Developing an Independent Musical Voice: A Two-Year Path to Specialist Music School

In May 2024, Jialun’s mother found Inchwise on social media. She wanted us to assess whether he had a realistic chance of pursuing music professionally.

At first, we approached the question with an open mind. But the video she sent made the scale of the challenge clear. His technique was weak, his playing was still at an elementary level, and he remained very much an amateur. Ms Peng spoke to him for a while and found that he could barely bring himself to say a word. He was not much of a talker.

How long did he practise each day? Probably less than two hours. Could he increase that to five? He shook his head. No.

The technical foundations were thin, the intensity was not yet there, and he struggled to express himself. Yet he was aiming for a specialist music school abroad, where an interview tests far more than technique. A candidate must be able to speak, explain and help the panel understand how he thinks about music. At that point, Jialun seemed to lack all of these things.

The professional musicians in our own family, who had studied at the primary and secondary schools affiliated with the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, also shook their heads. His chances of getting into the Yehudi Menuhin School, they thought, were slim.

Ms Peng disagreed with the consensus and took him on. “There is something instinctive and alive in Jialun,” she said. Peng Dunyue and I exchanged a knowing smile. Musical instinct can sound rather mystical.

Jialun’s mother had initially hoped to make a quick attempt: begin preparing in May, audition in December and enrol in September 2025. But for a child whose musical promise was only just becoming visible, and whose foundations remained fragile, that timetable was too short.

Ms Peng applied the brakes. Better, she argued, to prepare the family for another year of work than to hurry the child on to the audition stage simply to meet a date.

She set two requirements for the training that followed. First, Jialun was to join my weekend philosophy class and learn to speak up. Second, he was to check in every day with his physical-conditioning work.

Families come to you for music-school preparation, and you ask their children to build stamina, find their voice and learn to think? Yes. That is precisely what a long-term approach looks like.

When Jialun first joined the philosophy class, he would sit in silence and look at the screen, even among children younger than himself. After three or four sessions, he began to speak. Later, he learnt to set out a complete view of his own.

As his fitness improved, so did his capacity to practise. Ms Peng then found him a specialist violin teacher in Shanghai. Every two weeks, he flew from Dalian to Shanghai, stayed for three or four days of lessons, and flew home again. Almost every child outside the major cities who hopes to enter a specialist music school must make some version of this journey. Over the next six to twelve months, his technique changed markedly. He was beginning to carry himself like a serious music student.

In the summer of 2025, we invited Jialun to London for in-person preparation. Violin, piano and music theory were all taught in English, and the expectations were those applied to a specialist student. Between lessons, when he needed a change of pace, I took him into the garden to pull weeds—a form of “work-study”, as I grandly called it. At twelve, he was already travelling independently by public transport between different parts of London.

We also arranged lessons with a specialist violin teacher based in London. Step by step, Jialun began to acquire confidence in his professional ability.

He had one advantage that many applicants do not: he was only thirteen. Entering Year 10 would give him four full years at Menuhin. He had started preparing early, which materially improved his prospects.

His teacher’s advice was sound: the difficulty of a piece matters less than what you can say through it. We therefore chose two works that sat within his technique while allowing his personality to be heard. The recordings passed the first round without difficulty.

Before the auditions, we asked his mother to bring him to London a week early so that he could recover from the journey and adjust to the time difference. We then arranged a solo recital in a church, with a proper audience, so that he could perform his complete programme on stage.

The interview preparation did not consist of memorising model answers. We drew out, little by little, what he genuinely thought about music and about living in Britain.

His first audition was at The Purcell School. As he entered the room, he crouched to tie his shoelace. His hands were shaking so badly that he could not fasten it. I was genuinely worried. I waited outside the practice room for about an hour. When he emerged, he said at once: “I’m in.”

Purcell had offered him a place on the spot. He was elated at first; then he saw his mother and dissolved into tears. Nearly two years of preparation and emotion arrived all at once. His mother understood better than anyone. Gentle but resolute, she had accompanied him throughout.

The offer from Menuhin took more than a month. We had begun to think the outcome was uncertain. Just before the Easter holiday, I wrote to ask for an update—and the acceptance came through. Jialun and his family were astonished, and overjoyed.

That, in essence, is Jialun’s story. In May 2024 he was a child who could scarcely speak in conversation and shook his head at the thought of practising for five hours. Less than two years later, he had been admitted by two of Britain’s leading specialist music schools.

He is a slow-burning child, which suits the Inchwise philosophy: there is no need to arrive in haste. Progress made inch by inch can be remarkably secure. We hope he will keep his own tempo at Menuhin and move, one measured step at a time, towards the musical life he imagines.

I am Teacher Dahei. I will be waiting for you in London.