Daily Mirror (Northern Ireland)
Our magnific Cent seven
How one cou kids became for minority a world of class Ple’s talented trailblazers artists in the sical music
The Kanneh-masons are a family with a real string to their bow – all seven children are classical music prodigies. And cellist Sheku, 21, is no stranger to the spotlight after playing for Prince Harr y and Meghan Markle’s 2018 wedding after being crowned BBC Young Musician of the Year in 2016.
The youngsters, aged from 10 to 24, are also gifted on the violin and piano, and reached the semi-finals of Britain’s Got Talent in 2015.
The Nottingham-based brood have dedicated former university lecturer mum Kadiatu and business executive dad Stuart to thank because of all their sacrifice and support.
To mark Black History Month, we share a moving extract from Kadiatu’s memoir, House of Music, about how the children never gave up on their dreams.
When Braimah, at age 10, gained his Grade 7 distinction on violin, and Sheku was about to take Grade 7 cello, they were determined to audition for the Primary Royal Academy, as Isata had done two years before.
We asked the boys if they were sure it was what they wanted. “You’ll have to practise a lot and work harder if you get in. Just look at Isata.”
We were asked lots of questions by other parents at the school gates.
One parent said: “It’s not fair of you to push two black city boys to audition for a place like that when they just want to play football.”
Another said: “You’re setting them up to fail.” One parent asked us what it was like to be such pushy parents.
Crestfallen, I asked Stuart if we were taking them out of their own context and trying to wedge them into an environment that wasn’t theirs.
He just laughed. “Who says it isn’t theirs?”
The following Sunday morning, Stuart and I were woken at 5am, startled to hear the sounds of a half-size cello and a half-size violin being played in two different rooms – a bedroom and the bathroom.
When we opened each door we saw eight-year-old Sheku and 10-year-old Braimah practising with grim determination in the gloom of dawn.
This pattern remained, the boys supporting each other in their selfimposed regime for weeks, turning down camping trips with friends and games of football in the park because they wanted to get through those Academy doors.
One parent we knew chided us directly : “You shouldn’t give these boys unreal expectations. Look at them . They don’t belong there. It’s cruel to give them unreal hopes.”
He saw the boys throwing their energy into ambitious sliding tackles on the pitch and laughing with friends, and couldn’t match these boys with the ones who got up at
5am of their own volition to perfect a semiquaver run.
When the morning came for their auditions, I began to think. What if these parents are right and all this encouragement is unfair and misplaced?
Just because Isata had done so well, did it signal some kind of genetic destiny?
Were we innocently leading the boys on to catastrophic failure?
We sat on the train with the two of them, my mother having driven from South Wales to look after the other children, and tried to be upbeat for our sons.
This must turn out to be the great adventure and golden chance they saw it to be.
Dominic John, the accompanist for the auditions, rehearsed with the boys and took each one into the audition room, while we sat outside and worried.
On the train afterwards, still not knowing the result, we discovered that we had boarded the wrong train and were charged an additional £150. And we didn’t know if it had all been worth it.
I still remember the hostility in the guard’s face and feeling small and stupid, miserable at parting with money we couldn’t afford.
The envelope arrived two weeks later, neat, white and bold with the red words “Royal Academy of Music”.
Had we done the right thing, encouraging our sons to walk through the marble entrance hall, past the busts of Beethoven and Bach, to audition for a place each?
The letter, which I read with breath held, began with, “We enjoyed meeting the boys and hearing them play”, and then it welc omed both to P r imar y Academy. I sat down and let that breath out. We had made the le faith, taken the risk and landed on ground. We had believed in our chi
We didn’t decide at the beginnin our seven children would be musicians and pursue a profess music career.
We still don’t know for certain paths they will all take and changing decisions they will each about their lives.
When the family is all together child assumes his or her place i order of things: Isata is in charg precise about everything; Braim elder brother and spokesperson, big brotherly or witty and satirical; S is the cheeky little brother annoyin sisters; Konya, the middle child, p double role as Isata’s confidante a as second pianist and violinist; Jen both bossy sister to Aminata and im ture sister to the older ones; Amin
funny and dramatic but unsure of herself; and Mariatu is at once eager to please and knows exactly who she is.
Home has evolved almost organically into a house of music. Our conversations are about music: listening, playing, concerts, practice. Most of the jokes and teasing insults are musical, and no day can be planned or imagined without first working out the logistics of each music commitment.
Music encompasses a vast emotional and intellectual world, and spending the time to know it and to be its instrument is a great privilege
But the cost is high, and I often watch and listen to the children, knowing how exposed they have to be psychologically and emotionally.
To become a professional classical musician is similar to training as an athlete. It demands intense physical discipline, being alert to injury and being mentally strong.
As the profile of Sheku and his siblings has grown, they are often asked to reach out to children and young people who look to them for encouragement and inspiration.
I have spoken to many parents who clearly remember the moment they saw a young black girl playing the piano in the BBC Young Musician Keyboard Category Final in 2014.
As a member of a minority group within classical music, it is incredibly uplifting to see someone like you breaking into a world to which you hardly dare aspire.
I know how seriously the children all take their position as young black artists i n c l a s s i c a l musi c a n d w h a t a responsibility it is to hold the door open for others.
It is also significant for any young person, regardless of background, to see other young people playing with skill and passion, inhabiting without apology a world that can seem set apart.
When they walked onto the stage of Br i t a i n’s G o t Ta l e n t , t h e y we re determined to bring the message that the power and depth of classical music can be accessed by everyone.
Since then, they always rejoice when they see children and young people in the audience at their concerts, whether those people are learning to play or just enjoying listening.