The gentleman guitar hero
Miloš Karadaglic has an extraordinarily mellifl uous voice. It’s the kind of timbre that dissolves all other sounds in the room. In fact, as I sit down in a Chelsea restaurant with the classical guitarist to discuss his most recent album, I can’t help but notice that the waitress keeps slinking past, head suspiciously tilted as if to tune in.
Of course, Miloš is used to having this effect, and not just because of his voice. Since his debut in 2011, all three of his albums have shot to the top of the charts. In the notoriously snooty world of classical music, this is no mean feat. ‘In the classical world the guitar is not seen as equal to the violin or the piano,’ he explains, speaking with a soft Slavic accent. ‘It’s because of the repertoire, and because of the instrument not being so loud. And yet it is an instrument that communicates to absolutely everyone. It doesn’t scare anyone.’
Miloš’s own love aff air with music began many years ago, back in his home country of Montenegro. ‘I don’t remember ever not knowing that I had a good voice,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘I was really encouraged by my family because it was quite unusual.’
At that time, Montenegro was a communist nation and education was rigorously controlled. There was no option of hiring a private music teacher – musical aptitude could only be developed by going to a specialist music school. So at the age of eight, that is exactly what Miloš did. ‘I went there and they wanted me to play other instruments, but I really wanted to play the guitar. I wanted to be like Bon Jovi,’ he smiles.
With aspirations of being a rock star, he at first found the classical element to be rather uncool. ‘You had to learn the music, you had to grow your nails,’ he muses, flexing his right hand with its strumminglength fingernails. ‘I was about to give up.’
His father, however, stepped in, playing the young Miloš a record from his eclectic collection. The record was by Andrés Segovia. ‘I thought it was pure magic,’ he exclaims. ‘I felt I heard something that I wanted to become. It was a very important moment in my life, because if that hadn’t happened, I would probably now be a lawyer or a doctor like the rest of my family.’
Instead, Miloš powered on with his music, and quickly became addicted to its heady eff ect. ‘Music is an essential experience of this world because everyone understands it, no matter what background you come from. When I heard my fi rst applause, and then my first standing ovation, I was hugely excited. I remember one time the school sent me to a place very far north in Montenegro. It is an area that is very isolated, and the people there live rather badly, but the moment I began to play for them, the light in their eyes changed.’
He makes it sound terribly poetic. And listening to that silky voice, it’s hard not to be swept up in his passion (the waitress, who is topping up our water for the seventh time, clearly agrees). It doesn’t harm his case, either, that he is really rather handsome. In fact, in the many column inches that have been written about him, one cannot learn about his talent without fi rst hearing about his wonderfully symmetrical features. Does this ever bother him?
He pauses, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. ‘I am a Mediterranean guy and we like to look good. It’s actually a national trait to present ourselves in absolutely the best way we possibly can. But ultimately all that matters is the music. From the second you strum the first note, you are reaching the last and furthest person in the room. And that is something you won’t get from a good haircut and nice make-up.’
There is no denying his talent. Miloš moved to London 13 years ago to attend the Royal Academy of Music (‘Coming from Montenegro to London at that time was like taking the Virgin Galactic to Mars’) and has since poured all of his time and energy into practising, touring and building his reputation across the globe. And it has certainly paid off . From playing in front of ‘lovely ladies in the English countryside’, to filling esteemed venues such as Wigmore Hall, to presenting the BBC’s Young Musician of the Year, he is also the first ever guitarist to give a solo performance at the Royal Albert Hall.
‘There were people from all groups filling up the hall. The mature, sophisticated people who form the core audience, but also teenagers and 20-somethings who had never been to a classical concert before.’ He found the presence of the latter especially gratifying because his goal is to ‘excite younger generations’ and show them what he himself realised while listening to Segovia all those years ago: ‘Classical guitar is cool.’ His achievements are undeniably impressive, yet Miloš insists he is just getting started. ‘The decision I made as a boy set me up for the rest of my life. I play guitar because I love it, and when I play for other people it makes me the happiest man in the world.’
With his skill, his dedication – and perhaps his handsomeness – there’s no doubt he’ll be sharing this happiness with audiences for many years to come. Including, I suspect, our attentive waitress.
Miloš’s new album, Aranjuez, is out now on Decca Records, priced £9.37.
Of course, Miloš is used to having this effect, and not just because of his voice. Since his debut in 2011, all three of his albums have shot to the top of the charts. In the notoriously snooty world of classical music, this is no mean feat. ‘In the classical world the guitar is not seen as equal to the violin or the piano,’ he explains, speaking with a soft Slavic accent. ‘It’s because of the repertoire, and because of the instrument not being so loud. And yet it is an instrument that communicates to absolutely everyone. It doesn’t scare anyone.’
Miloš’s own love aff air with music began many years ago, back in his home country of Montenegro. ‘I don’t remember ever not knowing that I had a good voice,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘I was really encouraged by my family because it was quite unusual.’
At that time, Montenegro was a communist nation and education was rigorously controlled. There was no option of hiring a private music teacher – musical aptitude could only be developed by going to a specialist music school. So at the age of eight, that is exactly what Miloš did. ‘I went there and they wanted me to play other instruments, but I really wanted to play the guitar. I wanted to be like Bon Jovi,’ he smiles.
With aspirations of being a rock star, he at first found the classical element to be rather uncool. ‘You had to learn the music, you had to grow your nails,’ he muses, flexing his right hand with its strumminglength fingernails. ‘I was about to give up.’
His father, however, stepped in, playing the young Miloš a record from his eclectic collection. The record was by Andrés Segovia. ‘I thought it was pure magic,’ he exclaims. ‘I felt I heard something that I wanted to become. It was a very important moment in my life, because if that hadn’t happened, I would probably now be a lawyer or a doctor like the rest of my family.’
Instead, Miloš powered on with his music, and quickly became addicted to its heady eff ect. ‘Music is an essential experience of this world because everyone understands it, no matter what background you come from. When I heard my fi rst applause, and then my first standing ovation, I was hugely excited. I remember one time the school sent me to a place very far north in Montenegro. It is an area that is very isolated, and the people there live rather badly, but the moment I began to play for them, the light in their eyes changed.’
He makes it sound terribly poetic. And listening to that silky voice, it’s hard not to be swept up in his passion (the waitress, who is topping up our water for the seventh time, clearly agrees). It doesn’t harm his case, either, that he is really rather handsome. In fact, in the many column inches that have been written about him, one cannot learn about his talent without fi rst hearing about his wonderfully symmetrical features. Does this ever bother him?
He pauses, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. ‘I am a Mediterranean guy and we like to look good. It’s actually a national trait to present ourselves in absolutely the best way we possibly can. But ultimately all that matters is the music. From the second you strum the first note, you are reaching the last and furthest person in the room. And that is something you won’t get from a good haircut and nice make-up.’
There is no denying his talent. Miloš moved to London 13 years ago to attend the Royal Academy of Music (‘Coming from Montenegro to London at that time was like taking the Virgin Galactic to Mars’) and has since poured all of his time and energy into practising, touring and building his reputation across the globe. And it has certainly paid off . From playing in front of ‘lovely ladies in the English countryside’, to filling esteemed venues such as Wigmore Hall, to presenting the BBC’s Young Musician of the Year, he is also the first ever guitarist to give a solo performance at the Royal Albert Hall.
‘There were people from all groups filling up the hall. The mature, sophisticated people who form the core audience, but also teenagers and 20-somethings who had never been to a classical concert before.’ He found the presence of the latter especially gratifying because his goal is to ‘excite younger generations’ and show them what he himself realised while listening to Segovia all those years ago: ‘Classical guitar is cool.’ His achievements are undeniably impressive, yet Miloš insists he is just getting started. ‘The decision I made as a boy set me up for the rest of my life. I play guitar because I love it, and when I play for other people it makes me the happiest man in the world.’
With his skill, his dedication – and perhaps his handsomeness – there’s no doubt he’ll be sharing this happiness with audiences for many years to come. Including, I suspect, our attentive waitress.
Miloš’s new album, Aranjuez, is out now on Decca Records, priced £9.37.