Anthony Romaniuk

Where Is Home? 

Coming home in music

A man steps onto the stage, cello in hand. He looks out into the concert hall, spreads his arms and says, ‘Welcome. Tonight, you are not listeners, but participants. Our meeting is an exchange.’ Then he begins to sing and play, and everything becomes clear. He absorbs the audience’s energy like a human antenna and returns it tenfold. The concert hall shifts into an intimate living room. Everyone who witnessed it walks away transformed. 

This is essentially how a concert by Abel Selaocoe unfolds. Together with this charismatic cellist, singer and composer, we warmly welcome you to the 21st Klarafestival. As a festival artist, Selaocoe will play three concerts spanning the full spectrum of his musical world. From traditional music from his native South Africa to baroque, jazz, contemporary classical and improvisation: he melds all these influences into a unique body of work, centred on identity and cultural exchange.

The theme of this year's festival is taken from the debut album of Selaocoe’s own Bantu Ensemble: Where Is Home? It is an open question with endless answers – especially in the super-diverse city of Brussels, home to 180 nationalities and 100 languages. Our capital is a crossroads, a refuge, a temporary or permanent home for countless individuals, each carrying their own story. Every day, we feel privileged that our festival can take root in such fertile soil.

Klarafestival 2026 is an ode to the city we call home. During Muziekberg/Mont des Musiques, Brussels musicians will take over the Kunstberg (Mont des Arts) for a day, from the Musical Instruments Museum to Bozar, from the Ravenstein Gallery to the Royal Museums of Fine Arts. And both Radio Lomax and the choir Les Invisibles (La Voix des Femmes Sans Papiers) will perform Brussels songs with diverse roots. 

Our mission is to show as wide an audience as possible that classical music is alive and kicking. Even the most familiar works take on fresh life in the hands of the adventurous musicians we surround ourselves with. Prepare to be captivated by Bach's St John Passion as conducted by Maxim Emelyanychev. Marvel at Beethoven and Strauss with the Orchestre Philharmonique du Luxembourg. Rediscover Chopin and Scriabin in a performance by Alexandre Kantorow. Or encounter keyboard phenomenon Anthony Romaniuk: like Abel Selaocoe, he intertwines his own compositions with the established repertoire, from Bach to Björk.  

This festival programme features many more musical kindred spirits. Annelies Van Parys completed the 8th symphony of her former teacher Luc Brewaeys. Pianists Kris Defoort and Stephane Ginsburgh pay tribute to their friend Philippe Boesmans, who would have turned 90 in 2026. Abel Selaocoe, in turn, improvises with like-minded souls, both old and new, and performs a brand-new cello concerto by American composer Jessie Montgomery. 

None of this would be possible without the support of our partners in Brussels and beyond. Bozar, Flagey, De Munt, Ancienne Belgique, Brussels Philharmonic, Belgian National Orchestra, Passa Porta, BNA-BBOT and the Luc Brewaeys Foundation all contribute to Klarafestival’s unique DNA. Our indispensable private partners include KPMG Belgium, Proximus, Brugse Zot, Gimv/WorxInvest and Interparking. We are grateful for the support of the Flemish Community, the Flemish Community Commission, the Brussels-Capital Region and the National Lottery. Our collaboration with VRT and Klara, meanwhile, is the secret to our success as a broadcasting festival. Above all, we thank our enthusiastic audience who follow us both in the concert hall and at home on the radio and VRT MAX. 

For Abel Selaocoe, ‘home’ is much more than a building or a place. 'It can be a spiritual space. It can be people. (...) It can be something you find along your travels.’ For seven years, Klarafestival has been ‘home’ for festival director Joost Fonteyne. His sense of adventure and social connection is more evident than ever in this festival programme. In April 2026, he will continue his journey and pass the torch to Jan Van den Borre. Many thanks, Joost, for the wonderful years!

The Klarafestival Team

Joost Fonteyne, intendant

Jan Raes, chairman

Chantal Pattyn, network manager Klara

ON MODES: ALBUM LINER NOTES BY ANTHONY ROMANIUK

Alpha Classics, 2026 

Modes: beyond major and minor, ancient yet utterly modern, subtle gradations of character and feeling, all engineered by shifts up or down a simple scale. 

The seven major modes – around which this album was conceived – formed the cornerstone of the musical system of the ancient Greeks, were indispensable to composers in the West up until the baroque period, have been consistently used throughout diverse folk music styles, and more recently, through the eclecticism of the mid-20th century, were incorporated into a shared international musical language. 

The basic theory: each mode is created by moving up a step on the keyboard, using only the naturals (the white keys): Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian and Lydian, followed by Mixolydian, Aeolian and Locrian. 

Each mode has a distinct character, flavour, mood, a node on the spectrum of lightness to darkness. My own perception of the inherent character of each mode would be: 

• Ionian: calmness, comfort, safety. 

• Dorian: darkness but with light just underneath the surface, quiet optimism. 

• Phrygian: resistance, energy, withstanding.

• Lydian: wonder, imagination, dreams, possibilities. 

• Mixolydian: self-aware joy, defiance. 

• Aeolian: isolation, forlornness, resignation. 

• Locrian: darkness and disorientation. 

During the suddenly appointment-free months in the Spring of 2020 I began learning Adams’ Phrygian Gates, leading me to brainstorm ideas for surrounding this work with other modal-esque pieces. But finding keyboard music which spoke to me proved tricky and I eventually realised that the best solution was to create new repertoire. Therefore, in addition to a few works by classical composers, the rest of the album consists of original compositions, arrangements and improvisations. 

From its beginnings I knew this would be a piano record, rather than a multi-keyboard one. My previous experience with the spellbinding instruments from Fazioli left me with no doubt that I would use one for the Adams, however I still wished to have another timbre. A lightbulb went off when listening to Nils Frahm’s Solo Remains album, played on an incredible and unique piano built by David Klavins. The sound of one of these pianos – an M450, also called a vertical concert grand – overwhelms the listener. The large soundboard, long strings and overall clarity combine to create a kind of sound bath. 

As the recording process continued I began thinking of the album as an electro-acoustic recital, with analogue and digital audio effects expanding the timbral gamut of the pianos. Rather than searching for synthetic sounds, I wanted all the effects to use the sound of the piano as a basis. 

Sunrising 

A prelude in Mixolydian mode, an ode to the rising sun from the summers of my childhood spent on the Queensland coast. The unusually long delay forces the player to simultaneously think about the past, present and future of what is being played and the deep bass notes of the Klavins make an appearance towards the end. 

Für Alina 

Pärt’s music seems to be constantly exploring emptiness. The Aeolian mode hits just the right amount of despair and hopelessness. In an attempt to approach his notation, I decided to add a very long reverb to the already-prodigious bass sound of the M450, thus sustaining it for the length of the piece. 

Rose-tinted (Lydian Etude) 

Finding a piece sufficiently in the Lydian mode proved tricky, so I wrote one myself. The etude component arises from juxtaposing the odd-numbered but regular rhythmic patterns of the right hand (groups of seven, then nine) with a clear, singing melody in the left hand. 

Black is the colour

I discovered this timeless and ancient Scottish song through Nina Simone’s version. Even though the melody is technically in Aeolian mode, I chose to harmonise it as if it were Dorian, keeping the single Aeolian colour (d natural) as a kind of ‘blue note’, the most colourful harmony in the piece. 

Passacaglia

A baroque-inspired soundscape, this improvised piece is entirely in the Aeolian mode, each one of the three sections explores a different aspect of the mode’s emotional world. The first, in G#, is more reflective and pensive; the more active C# section is angrier, less constrained and the final F# part is the most despairing, empty, alone. 

Musica Ricercata #8 – fantasia (7/8 jam) 

Rhythmically thrilling and wild, this piece captures the Mixolydian ethos of defiance so beautifully even as it occasionally strays from its home mode. Wanting to keep the jaunty vibes going, I kept playing the Ligetiesque groove and tried out some cross-rhythmic diminutions.

Motion Picture Soundtrack 

I’m such a huge fan of Radiohead’s output so it was truly a joyful experience to record this track (in Ionian mode) on the M450. The brief overdub at the end helps to evoke the cast-of-thousands feeling from the original track (from 2001’s Kid A). 

Scarborough 

The idea behind this layered arrangement came from an experience I had in Japan, audio-recording a continuo realisation and then having to play along in a video recording, creating a double-continuo effect. The result was sufficiently interesting that I decided to repurpose it for this old English folk song. 

Army of Me 

Locrian pieces exist in heavy metal, but the absence of a natural I-V relationship have made it an almost nonexistent choice for classical composers. This song by Björk from 1995 engages with the darkest of the modes head on. All the sounds on this track were produced on the Fazioli, including the drumming inside the piano and the high-frequency pings (produced with the aid of a small cork hammer on the undamped upper registers). 

Locrian Waltz 

Although it starts and ends in Locrian mode, in reality this jazz waltz probably only spends 20% of its life in its title mode, instead using more familiar tonal territory to offset the gloominess of the Locrian moments. Although an original composition, it uses various ‘found objects’ to convey a particular era in jazz history. 

Nach Alina 

This short improvisation builds on some of the ideas found in Pärt’s Für Alina, but very quickly activates into something much more extraverted than its source, plus a mode change, from Aeolian to Dorian. The analogue tape delay can be clearly heard in this track.

Phrygian Gates 

The centrepiece of the album and a true modern masterpiece, for me, Adams’ work represents the pinnacle of the minimalist repertoire for solo piano. In three large sections, reminiscent of the classical threemovement structure, the scale of the piece is beautifully balanced and dramatically effective. The imagery I associate with the work tends to be epic landscapes, often those of the American West. 

Regina 

This piece is an arrangement of a song from the Llibre vermeil de Monserrat from the 14th century, Polorum Regina, rather unusually in Ionian mode. Its placement after Phrygian Gates functions as a kind of balm, calming the ears after the intensity of the previous work’s ending, keeping it in the same key centre (D# Phrygian → B Ionian) in order to close the album.

'Home is more about letting go than holding on.'

Klarafestival in conversation with Anthony Romaniuk

Keyboard prodigy Anthony Romaniuk travels effortlessly between classical, jazz, improvisation and ambient music. At Klarafestival 2026, he will present his solo album On Modes. On this brand-new record, he interweaves a rich array of his own music with compositions by Pärt, Adams and Ligeti. Along the way, he also arranges pieces by Radiohead, Björk and other artists. A few weeks before the release concert, we spoke to him about the album, his adventurous journey, and the festival’s central question: Where Is Home?

What role did music play at your home?

How much time do you have? (laughs) It was mainly through my father that music came into my life. My grandfather was a folk musician in Bukovina, a mountainous region that used to be in Romania, but is now part of Ukraine. Although my father did not become a musician himself, he did grow up with music. During the Second World War, like many others, he fled to the southern hemisphere, and if we fast forward, that’s how I came to be born in Australia. I think music had an emotionally stabilising effect on my father. He had a small record collection, which he played incessantly. That music was always there, as a soundtrack to our daily lives. I am the youngest of five children, and each of us also had music lessons. There was always someone playing.

What is your earliest musical memory?

Hmm... I don’t think I really have one. I could make something up, but as I’ve just come back from a ten-day silent retreat, I’d rather be honest. (laughs) What I do remember is the first time I felt the emotional impact of music. That must have been around the age of eleven, when I discovered jazz. Before that, music had always simply been there, without my having a strong personal connection to it. But when I heard the album Steamin' by Miles Davis, I didn't know what had hit me. For the first time, I felt that music could mean something, that it could absorb you totally. Music can make you a more complete person, and become part of who you are and what drives you.

What made Steamin' so special for you?

There’s an inherent coolness to that record, a self-assuredness that contains a certain optimism. What is coolness, when you think about it? Essentially, it’s the result of self-confidence. Knowing who you are, and being at peace with that. We all experience insecurity when we’re young, so Steamin' truly inspired me. I wanted to become that music. 

Were there other people who inspired you during those formative years?

My first piano teacher was more of a guide than a teacher. I still remember the most important advice she gave me: pay attention to your posture and distribute your weight, 'from bum to thumb'. Plus, she really gave me the space to develop myself independently, which was wonderful. I mainly developed my technical skills in my twenties, when I was quite nerdy about Charles-Louis Hanon’s drills (from Le pianiste virtuose, ed.). I worked through those technical exercises every single day. Thriving on that kind of structure is a bit of a personality quirk of mine. (laughs) 

You started out as a pianist. When did the harpsichord and the pianoforte come into the picture? 

That was in my mid-twenties, when I was studying in New York and meeting other fascinating people. They introduced me to baroque music, which I adored but was unable to interpret on the piano. That's why I also started learning the harpsichord. Later still, in The Hague, I discovered the pianoforte and changed majors yet again. (laughs)

Which of those instruments do you feel most at home on?

No matter what keyboard I sit down at, I always find ways to make it work, by prioritising sound production. That adaptability is my greatest strength, I think. But I remain a pianist at heart. The mechanics of a hammer and a string are simply what I’m most familiar with. I grew up with that instrument, and that development has never stopped. How do you continue to grow as a musician after completing your studies? That, to me, is an intriguing question and a significant challenge. In my opinion, On Modes is my best work to date, and I'm quite pleasantly surprised by that.

On the album you also incorporate electronics. How do they relate to your acoustic instrumentation?

I listen to a lot of electronic music and enjoy experimenting with it, but I certainly wouldn't call myself a technically proficient electronic musician. Still, that world has influenced my thinking. For example, one of my recent works is a kind of analogue reimagining of a synthesiser improvisation – although I only realised that afterwards. For On Modes, I worked in a beautiful studio in Berlin, with a wealth of tape delays and other analogue equipment. I simply had to make use of it all. I am very grateful to have been supported by two brilliant producers, one of whom is a Belgian friend of mine, Jo Thielemans.

You spend a lot of time on tour and have lived on different continents. What is it like to have such a changeable home?

I was 18 when I left Australia, and I’ve moved several times since then. I lived in New York for six years, in The Hague for five years, in Brussels for six years, and in Antwerp for seven years. I’ve been living in Madrid for three years now, where I almost feel more 'at home' than my Spanish wife. (laughs) Look, of course there are advantages to saying, 'This is my place. These are my people. This is where I want to root myself.’ In that sense, I may have disadvantaged myself. But it’s also quite instructive to change your home from time to time. It gives you the opportunity to ask yourself: who am I in this environment? How do I position myself in this new context? 

Have you discovered what 'home' means to you?

Again, it's all about adaptability. For me, home is change, movement. It is not a fixed place. Home is the passage of time, the passing of places. It’s more about letting go than holding on. There is a kind of peace in that – at the risk of sounding increasingly Buddhist. (laughs)

Is there a particular sound you associate with any of your home towns?

My standout example would be New York, where you hear an unbelievable cacophony of sirens, the subway, and millions of people around you. I adored living there. But music, too, is inherently connected to its environment. Listening to bluegrass, for example, is a completely different experience in North Carolina than in West Africa.

Do you have rituals that make you feel at home when you're on the road?

I meditate every day and am a big coffee snob. (laughs) I take my AeroPress and hand grinder with me everywhere and seek out the best coffee shops in every city. It’s a way of connecting with the place where I am.

Do you feel at home on stage?

In a sense, yes. Although now I’m reminded of a 16th-century treatise that says a performance is not an exchange between artist and audience, but a collective gathering. Ideally, everyone looks at the centre of a space together. It is in that shared experience that the possibility of magic lies. The Spanish word 'duende' sums this up beautifully: the moment we are taken over by something bigger than ourselves.

How would you describe your connection with Brussels?

To me, Brussels feels like a crossroads of cultures. It’s not a big city, but it is becoming increasingly cosmopolitan. This confluence of worlds brings with it a remarkable vibrancy. Brussels is big enough to be truly welcoming. It’s a place where you can be completely yourself. I enjoyed living there.

You'll be back soon, for the release concert of On Modes. How did the idea for this extraordinary album come about?

During lockdown, I started playing John Adams' Phrygian Gates. The work resonated with me so powerfully that I wanted to build a programme around it. As the title reveals, it is written in Phrygian mode (a specific scale, ed.), and I knew pretty quickly that I wanted to explore the expressive power of this and other modes.

What draws you to modes? 

Even more than the major or minor keys, modes each tell their own story. They are scales that exude a myriad of colours and moods, and that can transport you to another world in the blink of an eye. The mixolydian mode, for example, sounds bold and defiant, while the Dorian feels more pensive and radiates a gentle optimism. Each mode puts you in a different emotional state, without your needing to know anything about it. And so we return to the listener who becomes the music. A sound emerges, and there is life in that sound, and that life can express an infinite number of things.

How did you engage with that modal language?

It was a long process of reflection and exploration. After all, modes are primarily found in early music and jazz. There is little modal repertoire for pianists, which basically meant I had to create repertoire. In addition to Adams' work, I selected a few 20th-century pieces by Pärt and Ligeti. But beyond that, the album consists entirely of my own compositions, improvisations and arrangements. It was an important step for me to develop my own voice. The album is being released on a classical label (Alpha Classics, ed.), but to be honest, I have no idea what genre I should describe it as. It's not jazz, not ambient, not electronic music, and not neoclassical.

Maybe it's simply your own genre? A blend of influences that have percolated through your unique filter?

That's exactly right. (laughs)

Fauve Charlier & Katherina Lindekens

The Australian keyboard player Anthony Romaniuk moves freely between styles and genres. Starting from a fascination with jazz, he specialised in early music and has since explored improvisation, indie rock and electronic music. His versatile concert programmes feature music by composers such as Byrd, Bach, Beethoven, Ligeti and Adams alongside his own work. Romaniuk is a permanent member of Vox Luminis and has also collaborated with Reinoud Van Mechelen, Patricia Kopatchinskaja and indie rock band Efterklang, among others. His solo albums Bells (2020), Perpetuum (2023) and the recently released On Modes (2026) are characterised by their artfully devised programmes and the rich sound of the different types of keyboards Romaniuk uses.