HOT LUNCH | A middle-aged white man and his flute

When international musical sensation and three-time Grammy-winning flautist Wouter Kellerman’s business partner, Tholsi Pillay, joined him on his improbable journey to stardom, she told him: “Wouter, you’re a middle-aged white flute player in Africa. It’s not looking very good. I think you’re going to need my help.” It was indeed an almost quixotic quest.

We are at Fairlawns Boutique Hotel & Spa in Sandton for a Wine & Executive Club dinner, quaffing Glenelly Estate’s Lady May while contemplating the extraordinary second act of a man who spent 20 years waiting to fulfil his childhood ambition.

The wine pairing could not be more serendipitous. Madame May-Éliane de Lencquesaing bought Glenelly — then a Stellenbosch fruit farm — at the tender age of 76. She had already embarked on a second act, inheriting a French wine estate at 55 and studying oenology after years as a peripatetic military wife. Glenelly was the third act for the now centenarian.

Kellerman’s first act began in Linden, Johannesburg, in a household dominated by classical music, with one exception.

“There was one non-classical album, a Miriam Makeba album, which I played night and day. And when my mom went off to work, the lady who looked after me played only African music the whole morning. So from very early on, I really enjoyed the crossover.”

His mother was a chemist, his father a banker, and at 10, following a family outing to the symphony orchestra, he chose the flute and never put it down.

“I liked the idea of expressing myself with my breath. I absolutely loved playing the flute. My teacher was so amazing; she was so encouraging.”

School was an unhappy place. Despite being academically gifted, he constantly whistled melodies under his breath, irritating his teachers. One saddled him with an unkind nickname that stuck throughout primary school.

“It was terrible. There was a lot of bullying, a very difficult time, and in the middle of that was this teacher who was incredibly encouraging. It just takes someone to encourage you.”

His talents lay in music and mathematics, but the family couldn’t afford music studies. An Anglo American scholarship offered an alternative: electrical and electronic engineering.

He continued practising, performed with the Johannesburg Symphony Orchestra, and, after working on the coal mines, attempted to become a professional musician.

“Within six months, my money had run out. So I had to go back to engineering.”

By then he had a young family. His marriage ended, he gained custody of his children and became their primary caregiver.

“I was the taxi dad that looked after the homework, that took them to their lessons. It just didn’t work to be a musician.

“So I started my own engineering software company, which I ran in the mornings; the afternoons I spent with the kids, and in the evenings I would try and find an hour to play the flute.”

For two decades, he maintained this balancing act, allowing himself three weeks each year for international masterclasses.

“My mom told me that perseverance is so much more important than talent, and I kept that in mind. I just kept on practising every day.”

Finally, at 44, with his children sufficiently independent and his financial obligations settled, he took the plunge.

“People thought I was being crazy. I was having a midlife crisis. But I had waited 20 years. There was absolutely no way I was not going to give it a full try.”

He insists this was calculated rather than reckless. “I had paid off my house, my car, my kids’ studies. Everything was paid off. I couldn’t do it earlier because that could maybe have put my family at risk.”

Success was hardly instantaneous. His first album was mixed in Los Angeles by a producer whose previous project had won eight Grammys, but the major labels weren’t interested.

“I remember walking into Universal, and the guy says to me, ‘Wouter, we love you. We love your music. We think you’re amazing, but it’s just not our thing.’ And I looked on his desk. There was the CD still in its plastic. He had not even listened.”

Undeterred, Kellerman rented the UJ Theatre for three nights, distributed flyers on parked cars and enlisted his friends to fill seats. The resulting DVD won him his first South African Music Award.

His philosophy remains uncompromising. “If you can imagine it better, redo it. And I can always imagine it better.”

Engineering had taught him that artistic excellence alone doesn’t guarantee success.

“Musicians can’t just be musicians. You have to run your 360-degree music business. I’m hands-on with every aspect.”

For Kellerman and Pillay, this meant doorstepping journalists, sleeping on floors and couches in the US and fighting relentlessly to change perceptions of the middle-aged white man and his flute.

International recognition followed, although he remains pragmatic. “The Grammy doesn’t automatically open doors. It’s not like people are going to book you because of it, but it’s a fantastic tool in your arsenal.”

His greatest pleasure seems to lie in collaboration. He recalls working with traditional musicians at Rajasthan’s folk festival in Jodhpur.

“They don’t speak any English, but still we’re able to spend a few days and create a whole evening of music. It blows my mind that people from completely different places in the world can find each other.”

Building bridges through music remains his mission, evident in his latest collaboration, Drum in My Heart, with Makhadzi Entertainment.

Yet receiving South Africa’s Order of Ikhamanga in Gold earlier this year moved him more profoundly than the Grammys.

“For me, the most important recognition is at home, where the people that I love are. People in South Africa matter. To me that’s a higher, more important award than the Grammy. It just touches my heart more.”