Imagine pouring your soul into the cello for decades, only to face a life-altering injury that threatens to silence your music forever—yet, against all odds, a glimmer of hope emerges. Julian Lloyd Webber, the renowned cellist, opens up about the profound impact of a devastating neck ailment and his unwavering resolve to step back onto the stage. But here's where it gets controversial: while many admire his perseverance, others might question whether chasing a comeback at 75 is worth the physical toll. And this is the part most people miss—the hidden financial struggles that come with fame, especially when compared to his superstar brother.
Julian Lloyd Webber, whom you can learn more about through his Telegraph profile, shares that he's feeling aches all over his body. Playing the cello, as he puts it, demands immense physical exertion, and our most esteemed living virtuoso has just dedicated two hours to rehearsing for a special event in April at London's Wigmore Hall. This concert marks his 75th birthday, and he's hopeful he'll pull it off. 'I genuinely hope to make it happen,' he says, recalling his performance at the 2012 London Olympics closing ceremony. 'But if stage fright doesn't kick in at least a little, something must be off.'
At first sight, everything seems routine in Lloyd Webber's tidy yet comfortably worn South Kensington apartment atop a grand building, a home he's cherished for over 50 years. The walls are adorned with posters from his landmark performances, such as his Brit Award-winning 1986 recording of Elgar's Cello Concerto, led by the legendary Sir Yehudi Menuhin. His living room overlooks the bustling city, with one bookshelf crammed with music literature and another displaying records. Nearby, the melodies of his wife, Jiaxin Cheng—a talented cellist from China—drift in as she practices her own pieces.
Yet, appearances can deceive. This picture of shared musical passion is far from reality. Lloyd Webber hadn't touched his cello for nearly 12 years before committing to the Wigmore Hall gig. In May 2014, he announced his retirement due to a serious neck issue. A follow-up MRI revealed a herniated disc—a condition where the cushioning material between spine bones slips out, pressing on nerves—that robbed his bowing arm of the sensation needed for his elite-level playing after 40 years.
'Following that scan,' he reminisces, 'I left the Cromwell Hospital and strolled past the path to the Royal Albert Hall, where I'd performed 42 times, surpassing any other cellist. The thought hit me: 'This is over.' It was incredibly heartbreaking.' He tries to downplay it, speaking calmly, but his piercing blue eyes beneath his sparse dark bangs betray the emotion.
This setback ended a dazzling career filled with accolades. While the public often knows him as the younger sibling of Andrew Lloyd Webber, the titan of musical theater, Julian himself reigned as a classical music icon for his own fans over those same 40 years.
It was a casual comment from his 14-year-old daughter, Jasmine, during preparations for his 'birthday concert'—using the trendy term 'curating'—that sparked his potential return. 'I was inviting other musicians since I believed I couldn't perform myself,' he explains. 'Then Jasmine remarked, 'It's a pity I've never seen you play live in a concert.' I didn't respond right away, but it made me wonder, 'Could I manage a short piece?' I started with just 15 minutes daily, feeling it was a flop, but gradually, it improved. The strings no longer felt like they were cutting into my skin.'
He's persisted, and so far, progress holds. 'It's odd, like beginning anew,' he notes. 'More practice leads to better sound, fueling the desire to continue.'
How tough has it been over these 12 years, hearing Jiaxin rehearse next door? 'Honestly, it was challenging,' he admits. 'She'd often play compositions I used to perform. I avoided offering any feedback.'
Initially, the greatest challenge was financial. 'People assume the Lloyd Webbers are wealthy,' he points out. His brother—collaborator on the 1978 album Variations, which hit number two on the charts and featured Julian's rendition of Paganini as the South Bank Show theme—is reportedly worth £500 million. 'I earned a solid income from music, sufficient to purchase a Cotswolds cottage in 1989 (though not in the posh areas like the Beckhams), but I'm not rich.' Their current flat is rented under a favorable long-term agreement keeping costs manageable. When he stopped performing, he had no option but to part with his prized Stradivarius cello, acquired in 1983 via a £193,000 bank loan.
It wasn't purely financial. 'I wasn't using it and was certain I'd never play again,' he says. 'It deserved to be played by someone who would.' Did he secure a fair price? He deftly avoids the query and vents frustration at dealers. 'Frustratingly, it's not in active use. Since selling, it's circulated among dealers and undergone refurbishments one or two times.' He strongly disapproves of such alterations. 'No one understands stringed instruments better than Stradivarius. My cello was exceptional. I've heard from a recent player that it's not the same instrument. The entire trade in musical instruments...' He trails off wisely, especially since he's borrowing an antique Italian cello from a dealer for his April event.
'The disc issue persists,' he clarifies, but his original doctor has approved attempting a brief performance at his birthday celebration. Proceeding cautiously, he's gauging his boundaries. It will require luck and the fortitude instilled by his father, William, in both sons. William, a plumber's son and child organ prodigy who became a composer, saw his romantic style fall out of favor with critics in the 1950s. He later shifted to administration at the London College of Music, reportedly ending as a dissatisfied man.
'My father advised entering music only if it's your sole calling,' Julian recalls. Did he encourage them to pursue it to correct his own disappointments? 'That's tricky to answer. Music was always present, but Andrew and I diverged because there was no pressure to follow one path. We could embrace it or not.'
Still, their 'highly eccentric and bohemian' upbringing in a nearby Kensington building steered them that way. Their mother, Jean, taught piano, and the home buzzed with musicians, including lodgers like pianist John Lill and lyricist Tim Rice, who helped with finances. 'Dad kept mice as pets and a monkey until Mum was expecting Andrew, when it started attacking her.'
Julian has his own quirks. Instead of mice, monkeys, or cats, he collects turtles, naming two after music publishers Boosey and Hawkes. From age nine, when accompanying his mother to John Lill's home near the Leyton Orient stadium, he's been a devoted fan, attending games whenever possible. His daughter's middle name, Orienta, reflects that passion. 'Andrew and I bond over Orient more than music or money.'
He also obsessed over visiting every London Underground station as a child. 'But my biggest folly,' he confesses, 'was threepenny bits. I'd get bags from banks, sort the rare ones, and return the rest. Eventually, I got banned.' Why? He seems astonished. 'They were absurd coins!'
Some might find his four marriages (one more than Andrew's) quirky. He met Jiaxin, 23 years younger, in 2000 while she was a student; they connected in 2006 and have been wed 26 years. 'I married for love, ready to propose.' Is he a marriage advocate? 'Ask a four-time groom,' he quips good-naturedly, 'but yes. My first to journalist Celia Ballantyne lasted 15 years after five of dating. These aren't impulsive; well, one was.' Referring to his 2001 marriage to French-Algerian Kheira Bourahla, which ended unhappily after five years with police involvement he initiated, he prefers not to elaborate.
We're drifting from his comeback, which discomforts him. The arm trouble began in autumn 2013 during a Vivaldi concertos duet with Jiaxin, with pain leading to a cortisone shot. It seemed resolved as he toured China, Chile, and Scotland, then performed in Suffolk. 'But after 10 minutes, I couldn't grip the bow—a numbness, not pain. I sensed it was serious.'
A London scan confirmed a herniated neck disc affecting his right arm. He tried continuing, but his standards suffered. By May 2014, another Cromwell Hospital scan showed worsening. Three top surgeons suggested risky surgery, but with little pain (except playing) and potential wheelchair risk—especially with toddler Jasmine—he declined. He also has a 30s son, David, from his second marriage to Afghan royal family member Zohra Ghazi.
'I practiced six hours daily, nonstop concerts, then sudden stop. I was traumatized without realizing it.' Did he seek therapy? 'Charities like Help Musicians (formerly Musicians Benevolent Fund) exist, but counseling for a solo concert cellist needs someone who's been there.'
His turnaround came in 2015 as principal of the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire. 'Music is my existence; I couldn't abandon it. Coaching rising stars was part of it.' One protégé, Lauren Zhang, won BBC Young Musician 2018 and will perform at Wigmore Hall.
Loss of performing lingered, but he enjoyed Birmingham's five years. It ended in 2020 when the Office for Students slashed funding. 'No rationale,' he says. The cuts, he believes, redirected 80% of higher education music funding to London institutions like the Royal College of Music and Royal Academy of Music. 'On paper, our promised funds went to them.' His conservatoire suffered from metropolitan favoritism? 'London dominates everything.'
The withdrawn funds supported 'world-leading' specialized work. 'That's precisely what we did,' he argues. He remains connected, noting how they offered full international scholarships, now unavailable, disadvantaging them versus London.
On arts funding broadly, especially music, he's disheartened. Schools in deprived urban areas often lack music entirely—a gap he addressed in Birmingham. 'It pains me children graduate without experiencing humanity's musical masterpieces. What kind of learning is that?'
Contrast their privileged education: Parents sacrificed for Westminster School scholarships; at nine, he studied at the Royal College of Music's junior section. 'Most kids were from state schools then, forming our orchestras' foundation.' Now, 'Many attend independent schools, perpetuating the myth classical music is elite only.'
In October 2023, he criticized a Royal College misconduct scandal, calling for banning one-on-one lessons. Still his view? 'A bit rash,' he admits. 'If teaching, I'd avoid one-on-ones.'
Regarding BBC's 'dumbing down' of classical music on Radio 3 and TV, he speaks cautiously. He led the 2023 campaign saving the BBC Singers and praises Proms/Radio 3 head Sam Jackson's work. Yet, his harshest words target Keir Starmer. Despite the PM's humble roots and Guildhall music scholarship (three instruments), Lloyd Webber challenges him. 'He praised classical music's comfort during tough times. Now, action on school music—not just talk.'
Downing Street might cite other priorities. 'I get it's not Ukraine or Russia, but why not instruct Education to act while he travels?' Lloyd Webber has historically collaborated with governments on music access. Pre-Covid, he advised a state school curriculum model. 'Excellent work, but not mandatory—schools ignored it. Then, grants for university arts cut. Speechless.'
He offered help to Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy post-election—no response. His comeback might prompt attention, if successful. 'Live music's unpredictable; mishaps happen.'
He manages expectations: Two daily practice hours work without issues, far from past routines. Post-interview, he's recording in Birmingham—a short cello piece for Jasmine, thanking her inspiration. Despite caveats, this signals confidence for his birthday stage return.
The Julian Lloyd Webber 75th Birthday Gala Charity Concert occurs April 14 at Wigmore Hall; visit wigmore-hall.org.uk for details.
But here's where it gets controversial: Is prioritizing arts education in schools a luxury or a necessity in today's world? And this is the part most people miss—should governments redirect funds from elite London institutions to regional ones, or is that unfair? Do you agree with Lloyd Webber's calls for change, or see it as unrealistic? Share your opinions below—what's your take on balancing arts with other public priorities?
