Tunes in Colour - The Background Story

When I listen to music, the question I ask is disarmingly simple: Does it move me? Originality and inventiveness have their place, of course – art thrives on creativity. But these are not, for me, the essence. What I seek is that rare encounter in which music lifts the spirit or steadies the heart; when it comforts, inspires, transports; when, for a fleeting moment, it touches something deep within the human soul. In short, I look for music that moves.

And within the vast world of sound, nothing achieves this with greater eloquence than melody. Melody speaks directly to the heart. It is the thread that binds us to the great composers of the past, who understood instinctively that beauty is not an embellishment but a necessity – that memorable, singable lines have the power to reach places words cannot.

It may well be the absence of such melodies that explains why so much contemporary classical music feels remote to many listeners. We human beings long for music that does not merely confront us but embraces us. That is why orchestras and audiences today increasingly turn towards film scores, which unabashedly offer what the heart seeks: emotional resonance, melodic richness, the ability to feel.

Melody has come to me, throughout my life, as a kind of grace – a gift for which I am deeply grateful. And when I have the privilege of sharing that gift with others, I am reminded once more that music, at its best, is a language of the soul, speaking from one heart to another.

I have always been captivated by musical instruments. In their extraordinary diversity – of form, of colour, of sound – they offer a profound metaphor for humanity itself. Each instrument is distinct, carrying its own voice, its own story, its own soul. And I have often felt, while sitting in a concert hall, that the instrument is not simply held by the musician; it becomes an extension of who they are. It is no accident that one person is drawn to the cello, another to the flute, yet another to the trumpet. There is a deep kinship between the timbre of an instrument and the temperament of the one who plays it.

That is why an orchestra is so moving to behold. It is not merely a collection of individuals but a testimony to what human beings can achieve when they transcend the boundaries of self. Here are dozens of people, each possessing a unique voice, yet each willing – eager, even – to weave that voice into something larger, nobler, more beautiful than any one of them could create alone.

I never cease to marvel at the wisdom with which a composer distributes roles: granting every instrument a place that honours its particular qualities, its distinctive strengths. And then, miracle of miracles, these diverse sounds – so different, sometimes even oppositional – blend into one seamless symphony. It is a vision of what humanity itself might one day become.

We still await the moment when the right conductor will rise – someone capable of drawing together the many strands of the human family, harmonising them into a single, triumphant, and peace-filled whole. It is the oldest dream of our people: that out of diversity might come unity, and out of many voices, a song.

I offer thanks to the Creator of all music and all life, who granted me the inspiration for these melodies and the strength to shape them into the pieces they became. And I express my deep gratitude to the gifted arrangers with whom I had the privilege of working – David Louis, Yonathan Goodman, Daniel Goldstein, and, not least, Israel Edelson, whose inspired partnership helped bring this music into the world.