Henri de Quengo is a French pianist and composer, renowned primarily for his classical piano compositions, which have earned over three million streams worldwide. Don’t miss our conversation with Henri de Quengo about composing music, influences, creative rituals, upcoming projects, and life.

What first drew you to composing music? How did the cultural environment in France shape your early musical education?

I think composing was never really a choice—it was more like an instinct. I remember as a child being fascinated by how music could be built from silence, like assembling little emotional structures. I started writing short pieces at the piano almost as soon as I could play a few chords. France, with its strong tradition of both classical rigor and avant-garde exploration, gave me a wide lens. Although I didn’t come from a musical family, I was raised in a culture that values both heritage and innovation. This environment encouraged me to take composition seriously from a young age. It soon became clear that creating music would be a central force in my life, something that brings me a deep sense of purpose and fulfillment. Being trained in music theory at the conservatoire from an early age gave me the tools to shape what I was hearing in my head.

Has your study of music history and theory directly impacted your compositional style?

Absolutely. Studying music history and theory doesn’t limit me, it expands my vocabulary. Understanding how composers from Machaut to Messiaen thought about form, color, or structure helps me feel less alone in the creative process. Theory often gives me a framework, but I never let it cage me. It’s more like a set of tools I can use, or choose to abandon. Sometimes, I’ll deliberately start a piece using a 14th-century isorhythmic concept and end it in a very contemporary harmonic language, just to see how the tension evolves. That’s why I constantly seek to learn from music history and theory, there’s so much to dive into !

Your work often incorporates leitmotifs and minimalist melodies—how did you develop this compositional style?

It came to me quite naturally, for me melody is an important part of music, something that people can hum and go back to. There is a lot of emotion in each melody, and making it accessible and minimalist creates this meditative calming effect, which I seek in my music quite intuitively. Sometimes making music feels like a meditation, or a prayer, and it fills me with this sense of peace and hope. 

Who are your top three favorite composers of all time, and why? Are there any non-classical artists who influence your work?

It’s so hard to choose only three, but I’d say:

J.S. Bach, because he is a universe in himself, structural perfection and emotional depth woven into each phrase. His music is part of my daily routine. 

Frédéric Chopin, because he was the first one who made me fall in love with the piano when I was a teenager. To me, he is the greatest melodist the piano repertoire has ever known.

Philip Glass, for the hypnotic clarity and emotional resonance of his music. His Piano Etudes have been a profound source of inspiration. I also love his operas, like Einstein on the Beach, which open up new dimensions of time and perception. His work reminds me that repetition can be a form of transformation.

Outside of classical music, I draw inspiration from a lot of artists like Grandbrothers, Teho, or Monolink. They each blend electronic and acoustic elements in a way that feels both organic and emotionally immersive. I’m especially drawn to their sense of rhythm, atmosphere, and the way they build tension and release through texture. Their music resonates with the kind of emotional storytelling I strive for in my own compositions.

Do you have any specific rituals or habits when you sit down to compose?

Not exactly rituals, but I usually need solitude and time. I often start by improvising at the piano until something “clicks”, a phrase, a mood, a tension. I also like to write by hand in the early stages, it feels more intimate and help me be closer to the score. I rarely compose in a rush, I let the piece come to me over days or weeks. Sometimes I’ll even walk, run or bike around with a theme turning in my head until it settles.

Do you ever experiment with older forms like fugues, sonatas, or chorales?

Yes, I do. I’m fascinated by older forms because they carry so much history and inner discipline. I’ve written fugues and chorale-inspired passages, sometimes hidden inside more modern structures. Sonata form also still resonates, it’s like a narrative arc that feels very human even though I never wrote a piece in this well-known structure. These forms help me structure the emotional journey of a piece, even when the language seems simplistic.

Which piece of music that you’ve composed is your favorite, and what makes it special to you?

That’s a tough question. I feel particularly connected to the three waltzes from my very first opus, Trivalsogie, Op. 1. They’re imperfect, youthful, but there’s a raw sincerity in them that still resonates with me. Each waltz captures a different mood and together they mark the beginning of my voice as a composer.

That said, my latest album Nocturnal Reveries : An Owl’s Tales, Op. 12 holds a special place in my heart. I love all of its pieces but I especially enjoyed writing and always love playing my Sonocturne, Op. 12 No. 10. It feels like a mature echo of those early intuitions, more refined in language, but still emotionally direct. There’s a suspended, nocturnal quality to it that reminds me of moments when time seems to stretch, like the silence just before dawn. This piece came naturally, with some inspiration from Schubert’s Impromptus inspiration, without having to force anything. It captures exactly what I meant to express. 

What role does silence play in your music?

A central one, even though I never experience complete silence myself, as I suffer from tinnitus. There’s always a subtle noise in the background, but thankfully, my head is full of music, which helps me balance it out. For me, silence isn’t about the total absence of sound, it’s about space, breath, and presence. In my compositions, I often use pauses, not always pure silence, but moments that hold evasive, fading notes. Silence allows emotion to bloom, tension to rise, and intimacy to unfold. I treasure those moments when an audience holds its breath between two notes, it feels almost like a sacred human connection.

Can you share any details about your upcoming projects or collaborations?

Yes, I’ll be performing soon at the Théâtre de l’Île Saint-Louis, during the first edition of the Piano Revenge Festival, with a program that blends some of my earliest compositions and selections from my latest album, Nocturnal Reveries: An Owl’s Tales, Op. 12. I’ve also written three new short solo piano pieces (Op. 13, Op. 14, and Op. 15), which I’m looking forward to recording and releasing. I'm also exploring collaborative projects with non-classical artists and beginning work on my next solo piano album. Beyond my own piano work, I’m currently considering founding a small, artist-driven label to support musical voices I feel close to and want to help develop.

Finally, from your perspective, what is the meaning of life?

For me, the meaning of life lies in connection, to others, to beauty, to something beyond ourselves. Music is my way of connecting: with the people I love, with strangers, with time. Life is about giving form to what we feel, even when we can’t fully explain it. It’s about sharing heritage and emotion. If I can move even one person, however briefly, then I feel I’ve done something meaningful.