As musicians, we can’t escape our early influences. Much like any aspect of life, we are placed in a specific time and context with certain people who shape our perspectives. These influences leave indelible marks, whether we fully embrace them or eventually move in different directions. There’s often a sense of nostalgia tied to those formative experiences, even when we’ve grown or evolved past them.

For me, those early influences are tied to some unforgettable musical moments. I’ve heard Dvořák’s Concerto, Haydn’s C-major Concerto, and Bach’s Suites countless times throughout my life. Yet, it’s the vinyl recordings I listened to as a child that remain seared in my memory: Miklós Perényi’s expressive interpretation of Dvořák, Miloš Sadlo’s elegant performance of Haydn, and Rostropovich’s monumental Bach recordings, paired with his explanations in that resounding cathedral space. These were moments of pure discovery that continue to resonate with me.

In my college years, I found myself heavily influenced by early Rostropovich recordings. His playing, along with the artistry of Daniil Shafran and János Starker, shaped my approach to repertoire and even my musical mannerisms. My choice of pieces during that time was often guided by their performances, and I can look back now and recognize their voices in my playing.

Graduate school brought new inspirations. I gravitated toward the artistry of Alban Gerhardt and Steven Isserlis. Both artists had a way of bringing the music to life that captured my imagination and pushed me to explore deeper levels of expression. Of course, with these influences came the occasional pushback from my teachers. On a few occasions, I was asked to stop doing something that was a clear nod to someone else’s style. Looking back, I’m sure I wasn’t the best representative of those mannerisms. But that’s part of the journey—learning to let go of imitations and gradually allowing different influences to meld into your own voice.

Tastes inevitably change, but those early influences stay with you, much like an accent. You may refine it, adapt it, or even try to suppress it, but it’s always a part of you. Over time, these influences converge, shaping the unique artist you become. The vinyl recordings from my youth, the repertoire choices in college, and the interpretive risks in grad school—all of these have contributed to the musician I am today.

There’s something humbling about looking back at these stages of musical development. They remind me that our artistry is not born in a vacuum. We build on the foundation laid by those who came before us, and our early influences, no matter how far we’ve traveled since, are the first brushstrokes on the canvas of our musical identity. They ground us in our past while inspiring us to keep evolving, blending the familiar with the new. For me, they are a reminder that music is as much about where we’ve been as it is about where we’re going.