A lot of people describe the baton as a wand, like Harry Potter would use. That’s not true, obviously, but there is some truth to it. The baton itself has to feel like an extension of your arm and body. It’s there to elevate what’s happening inside you, the music you’re trying to create. At first it was intended just to keep time, and it was a long staff. I forget the name of the composer, but he ended up stabbing himself in the foot with it and got a staph infection and died. So they moved from using a long staff to a stick. My baton is crafted out of an African wood. I had it custom-made by This story is from Kinfolk Issue Thirty-six Buy Now Related Stories Music Issue 36 Roderick Cox In Berlin, Stephanie d’Arc Taylor meets the man who makes music move—orchestra conductor Roderick Cox. Arts & Culture Issue 19 Going Incognito We all secretly wonder what mischief we’d make if invisible: When our identity is hidden, everything seems possible. Arts & Culture Issue 19 The Best Policy Sometimes we talk to each other without feeling heard. Honesty—a most intimate interaction—can be just as thrilling as its more devious inverse. Arts & Culture Issue 19 A Sense of Suspense With unhinged imaginations and mountains of cliff-hangers, the filmmakers behind the sci-fi podcast Limetown have all the makings of a scary story. Arts & Culture Issue 19 Like Clockwork In this new column about time, we learn how slipping off our watches makes us feel like deadline-damning renegades. Arts & Culture Music Issue 19 On a Grander Scale Malaysian singer-songwriter Yuna now may live on the opposite side of the globe, but she’s determined to evolve while staying true to her roots.