My first encounter with pianist David Miller was from the depths of the bass section of Sydney’s Taverner Consort of Voices in a suburban church hall in the early nineties.

He was attacking a torrid passage when one or two ivories – possibly stuck down specially for the occasion – came flying off the piano’s keys and clattered to the hardwood floor. But he was unfazed, leaning forward, eyes glued to the score, with a half-smile, equal parts concentration and joy. It was as though the disintegration of the piano was half-expected, almost necessary, in order to magnify the thrill.