Then there were Santana, Jimi Hendrix (though I didn’t hear him when he was alive), Cream, Deep Purple, and much later, Van Halen. Their music became the rhythms of our belly souls, at least for me. It was part of our household, mostly because the older siblings would bring the music home. Rock was in my blood. I even had a 20-piece band with which I played Latin-rock, jazz, and a little, little bit of classical, and experimented seriously with my first compositions. Needless to say, salsa and Caribbean sounds never stop sounding in Barranquilla. People often ask me how come I know so many tunes and styles, having lived mostly abroad. Music never stops and it is integrated in our daily customs and rituals—there is a sound, a “clave” [a rhythm] for every occasion.

…Debussy’s La fille aux cheveux de lin’… Preludes Book I pleasent sense of Poise… International Piano, Wulf, June 2015

But once I heard the Liszt Sonata and all of its mysterious Phrygian and gypsy sounds (and the Mahler Eighth reassured me, with its mixture of classical and folk elements), I knew I had to be there doing it and be part of the expression. Hence, it created my artistic mission….

As a kid, becoming familiar with learning tunes and sounds, sounds played and sounds heard started to synchronize. Concurrently, little ideas would emanate from others, consequently relating sounds with moods, occasions, and images. I would add on to some, improvise parts for others (cute incidental music for home plays), and started composing for community and school occasions. Then ideas started to crystallize: a fusing of folk, classical, and popular idioms, and then paraphrases and re-compositions of materials flowed. Eventually, I came up with the idea of framing rock and Latin sounds and rhythms in a symphonic architectural sequence. It was fun and seemed to work well; there was an audience for this. Soon thereafter I left for a more formal pursuit of ideas and training….

Self- and community-taught. For me, absorbing music meant learning to rely totally on the auditory process, rather than visual stimuli translated into sound. Of course one has to read the score, but learning from sound itself is where it is at. There is a special color, touch, and feeling Rachmaninoff emits in his recordings when I hear his playing—the notes C, C#, A♭­, A, have to me a distinctive sound that belongs to him and only to him. Michelangeli has that individual, yet fittingly special way of approaching E♭­, of course subject to the message of the music….

Unfortunately, the theorists and the traditionalists may be killing classical music with their overly analytical approach. To them, all that matters are just mental organizational processes, not music or artistry. So when I went to formal music school I was shocked at the reliance on tradition. Supposedly we would learn the authentic Lisztian tradition because whoever we learned from was per se a student of a student of a student of Lammond, who was a student of the man himself. I think Liszt and his friends would have laughed at this idea.

Or consider the so-called Viennese tradition, which offers a lot of staleness on its own if not infused with the proper emotional elements of the culture. Of course this is much easier to write about it than to make it work. Or consider trying to codify sonata form—unimaginable! It’s all empty intellectual theorizing. After all, how many Beethoven sonatas or Mozart piano concerti are exactly the same architecturally? None.

To repeat, I had come from a primarily auditory environment to the academic intellectual study of music and performance, and it was hellish for me. It seemed to me that many instructors, professors, and teachers were relying heavily on past knowledge, and few were in real time.

However, I did have a couple of, so to speak, “great” teachers. One championed the Liszt Sonata and the Mephisto Waltz: As I was studying with him, it was an experience, I learned a huge amount. I came to the other teacher when he was older, in his 70s, and with him there was real artistic insight: He embodied pure excellence in teaching. In general, my relationships with teachers were tumultuous; I wanted to learn, but not merely through repetition of “traditions,” as if we were parrots paraphrasing techniques. But persistence pays, and in the end I got out of them a huge amount of greatness.

Yes. Even today, it is a carbon copy of Europe, yet we are not completely European: We owe a fair bit to African and Mediterranean music, as well. We have to find a way to combine our own ways with North American teaching and European tradition. There’s much to learn and there’s so much innate, intuitive talent. There are very few places where I have ever been or lived where music and sound are so ingrained in daily life. I think there may even be a political element in that music represents freedom from the constraints of inherited colonial social mores. Speaking of the totality of Columbian music, I am confident that recognition will come.

Yes. At this point, the idiom is still young and unchartered. When I score a work with 11 to 15 percussion instruments, carefully choreographed and intended to be performed simultaneously, I still find conductors who say it cannot be….My personality is such that I naturally like to lead, and more important, to communicate emotional expression. For a passionate storyteller, there is nothing like an orchestral ensemble. Besides playing with my own group, I’m starting to work a bit with some young ensembles in order to spread the joy: We are also forming one dedicated to this type of sound.

We are just starting to spread the word. I am happy that the classical public, as well as the general audience, enjoys the crossover and fusion elements, so there seems to be a genuine interest.

This is in my heart, mind, and soul, to bring what I think is great music and a character building process to kids. Beethoven worked diligently; it was not easy for him—and it is not easy for any one.

If I love to perform these sonatas, then I think the public will love these performances as well. It is not about playing them better or creating the ultimate recording or concert—it is about the utter joy, verve, and passion in performance. It’s as if you had a Cabernet (vino) and said to yourself, “Why should I try and enjoy another one if I have already tasted it once, and it was good?” You would be missing the joy, life, passion, and fulfillment of another wonderful and beautiful wine.

Life is good; what is there not to be joyful about? A little bit of humor and fun never interferes in the seriousness of the pursuit of excellence. Besides, no one owns the rights to how Beethoven should be performed.