Last month I heard the awful news that my dear friend, mentor and colleague, Robert Prizeman, had passed away. I’m still coming to terms with this immense loss which is why it’s taken to so long to put these words together.

When I first started writing music, I naively tried to compose a piece for full orchestra without really knowing what I was doing. I sent it to Rob and by the next rehearsal he had printed it out in A3 and marked it up as if it were a serious piece of work requiring proper appraisal. He gently suggested that I might set my sights a little lower for the next piece without making me feel at all embarrassed. From then on, he was the greatest source of encouragement and gladly offered feedback on everything else I wrote. Often, he would send me home with orchestral scores and recordings that he thought I should know and took many of us to concerts to hear his lasting favourites: Holst, Vaughan Williams, Elgar and Britten. He even bought me a student version of Logic to encourage me to start producing.

All of this was far beyond the remit of any normal choirmaster but I’m no special case; Rob cared deeply about every boy who had the privilege of singing under him and went to great lengths to create opportunities to help all of us nurture our talents, whether musical or otherwise. Witnessing his formidable skill at the keyboard inspired me to take up the piano and my output now is quite clearly and proudly steeped in his musical sensibilities. Rob was the most talented and hardest working musician I have ever met, and the global reach of Libera – his life’s work since taking over age 18 – is a testament to that, but he would always instantly deflect any praise or attention, preferring to let anyone else take the limelight. I’ll forever miss his humble brilliance, his wicked sense of humour and the endless kindness he showed me.

It was an honour to have known you, Rob. Thank you for sharing with me your love of music. I have no idea what I’d be doing otherwise. Let’s hope the heavenly choir is up to scratch – if not, I’m sure you’ll set them right. I wrote this for you.

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