Let’s start by going back to your year in the Sinfonia. When did you join the Fellowship, and what brought you into it?

Wow, we’re going all the way back to 2013. I’d just finished a postgraduate degree at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, and I came out of it wanting more orchestral experience. With that in mind, the Sinfonia looked like a really brilliant scheme for training – and it was, absolutely. I was really drawn to the amount of repertoire we would cover as an orchestra. Also, the idea of just being able to play with one group of people for that long was great. In hindsight, that was such a luxury – to be able to play with the same group of people all the time. I was really excited about the travel, too; we got to go to Paris, Italy, Snape Maltings, and various other places.

It was a really attractive proposition to be part of Sinfonia Smith Square, especially since it’s a chamber orchestra. I’ve always loved chamber music, so playing in a smaller orchestra was especially appealing to me. Chamber music and chamber orchestras have been something I’ve worked with a lot in my subsequent career. So, there were lots of things that drew me to it. Also, I’m really pleased that from the Fellowship, I’m still in touch with so many people who were in my year – many of my closest friends and collaborators are people I spent that year with.

During the programme, you worked on Amadeus at the National Theatre. How did that come about?

It was such a special opportunity. James Murphy (the managing director of the organisation at the time) phoned me up and asked if I was interested in a new project—something quite different. I’d already heard little rumours about it, so I was thrilled to be asked from the get-go! The idea of a full chamber orchestra on stage in a theatre production was revolutionary. I don’t know if it will ever be done again. It was such a groundbreaking project to be involved with. The musicians were there from the beginning, which is so unusual in theatre. We got to collaborate with the cast as equals. Adam Gillen, who played Mozart, and Lucian Msamati, who played Salieri, were just phenomenal. From the very start, we all knew we were part of something daring and special.

I remember the set designer showing us a cardboard mock-up of the stage. It was inspired by Vivienne Westwood’s punk-Baroque style, which suited the production perfectly. Even the wigs were extraordinary. There was one I remember so well – a four-foot-tall wig with a ship stuck in it! It was incredible. I think everyone involved feels it was one of the most thrilling projects they’ll ever work on.

How did that experience challenge or develop you as a player?

I’ve always loved movement and unconventional performance setups. I play in a band called Perhaps Contraption, which is a sort of punk brass band. We dress in costumes, dance, and sing while playing. So, the idea of not being fixed in a traditional orchestral setup was perfect for me.

In Amadeus, we really embraced movement, and the movement director, Imogen Knight, quickly realized we musicians were game for anything. At one point, I had to jump onto a moving piano while playing the French horn, spin around, and then jump off. Another musician, Jenny MacCallum, a viola player, had to slide to the front of the stage on her knees while playing. Ruth Elder played the violin lying on the floor, and Beth Higham-Edwards played the xylophone while an actor held it. It was such a fun and creative challenge.

After Amadeus, you moved on to a production of Macbeth. How did that happen?

It was a stroke of luck, really. I was already at the National Theatre for Amadeus, and they were planning a production of Macbeth in repertory on the same stage. It meant I didn’t get a day off for about six months because I was doing one show or the other! The composer, Orlando Gough, wanted bespoke instruments for the production—ones that fit the post-apocalyptic aesthetic. We worked with an instrument builder, Simon Harris, to create them. He used lorry springs, tubes, and other materials to make these incredible instruments. One of them was a horn with two bells, one pointing forwards and the other backwards, so you could change the direction of the sound. It was like something out of Mad Max. Being part of the R&D process for that was incredible.

Speaking of bespoke instruments, you’ve gone on to work extensively with ancient horns. Can you tell me about that?

I’ve been fascinated by different forms of the horn for years. During my postgraduate studies at Guildhall, one of my teachers was John Kenny, the world’s leading Carnyx player. He did a concert where he played about eight different ancient instruments, including the alphorn, and I was instantly hooked; I ended up playing the alphorn for my Final performance.

Later, I got more seriously into ancient forms of horn and met Peter Holmes, an instrument designer who’s also a retired engineer and brass player. Peter is incredible—he’s made instruments based on archaeological artifacts and iconography. It’s a hugely complex process that requires skills in archaeology, music, craftsmanship, and acoustics.

Currently, I’m doing a PhD with Manchester University and the National Museums Scotland, researching and exploring the craft processes involved in making these instruments.

A big project that I worked on recently was Viking epic The Northman, directed by Robert Eggers. We had an R&D budget to create period-accurate lurs for the film—these included fragile wooden lurs made from birch bark. The film’s director and the composers Robin Carolan and Sebastian Gainsborough, were very collaborative. They sent me sound ideas and gave me the freedom to experiment with my instruments to create them. It was such a creative process.

[Read more about that process here]

And you’re working with that team again on Nosferatu?

Yes, that’s coming out in January 2025. For Nosferatu, a Vampire horror film, I used a massive Tibetan Dung Chen horn, about ten feet long. It’s traditionally used in Buddhist rituals in Nepal, but it creates such an eerie, otherworldly sound. It’s perfect for a film as haunting and scary as Nosferatu. Again, it’s been an amazing experience working with Eggers and his team. They’re so open to exploring the possibilities of sound and giving me the freedom to see just what the instruments can do, which makes the process incredibly exciting.

And of course, I’ve been working on the 2024 blockbuster Gladiator II as well – that’s been a really cool project to work on. Directors are increasingly wanting to use period-accurate instruments. For anyone going to see Gladiator II, there’s a Roman cornu featured, both sonically (me!) as well as visually, held by an actor, which is really cool. At the beginning of the film, there’s an audible conch shell call when Lucius is at home, in the barley fields, heading towards his destiny. That’s me summoning him!

Really? That’s amazing.

Yeah, it was really exciting. There’s also a battle scene where Lucius fights against the Romans before becoming a slave, and that has lots of cornu in the soundtrack. My samples are pretty audible in the first 15 minutes. I even managed to get my name in the credits, which felt like a real triumph!

You’ve been running a project called GALSI (Gender and the Large and Shiny Instruments). Could you explain what that is, where it started, and where it’s going?

That project stems directly from Amadeus, which Beth Higham-Edwards and I worked on together. Beth has done a lot of gender advocacy work, and coming out of COVID, we both felt it was time for change. Beth hosted a roundtable discussion during the pandemic for an organisation called SWAP’ra on Zoom, which supports women and parents in opera. She approached me afterwards and suggested starting an initiative together. We brainstormed ideas and came up with a project focused on gender in brass and percussion instruments. GALSI has subsequently grown beyond our wildest dreams and it is probably the project that I am most proud of in my career.

We’re currently in our second year of a large Arts Council funding grant, which has allowed us to host a two-day course for young people each October in partnership with the Royal College of Music. This October, the course was our biggest yet, with over 60 participants, mentors and tutors! GALSI has grown tremendously, and we’ve hosted panel discussions and roundtable events at venues including the Royal Overseas League and Wigmore Hall to encourage industry-wide conversations about gender diversity. We’ve also analyzed published statistics from British orchestras to identify where development and change are needed, particularly in brass and percussion sections.

We’re currently working with the Musicians’ Union, which is launching a 10-point plan to encourage fairer recruitment practices in orchestras. While our focus is on gender, we recognize the broader intersectional changes needed. However, as a team of three—Beth, Rebecca Celebuski, and myself—we focus on what we can manage. People often assume we’re a large, well-funded organization, but it’s just the three of us working passionately for change.

We want to make the music profession feel accessible to women and non-binary individuals, especially those coming out of music colleges. It’s important that they see role models they can aspire to emulate. When I started in the profession myself, there weren’t as many women in positions I could aspire to. That’s why this work is so meaningful—it’s about ensuring the next generation can see a place for themselves in this industry.

I’d love to talk about composition practice. How do you approach composing, and what informs your work?

Within the next week or so, I’m launching my first mini album—an EP, Cornicen. It’s my first foray into solely creating my own music. I’ve recorded extensively and collaborated with incredible composers on lots of projects I mentioned: The Northman, Dungeons & Dragons, Nosferatu, The Witcher and Gladiator II, and all those have been hugely collaborative processes. That made me think: maybe I should explore this more myself!

Anneke Scott, an incredible natural horn player, has influenced my approach so much. She believes in letting instruments reveal their voice, especially period instruments. You can’t impose your will on them. Film composers have learned this too; they can’t just write standard tonal melodies for the kinds of horns that I play and expect them to work. The instruments have their own unique voice and as a player you have to work with that.

For example, I’ve done work at Vindolanda, a Roman fort on Hadrian’s Wall, where they found a beautifully preserved Cornu mouthpiece during an archaeological dig a couple of years ago. Playing these instruments offers a rare chance to hear echoes of the past. Museums let us see and sometimes touch artifacts, but hearing the past is unique. While we can’t be certain what Roman music sounded like, human design hasn’t changed much, so what I play could very well resemble something from centuries ago.

My compositions reflect this dialogue with the instrument. It’s like a duet—working with the instrument’s voice and connecting with humanity’s distant past. Horns are ancient instruments, deeply tied to human history. Playing them feels like channeling something profound.

One last, fun question – what are you listening to right now?

Good question! I’m very lucky to be Head of Performance at a music school (Wells Cathedral School), so I hear a lot of amazing music from our students on a daily basis. Outside of that, I’ve been listening to one of my favourite musicians, award-winning folk singer Sam Lee, whose recent album songdreaming I am delighted to have worked on. Sam works closely with nature (one of my best gigs of all time has been playing on his Singing with Nightingales series, duetting with a nightingale at night in an RSPB reserve!) and his songs reflect the beauty and fragility of our planet.