I have always loved piano players of the 1920s - 1940s, such as legends like Willie 'The Lion' Smith, 'Fats' Waller, Jelly Roll Morton and James 'The Brute' Johnson. They always felt more like mythical creatures than mere mortals. I would read stories of furious 'cutting contests' where even to sit in the piano chair meant that you had to be at the very least a virtuoso; they would use these cutting contests as battles, playing late into the night at a rent house party or in some steamy bordello. If they couldn't cut it, they were out; they had to play and then stand their ground to defend their place in the world of stride piano. So it was with great interest that I went to a series of four concerts where pianist Helen Crayford re-created those sessions by playing some of the hot music of that era.

Wait a minute! Doesn't Helen Crayford play for the Britten Sinfonia? Wasn't she at one time a pupil of Nadia Boulanger, and trained solely in classical piano technique? How can these two careers live along side each other? I had to find out, so I met her at a rehearsal before one of her shows at the Holywell Music Room in Oxford. But something has happened to the room: with a grand piano on stage and period posters adorning the walls, palms rose up from ornate pots that somehow complemented a period costume fit for a 1920s bordello.

In a break before the show we went for a drink; I had spoken to her earlier on the phone imagined a woman with a tour de force personality. I was right - like her playing, conversation flowed freely, with punch and direction, quickly responding like a competitor in one of those old, bygone cutting contests.

SK You have already had such a successful career as a "classical" pianist, one that is very much removed from speakeasy piano bars, so in many respects, you don't need to play this sort of music. What are your reasons for doing so?

HC It all happened fifteen years ago, a long time before the Britten Sinfonia. Then I was freelancing around London, playing with small ensembles or with opera singers, but I felt there was something unimaginative about it. A composer friend of mine bought me a book for my birthday called Rags, and Novelty rags from 1890 to 1940. As soon as I picked it up I was converted! I suddenly realised I could let my hair down. The more I thought about it, the more I realised how much I love the turn of the century as a period: I could have elaborate stage settings and I could wear the dresses as a women then. It was a fantastic revelation.