Yu Chun-Yee, formerly professor of piano at the Royal College of Music, and with whom I studied piano for ten years, died on 23 December 2023 from cancer, aged eighty-six. It is rather surprising that no obituary of this remarkable pianist and teacher has yet appeared in the mainstream press.

Yu Chun-Yee was born in Shanghai on 12 July 1936. He grew up in Singapore, where he attended the Chinese High School and then the Raffles Institution. Aged eighteen, he won the Singapore Musical Society competition where the judge was Julius Katchen, and also represented Singapore at the first Asian Music Festival in Hong Kong. He further obtained the diploma of Licenciate of the Royal Schools of Music.

In 1956, he was awarded a grant of financial support that enabled him to come to England and become the first Singaporean pianist to study at the Royal College of Music. His professor was the noted Beethoven exponent Kendall Taylor, and Yu would follow him as an exceptional interpreter of that composer. At the RCM, where he studied for four years, he won the McEwen Prize for piano and the Ricordi Prize for conducting. His performances in RCM concerts included works by Bach, Brahms, and Chopin.

At the end of his time in England, he was awarded the opportunity to study in Siena with Busoni pupil Guido Agosti, and then went on to complete his studies in Paris with Magda Tagliaferro. His Wigmore Hall debut followed in 1961 and in 1963 he was the soloist in Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto with the London Philharmonic Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall. This performance was still described in superlative terms many years later. 1963 also saw his only solo broadcast for the BBC Home Service with an all-Bach programme.

At this time, Yu also became the pianist in the Tagore Piano Trio with violinist Frances Mason and cellist Jennifer Ward-Clarke, and the trio broadcast on a number of occasions on the BBC. His last broadcast with them was in 1969.

Yu’s performing career was seriously curtailed by a hand injury that I was told had occurred as a result of practising the demanding double octave passages in the Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto. Had this not happened, there can be little doubt that he would have further established himself among the front rank of pianists of his generation. It certainly did not altogether stop him; a demanding solo recital programme in Singapore in 1978 featured a programme including Beethoven’s “Appassionata” sonata and Chopin’s second piano sonata. But by the time I came to study with him he only very rarely demonstrated at the keyboard, and that more often with his left hand than his injured right.

Perhaps initially out of necessity, Yu’s focus shifted to teaching, but it was soon apparent that he had just as much ability in that field as in performance. In 1972 he was appointed to the professorial staff of the RCM, and in the mid-1970s was also teaching piano at the University of Reading, which in those days had a music department. He combined these appointments with examining for the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music, and would regularly examine overseas, combining this with concert tours. He often visited the Far East and returned to Singapore on numerous occasions, also touring Japan and Taiwan.

To convey something of Yu’s impact as a teacher, it would be sufficient to say that there was no problem that a pianist might encounter in technique or interpretation to which he could not offer a well thought-out and effective answer. He excelled in the analysis of thorny difficulties and subtle gradations of style, always demanding the highest of standards and absolute dedication to the music. He did not impose a particular interpretative style, nor belonged to any particular school of pianism, but expertly aided the student to bring out their own qualities in response to the music. His authority extended over the entire piano repertoire, from the established canon to contemporary music, and even when a work was new to him he could quickly grasp its essence and offer insightful comment on it.

There was great competition to study with him, particularly among those students at the RCM who had come from the Far East, and many of his students went on to successful musical careers. As well as the three days a week that he taught at the RCM, he also taught privately at his home in Golders Green, where his mahogany-cased Steinway had a particularly beautiful tone but also one of the heaviest actions I had encountered – which makes some things more difficult for the pianist but others easier.

Yu projected an air of urbane civility and wisdom that made him an engaging personality. He had mastered the often difficult politics of working within institutions and with the assistance of a number of exceptional colleagues ensured that the RCM’s piano faculty achieved a pre-eminent place among the London conservatoires. There were many accounts of his kindness and generosity towards his students and I was certainly among those who had reason to be grateful for his support.

In 1988, the RCM appointed Yu to its Fellowship in recognition of his contribution to the institution and to music. But in 1998, faced with the iconoclastic changes now being implemented at the RCM as well as his long-held promise to return permanently to Singapore one day, he decided to leave for home, initially taking up the Vice-Principalship of the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts and later founding the School of Young Talents. He remained an advisor to the RCM for some years.

Away from the piano, he was a player of bridge to a high level, and competed on many occasions for high stakes. When travelling, he would often seek out opportunities to play bridge both for its social benefits and as an intellectual discipline. He was also a connoisseur of the cuisine of the Far East, and a memorable lunch of dim sum with him included a number of dishes that I have never encountered in England since.

He was married twice, firstly in December 1963 to Isabella Miao, by whom he had two sons, and secondly in June 1982 to Jung Chang.