang out with friends, or you go out together in a group and you talk and you chat. I miss that kind of human interaction. One of the lovely things about Twitter is that you do have that kind of interaction with people who you would not necessarily, normally, get to hang out with or chat to. And I think it’s really important. And even more so now, when it’s so easy just to use a phone for everything. SM: What kind of impact could it have on music? The interaction with people joining in, kind of democratizing classical music... JR: I think it’s a good thing. I think it’s a really good thing. And certainly at my concerts, the average audience is kind of early twenties, mid-twenties and have never been to a classical concert before. That’s a really powerful statement. You can have piano recitals and have an entirely new audience and nothing bad will happen. SM: Have you considered playing and recording with other people? JR: Yes, I would love to do chamber music. It’s about time, isn’t it? It’s just finding the time. Things are so stretched at the moment. I mean, I don’t play very well with
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others, I am a bit of a control freak and maybe I am not that good socially. But I think it would be fun to try. SM: We have talked about listening to music. Let’s discuss making music. I used to play the clarinet in an orchestra as a child, for about ten years. That has to be the least sexy thing I ever did and I quit before taking over my grandfather’s saxophone and the considerably sexier reputation saxophones enjoy. JR: Yes, of course! (Laughs.) SM: What is it about the piano that makes you stick to it? JR: It has always been the one for me. I think I would be shit at everything else and I haven’t got the time or the patience to learn. But for me, the piano has just been my first love I think. If I didn’t play the piano, I think I would probably want to play the cello because I think it’s also really beautiful. It’s just that the piano has always done it for me. I look at orchestras and I often wonder, why is that guy playing the double bass or the French horn? You know, what kind of kid goes “I want to play that”? It must just attract them, and that’s what happened with the piano for me. SM: After a decade of not playing the piano, you were set up with Edo, an Italian piano teacher in Verona, by an agent who recognized your talent. It was Edo’s systematic and strict approach to learning how to play that enabled you to tackle pieces that previously seemed beyond your capabilities. What is classical music more likely to forgive, a lack of technique or a lack of talent? JR: Oh man, that’s such a big question. With the established classical music, it would absolutely be technique. It has to be. You have to play note-perfect, faster than anyone. To a point where a lot of music colleges now
actually teach a style of playing called competition playing where there is very little musicality, nothing really original, but the technique is absolutely perfect. However, there is no controversy, there is nothing original. And they see that as a good thing because it’s very middle of the road. And I could not imagine anything more boring because you can always learn technique. You can be taught technique. You cannot be taught musical expression and the very idea of taking a student and beating that out of them in some way, saying, “No, no, no! You cannot do that! You have to do it exactly like this!” is terrible. SM: It sounds restrictive, which is the opposite of what you would like music to be. JR: Very restrictive. It’s not good. SM: In Instrumental, some of the things you say about playing piano are that it’s your safe place, and that recording your first album was one of the happiest and most fulfilling experiences of your life. What brought you there was pretty much the opposite. But does making music – rather than consuming it – give you a different access to or a deeper acknowledgement of it? JR: Yes, of course it does – in a really good way. I will be learning a piece of music and I perform it on stage and I have a moment when I am thinking, “Fucking hell, I used to listen to people playing this when I was a kid and I used to just be in awe and think, “Whoa!” And now I am playing it!.” Of course you can get underneath it more, and you can really get into the notes, and it’s like you’re listening to music in 3D because you’re doing it yourself. It’s a new experience, and it’s glorious. SM: Listening to music in 3D – that’s a good one. So how about composing it? Have you ever tried? JR: Not yet, no. One day! Maybe… But you know, fuck me – once I have learned everything by Bach, Beethoven, Prokofiev, Chopin, Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Schubert, Schumann, Ravel, Debussy, Scriabin… I mean, there are so many fucking amazing composers. And you just think, “Wow, am I going to sit and write something and say I do the same as them?” I mean, come on. SM: It sounds kind of preposterous.
JR: It’s insane!
JR: Maybe, yeah. Maybe you’re right.
SM: I don’t struggle with mental illness but I do know what anxiety feels like. You might find this funny but, more than any other artist, it was Britney Spears whose music empowered me during my childhood.
SM: To me, a real eye-opener in your book was when you finally forgave yourself after allowing yourself to feel negative emotions, disregard the stories behind them and to locate them within your body – to “sit with the pain.” And to not get up until you would feel reunited with the purity and innocence of your pre-rape self. Can you elaborate on this experience?
JR: Okay! There’s nothing wrong with that. Queen had a huge part for me, also. Freddie Mercury, fucking hell. Anyway, carry on. Britney. SM: Yes. So, she suffered from terrible things, being stripped of her legal rights and committed into a mental hospital to receive compulsory treatment. I still admire her for being a survivor of a major mental breakdown. JR: Yes, she is. SM: In a 2007 MTV documentary called Britney: For the Record she said, “You can see the cruellest part of the world. The cruellest part. But then, on the other side, you see the most beautiful part. And it’s like you go from one extreme to the next and they are both worth it because you would not see one without the other. But that cruel part is damn cruel and you will never forget it. But that heaven… is heaven.” I felt so reminded of this on numerous occasions reading Instrumental. Is there a part of you that, in a complex way, can appreciate the things you have been through for having given you this intense love of music? JR: Definitely! Oh God, absolutely. There is no question. If I had a choice, would I do it all again? Would I experience the same things? Probably not. No, I don’t think so. Though yeah, I don’t think I would have the reaction I have to music and to many things, had I not gone through what I have gone through. So now having come out the other side, there is a silver lining. That’s true. There is immense cruelty, but I think you cannot experience immense joy without immense sadness. You have to experience both of them. That’s the human condition. So yeah, I guess having been through so much shit, ironically allows me perhaps to really appreciate the good things, which I don’t think I would have done otherwise. And that includes music. SM: And that’s a bit of wisdom. It’s something a lot of people will actually never understand.
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JR: It’s hard to describe it without sounding like a real cunt. Like some kind of new age… SM: It’s about to get a lot worse. JR: Oh God! Well, you know that whole “inner child” shit makes me cringe, but the truth is it did the job for me. I guess it’s just like when you hear some people talk about God and you think, “Oh, shut up”, but if they are happy then, who cares? And it did work, to an extent, for me. And it still does, sometimes. Again, it’s that idea of going inside and keeping it just for yourself and just being connected to something that I had spent almost all of my life trying to disconnect from and re-establishing that. And it really does the job. It allows you to stop running and stop being so afraid. And that’s what it did for me. SM: It sounds a lot like meditation. JR: Of course, yes. Anything like that. That awful word, “mindfulness.” It’s the same kind of stuff. SM: And this is where it gets really bad but I think it’s true: I believe the ultimate act of love is to love oneself. JR: Yeah. SM: Perversely, it often seems the most difficult thing to even fathom. JR: Yeah. SM: How ironic that there is shame in self-acceptance, yet self-acceptance is the very foundation to truly loving someone else? JR: I mean, that’s the reason we are all here, isn’t it? I am convinced. The only reason we are all here. If you talk about enlightenment as the kind of absolute goal for anyone who is even vaguely aware of spirituality…
EPILOGUE — JAMES RHODES
And what is enlightenment if it’s not selflove and acceptance. So, of course, there is no way you can be happily married or be a good parent if you hate yourself. But you can be good enough and you can learn over time if you’re really lucky and work really hard for decades and decades to just get a little bit better at loving yourself. But yeah, I agree with you. It’s the only thing that’s really important at the end of the day – because it allows you to do everything else. SM: Perhaps what is so painful about the love we feel for others is that it reminds us of the lack of love we often have for ourselves. And maybe that’s why a love for art, and especially music in your case, is so powerful. Art will not ask you to love it but when you do; it will enable you to appreciate yourself a bit more in return – because it reminds you of something so positive and immortal and so much better than all evil in the world. It can really put you at peace with yourself. JR: Yeah, it really can. It asks for nothing in return. And in a similar way, being a parent has that same effect. When you have a child for the first time in your life you understand what unconditional love is. I don’t think you can really understand it until you have a child and you realize that you would walk in front of a train to save this child without hesitation. You would not think twice. You would do it, happily, a thousand times over. And being able to experience that kind of love for another person does change everything. Being able to love unconditionally. You can love music unconditionally, and art, but of course a child is different. And you’re right; it’s perhaps a reminder of what we don’t have for ourselves. Isn’t it? SM: I think so, in many ways. I feel that way anyway. JR: Yeah.
ways and not so healthy ways. I think that if you go to a concert and just listen to the fucking humanity of someone like Beethoven or Brahms or Chopin, it’s so easy to put these composers on a kind of pedestal as these untouchable geniuses. And then you dig a bit deeper and you see that they are so human and so flawed and yet, despite all that, they managed to leave this legacy for us. It’s an incredibly humbling experience. I think it’s a really cool fucking thing. What a message to be able to give. SM: So maybe concerts – maybe your concerts – could be a bit like psychiatric wards in the future.
A NOTE TO MENTAL WELLNESS
to go see in East London. With a friend who, ironically, after I had told her about you, started listening to your music and to the monologues you do in between songs. She told me afterwards that there was this one morning when she was on her way to work – to a job she really does not like but she has to do it for the money – and, whilst she was on the bus, she experienced one of those moments that she described as truly magical later on. Your piano was playing in her ears, the windows were fogged with condensed water, and London’s streetlights were shining through. To me, that’s poetry right there. It really touched her. JR: Wow…
JR: (Laughs.) It would be a lot cheaper! Who knows? It all helps. SM: Compared to medication, they seem more enjoyable. JR: Medication is great. And it’s helpful, and it saves lives, and if it’s needed, it’s needed. And that’s that. But it’s not the only thing. There are so many other things we can do. But, of course, we want a quick fix, don’t we? We want a pill that can fix it. It does not work like that, sadly. SM: When I started reading the book, I started with no expectations. I was told about you and I did some research and thought, “Oh, wow! This guy seems really interesting.” But I had never encountered you before. And then there was a point in Instrumental where I really thought of it as a bit of unconventional therapy. JR: (Laughs.) Wow! SM: There was such a great deal of valuable findings in there, and so many things I highlighted. A bucket full of wisdom, honestly.
SM: “Creativity”, you state in Instrumental, is “one of the most profound ways through trauma.” I think that’s what it comes down to in the end. Creating helped you help yourself. Now it helps you help others who turn to music to find a cure, a plaster on their wound.
JR: Thank you! Bloody hell… That’s probably all my editor. (Laughs.)
JR: Yes, exactly. I think so. I hope so. That’s a lovely way to think about it. I think we are all looking for things like that. You know, that’s why we buy shit from Amazon or eat KFC or try and get laid at every opportunity – anything to distract. But there are healthy
JR: (Laughs.) Wow, wow…
SM: Oh, come on! It really was like that. And I remember when I finished reading the book in a café in Kensington, I was actually so inspired that I got on the wrong train…
SM: Three times! Going in the wrong direction. I just was not focusing. I was not even thinking. And, as a consequence, I was almost late for a movie I was supposed
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SM: So in a way you did exactly what Schumann said. JR: (Laughs.) SM: “To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts – such is the duty of the artist.” JR: Please tell her thank you from me! SM: I will. JR: I wish you guys could write that on Amazon in a review! (Laughs.) SM: Oh, I might actually! JR: I love Amazon reviews! But that’s a lovely thing. Thank you. SM: No, thank you. There is a tremendous amount of honesty and insight in Instrumental and in what you do. You really do Schumann justice. And at the end of the day, I think that’s a bit of a rock star thing to do. Perhaps that’s exactly what classical music needs, you know? A rock star. JR: I think it needs just all the unnecessary bullshit stripped away. And then it has got a chance at doing what it’s designed to do, which is to unify us and liberate us and inspire us. Yeah, one day… It’s happening. Music on its own is so pure and so extraordinary; it does everything you need it to do, and more. And the minute we start fucking around with it, making it wear certain outfits and charging certain prices and putting it in certain venues, it just makes it harder and harder to do what it’s designed to do. So I think things will get a bit easier with classical music one day. But in the meantime, let’s just call it music and enjoy it.
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