I grew up with a wildly eclectic soundtrack – from Frank Sinatra’s smooth charm and the wholesome vibes of The Carpenters to Nina Simone’s soulful grit, Sinéad O’Connor’s fearless spirit, Whitney Houston’s powerhouse anthems and the obligatory show tunes from The Phantom of the Opera, Cats and Les Misérables. My parents couldn’t play an instrument or carry a tune, but they sure knew how to cut a rug, which was their little taste of freedom.

Petra Kalive. Photo © Naomi Jellicoe

Every time I popped on a cassette in the car, I relished not only that satisfying click at the start of a musical journey but also the chance to sing my heart out. I’d strain for those high notes and entertain my family with my running commentary on the sheer absurdity of some of the lyrics. I’ve always wished I had pipes of steel, but as my dear grandmother once hinted, my attempts at belting out a tune more closely resembled a cat in its final throes than anything opera-worthy.

Music has been at the heart of my life from the very start. At five years old, I was twirling in...