Plusone isn’t just a composition—it’s a tribute to my family. The opening ostinato has been with me since my teenage years, but it wasn’t until now that it found its voice in a full piece. Read on for an in-depth look at the inspiration behind plusone, the musical choices that shaped it, and how I invested in the production process to craft its unique sound. Click on your favourite streamingservice to listen along.
Let’s start with the title: Plusone. This piece is inspired by my family. The name refers to the moments when the family grew—when we gained a “plus one.” First my wife, the original plusone, and later my two kids. A close-knit team. That’s why Plusone is all one word—because we stick together.
After June 16th, a jazz piece, and Calling Out to You, which bridged classical and modern styles, I wanted to go for something more purely neoclassical. Inspired by composers like Philip Glass, Max Richter, and Einaudi, I focused on musical patterns and ostinatos.
The left-hand ostinato that opens Plusone (and forms its foundation) is actually something I played as a teenager. Back then, after three weeks of camping with the family (and no piano in sight), I’d finally sit down at the keys and just play this pattern. But I never developed it into a full piece—until now.
In Plusone, that left-hand ostinato represents me. The piece introduces three right-hand ostinatos at different points, each blending with the left hand to create something new. Add a refrain in a different meter, and there you have the ingredients of plusone. I could dive into the specific parts of the piece, but first, let’s talk about something equally important: the production.
“As I listened back to my takes, though, I realized there was a problem—the new felt I had installed on the hammers was too noisy…”
For my previous composition, Calling Out to You, I wasn’t entirely happy with the production and mastering. So I decided to step up my game. I experimented with different microphone setups and discussed the results with Chris Weeda, the sound engineer who also worked on June 16th. I recorded several takes: a stereo pair in an X-Y configuration (two microphones angled at 90 degrees toward each other) at varying distances, and a condenser microphone placed much closer to capture the mechanical sounds of the piano.
By mechanical sounds, I mean the small, intimate noises that make a piano feel alive: the wooden action moving, the dampers lifting off the strings when I press the pedal, the hammers striking the felt, and even the felt meeting the strings. These are the sounds you’d notice at a close-up piano concert.
As I listened back to my takes, though, I realized there was a problem—the new felt I had installed on the hammers was too noisy. For a piece like plusone, with its dense note patterns, the felt sound was overpowering. So, I bought thinner, more subtle felt and recorded again. Each take became a study in contrasts: different felt, different microphone distances, and, for the final take, I reattached the piano’s wooden lid to create an extra barrier between the hammers and the microphones. This final setup struck the right balance, giving plusone its clean yet intimate sound.
The new felt reduced that sharp “tss” attack sound significantly, but it came with a different challenge. Occasionally—seemingly at random—some notes would distort, creating what I’ve started calling “resonances.” These notes would produce extra overtones, and not the pleasant, consonant ones. You can hear it clearly at 5:28, for example.
I suspect it happens because the felt sometimes brushes against a neighboring string, causing it to vibrate slightly out of tune—a half-step up or down. Whatever the cause, it meant that certain notes could sound jarringly sharp. I scrapped multiple takes when this distortion occurred in key melodic lines, as it was just too distracting.
But over time, I came to see this quirk differently. It gave the piece a kind of raw, unpredictable quality, almost as if the piano had developed its own voice—a collaborator with its own ideas. I’ve started comparing these resonances to the moment when someone’s voice cracks with emotion: rough, imperfect, but deeply human.
Armed with multiple recordings, I headed to Amsterdam to meet with Chris Weeda. Chris lives and breathes sound and has an incredible wealth of experience. We played back the tracks on his mind-blowing speakers—they made it feel like you could step into the music—and started tweaking all the settings on the stock EQ, compressor, reverb, and limiter I had been using. One of the (many) takeaways from that evening was that stock plugins “can only take you so far.” The compression, for example, was too obvious.
To demonstrate, Chris loaded my takes into his DAW (Digital Audio Workspace) and showed me what his professional plugins could do. Big difference! It didn’t take me long to follow his advice—just a week before I purchased new professional plugins. (The week was mostly spent waiting for a decent Black Friday deal.)
Chris also knows a ton about mic placements. While I had recorded with an XY configuration, he recommended trying an ORTF setup instead, where the mics are placed at a 110-degree angle and spaced apart for a more natural stereo image—closer to how our ears actually perceive sound. We also discussed loudness, the average volume of the recording. Streaming platforms recommend a standard of -14 dB LUFS. Achieving that balance is tricky: it’s a dance between how you’ve recorded the piece, and how you use EQ, compression, and limiting to create loudness without losing dynamics.
It was amazing to listen to the recordings with such an experienced set of ears. I learned a ton that I could immediately put into practice. It was time to record the definitive version of plusone. Back home, behind the piano.
Building my home studio was a bit of a back-and-forth process. Chris and I exchanged photos to fine-tune the microphone placement—small adjustments can make a big difference in the final result. Once everything was set, it was time to record. The kids were asleep, and I had the living room to myself. With the lights dimmed, I sat down to play the piece a few times.
Of course, Murphy’s Law had other plans. In a quiet section of one take, a scooter decided to roar past the house, loud and clear. And in the next, a police helicopter decided to circle overhead. Let me just say, I live in a peaceful neighborhood—this isn’t a regular thing. But apparently, if you want to record a delicate piano piece, the universe has a sense of humor.
Thankfully, the third take was the one. It felt right, and more importantly, it sounded right
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Introduction of Ostinato
The piece starts with a familiar ostinato in the left hand—something that’s been with me since my teenage years. After three weeks of camping with the trailer tent (and no piano!), this was often the first thing I’d play when we got back home. Finally, back at the keys. But it never went beyond that—a fragment, an idea. Until now.
Verse
The right hand joins in, highlighting certain fragments of the ostinato. It doesn’t play its own melody; instead, the melody emerges from the interplay between left and right. Some notes are doubled in octaves, while others are spaced in tenths or sixths to add color.
Chorus
To break the flow of the ostinato, the chorus shifts to a different rhythm. We move into a feel of threes/sixes. The thumb of the right hand plays a slowly ascending melody, anchored by pedal notes—repeated tones (in this case, E♭ and B♭) that act as a harmonic foundation for the melody. In bar 19 (see sheet music), the melody reaches its peak before descending again.
Introduction of First Pattern (3 notes)
Second Verse
Second Chorus
Introduction of Second Pattern (5 notes)
Second Pattern, but octave higher
Here I wanted to break away from the left hand ostinato, open up the song.
Introduction of Third Pattern (2 notes)
When Music asks to Stay
Why stop when it's perfect?
I’m curious what you think!
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