Shai Maestro on The Guesthouse

When we last spoke, Shai Maestro was approaching the release of his deeply personal solo piano statement, Solo: Miniatures & Tales, a project that marked a turning point in his artistic path and revealed a new vulnerability in his playing. Now, nearly one year on, and I am delighted to welcome him back to share the insights on his brand new album The Guesthouse - an album that embarks on another new chapter in his musical journey. 

With collaboration at the forefront this time around, Shai discusses the impact of such a stellar line up of featured guests on the album (including Immanuel Wilkins, MARO, and Michael Mayo), his journey into playing an active role in production, and the important influences that shaped the album...

Last time we spoke was around the release of your solo album Solo: Miniatures & Tales! How has life been since then?

Life since the solo record has felt very full. It’s been intense, but in a good way. That album marked a moment of exposure and vulnerability for me, and after its release there was a natural movement outwards towards collaboration, dialogue and complexity.

Working on The Guesthouse has been deeply energising. Being in constant exchange with the artists involved, and shaping something together rather than alone, reminded me why I make music in the first place. Seeing how the project is being received confirms that the risk was worth taking. I feel grounded, challenged, and genuinely grateful.

Jumping into the new release, does The Guesthouse feel different from your previous releases?

Absolutely. The Guesthouse is the most ambitious project I’ve made so far, both artistically and logistically. Unlike my previous work, which often came from a very internal and acoustic place, this album is fundamentally relational. It exists because of collaboration.

Every guest on the record is someone whom I deeply admire, not only musically but also as a human being. Immanuel Wilkins, MARO, Michael Mayo and others brought their full identities into the music. On top of that, the project lives in a much broader sonic world. It blends acoustic instruments with electronic production, and it was recorded across several studios in different countries. That alone changed the energy of the record and made it feel expansive, layered, and intentionally complex.

You’ve described each track as a self-contained story. How did that work as you were composing?

I was very clear from the beginning that I wanted the pieces to be concise and focused. I was interested in writing music that doesn’t wander unnecessarily, music that arrives, speaks, and leaves.

In that sense, I was deeply influenced by songwriters like James Taylor and Paul Simon –  artists who can say something essential in a few minutes. At the same time, my background in jazz is always present, even when it’s not obvious on the surface.

Each track needed to function as its own emotional universe. Even though the album has a conceptual thread, I wanted every piece to stand independently, like a short story that doesn’t require context to be felt.

You’ve mentioned the album’s title comes from a poem. Can you elaborate on that?

The title comes from Rumi’s poem 'The Guest House'. In the poem, Rumi describes the human mind as a house that hosts different guests every day. Joy, sorrow, fear, clarity, confusion. Rather than rejecting difficult emotions, he invites us to welcome them, to treat them as teachers. That idea resonates very strongly with me. Emotionally, it speaks to acceptance and presence, the ability to hold complexity without needing to resolve it immediately. Musically, it became a metaphor for the album itself. The record is a house that welcomes different voices, different aesthetics and different energies.

There is also a social dimension to this idea. We are living in a time of deep polarisation, and the simple act of welcoming the other, of making space for difference, feels right to me. The Guesthouse is my attempt to embody that openness, both musically and philosophically.

This is your deepest dive yet into production. What excited you most about shaping sound beyond the piano, and what challenged you the most?

During the COVID period, I immersed myself completely in music production. I wanted to understand sound at its most detailed level, not just as a performer or composer, but sound - sculpting point of view.

That process fundamentally changed how I listen. I no longer hear music only in terms of harmony, melody, or improvisation. I am much more aware now of texture, placement, density, silence and the intention behind every sound choice. That perspective opened a new door for me creatively.

What fascinated me most was exploring the tension between minimalism and maximalism. On one end, you have productions like Jacob Collier’s, extremely dense and detailed. On the other, something like Rosalía’s El Mal Querer, where restraint becomes power. Learning when to add and when to remove was the biggest challenge, and also the most meaningful lesson.

You’ve cited Rosalía, Paul Simon, and John Coltrane as inspirations. How do those worlds coexist in this album?

With Rosalía, the influence is very concrete. Her minimalist production language and her use of palmas, rooted in flamenco tradition, directly shaped tracks like Nature Boy and Moon of Knives. There is a physicality and rawness there that I find very compelling.

Paul Simon represents clarity and honesty in songwriting. In songs like Gloria and Strange Magic, the production is intentionally exposed. There’s nowhere to hide. The song either holds or it doesn’t. That discipline was very important for me. 

John Coltrane is less about sound and more about ethics in this album. He is a constant reference point. He represents truth, commitment, and spiritual urgency. When I write, I often ask myself whether what I’m doing is necessary, whether it’s honest. Coltrane’s presence is that internal question.

This is your first time writing lyrics. What allowed you to cross that threshold?

At first, I felt almost blocked. I have enormous respect for lyricists, and I didn’t feel entitled to enter that space lightly.

What changed everything was shifting the focus away from myself. Instead of asking what I wanted to say, I asked who was going to say it. I wrote for the singers. I imagined their voices, their breathing, their pronunciation. That removed pressure and ego from the process.

When I imagined MARO singing 'Gloria', the words emerged naturally. The lyrics became a vessel for her voice rather than a statement about me. That was liberating.

Do you have any specific tracks that resonate most with you?

I feel connected to all of them, but The Time Bender holds a special place. It explores a complex idea, time and perception, but expresses it in a very distilled way. Nature Boy also feels essential to the album’s emotional core. And of course, the collaboration with MARO is very close to my heart. Still, each track represents a different facet of the same inner landscape.

Do you have plans to perform this album live?

Yes, we are already performing it with my quartet. The complexity of the album required expanding the band, which is why I added another keyboard player. Electronics, samples, and layered textures are now part of the live language. The goal is not to reproduce the album, but to translate its spirit into a living, breathing performance.

Any future plans for new projects?

There are several projects taking shape right now, and they feel very promising. But they are still in a fragile stage, so I prefer to let them mature before speaking about them just yet.