INTRODUCING: Simeon Walker

Leeds-based pianist and composer Simeon Walker has quietly become one of the most compelling voices in modern/post-classical music. With over 50 million streams worldwide and performances spanning intimate homes, libraries, and cathedrals across the UK and Europe, Walker’s work resists scale in favour of connection. As he embarks on his most expansive UK & Ireland tour to date—deliberately centring overlooked towns and communities—Walker reflects on accessibility, shared listening, and why live music still matters more than ever.

1. This tour is your most expansive across the UK and Ireland to date, with a deliberate focus on places often overlooked by traditional touring routes. What draws you to these communities, and how do these settings shape the way your music is received?

I grew up in a small-to-medium town in the East Midlands, where not much cultural activity came through. If you wanted to see live music, you usually had to travel to Leicester, Nottingham, or even Birmingham. Moving to Leeds for university was a real eye-opener creatively, but that experience of growing up somewhere slightly off the cultural map has always stayed with me.

Over the years, I’ve watched live music become more and more urbanised. Big shows are increasingly treated like tourism - expensive arena or stadium gigs in major cities, with travel, accommodation and time off work all adding up. For a lot of people, that means maybe one or two gigs a year, if that. Meanwhile, grassroots venues really struggle, and I worry about a system where local scenes are squeezed out and access to live music becomes something only certain people can afford.

Music should always be for everyone. Because my setup is so simple - I just need a piano - I can take an “I’ll come to you” approach. I really believe in the importance of live music taking place within communities, whether that’s in cities and towns or more rural/remote parts of the country. For me, it’s about making gigs feel more like a two-way exchange: less top-down, more conversational...a dialogue, with genuine curiosity and respect for the places and people I’m visiting, their traditions and their diversity.

2. Live In Eindhoven captures music from Imprints 1 in an intimate concert setting. What does performing and recording live offer you creatively that studio recordings can’t, particularly for instrumental music?

One of the things I love most about instrumental music and find incredibly freeing, is the absence of words. The modern world feels so busy and overwhelming, and instrumental music gives me space to step back a little. It reflects a sense of unease I often have - sometimes even helplessness - when trying to make sense of what’s going on around us. I like that it’s open-ended. I don’t have many answers, but music feels like a place of safety and comfort. Not as escapism - I don’t think we should ignore challenges or wish them away - but as a way of making space for things words can’t fully explain, and learning not to be afraid of uncertainty.

I try to bring a sense of flexibility to my playing, which makes each performance feel alive and unique. It’s not "jazz" - the pieces are still composed - but they can bend and sway in the moment. I love that no two performances are ever the same, and I hope that sense of spontaneity creates special memories which feel truly special for everyone who is there.

3. You’re performing in an unusually wide range of spaces—from homes and libraries to cathedrals and recording studios. How does the character of a space influence your performance and the emotional experience for the audience?

I’m really interested in how the performance environment shapes the experience for both the audience and the performer. I believe strongly in reducing the formality that often surrounds classical and classical-inspired music. Large concert halls can feel intimidating, and the expectations that come with them can put people off - often it’s not the music itself, but the setting.

That’s why I love placing live music in spaces that matter to local communities. It helps break down those barriers and makes the experience feel more open and welcoming. As a result, the instruments I play can vary hugely - from beautiful grand pianos to slightly janky uprights - and I love that contrast. It reflects everyday life, and the reality for most musicians and audiences: there isn’t always a Steinway, and that’s okay; different instruments bring out different qualities in the music, and I find that really exciting.

4. Central to your work is the idea of shared listening and collective experience. In an era of digital consumption and large-scale touring, why do you feel these smaller, communal moments are more important than ever?

The shared experience of live music is something really special. Playing instrumental music, especially on the piano, can be quite a solitary thing, so I really value being in a room with people who are open to that same experience. Sharing those quiet, immediate moments together, mostly without words, feels especially powerful, and reminds me of music’s ability to move beyond language, culture, and even opposing viewpoints.

Compared to the anonymity of an eighty-thousand-strong crowd, intimate shows allow for the possibility of real connection: you can see people’s faces, sense their reactions, have a conversation, and be reminded of our shared humanity.

5. With pieces like “Gleam” reaching millions of listeners worldwide, how do you balance growing global reach with maintaining the intimacy and accessibility that defines your live performances?

I think this is something all artists are having to grapple with in modern life. Previous generations related to audiences in very different ways, so having a direct, D2C relationship with listeners is still quite new - and for many artists, a bit cognitively dissonant at times.

That said, it also offers an incredible sense of immediacy. That feels especially important in a genre like mine, which has grown through streaming and social media but is still relatively niche. I often remind myself that numbers only ever tell part of the story; behind them are (mostly) real people who are engaged, curious, and who genuinely love music.

One of the big challenges for modern classical music is how it can often be framed as background listening. Because it’s so playlistable, people can assume it’s there to accompany something else - studying, cooking, sleeping etc. My strangest placement was Music for Lactation. Genuinely.

I try to push back against this sense of reductionism by describing what I do as More Than Background Music. Ultimately, though, the clearest way to demonstrate that is through live performance - inviting people to really listen, and to experience the music as something with as much value and presence as any other form.