Steven’s earliest relationship with music began in the shadows of 1970s and 80s London — a place of quiet uncertainty and inner storms that rarely spoke their name. Though the language for it came later, the weight of depression shaped his youth like an unseen gravity. Composition became the opening of a small but vital door — a private portal through which he could translate feeling into sound, and begin tracing the fragile contours of self.

Immigrating to Canada marked a turning of the page. At the University of Toronto, creative life stirred again, slowly taking root. It was not until his early thirties that Steven stepped formally into the worlds of piano, theory, and composition — arriving late, but with an intensity born of lived experience.

His work today lives mostly in the short form — brief musical reflections that lean toward the darker, ironic, and quietly satiric edges of the human condition. These pieces observe gently, but honestly; they linger in the liminal spaces between vulnerability and distance, humour and heaviness, shadow and light.
By 2026, his compositional practice had curved back upon itself — a circle closed, but not completed.

In the 1990s, Steven composed instinctively in Logic Pro, guided only by ear, memory, and emotion — untrained, untethered, and deeply intuitive. His newest works bring that instinct forward into conversation with the discipline of formal study. What emerges is a synthesis of freedom and structure: music still touched by classical form, yet never bound to it — allowed to breathe, to wander, to follow its own currents.

Here, the music moves as it wishes — unrestrained, organic, and quietly resolute — unfolding like a tide returning home.