The Story Behind Our Name

Every ensemble has a story, but ours began with an encounter that changed us forever. Early in our journey as a trio, we met someone whose spirit, generosity, and love for music would shape not only how we performed, but also how we understood the purpose of what we do. His name was Bruce.

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A Night with Bruce

It was a fairly normal weekend of performances for us. We had just played some concerts in the New Jersey area and were enjoying the weekend of travel and performing.

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After a day of performing, as we were sight-reading and relaxing, we got the phone call we had been waiting for. The answer was yes — we would be able, after all, to perform once more that weekend.

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We were thrilled because this time it would be for our dear friend, Bruce, who wasn’t able to come to the other concerts we had played that weekend. We excitedly packed up our instruments and headed over to his home.

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The reason Bruce had been unable to attend our other concerts was because he was paralyzed and lived in an assisted living facility nearby. In the past, Bruce had been able to make special arrangements to attend our concerts, since the wonderfully caring staff knew of and appreciated his deep love for music and would make any extra effort they could to help him attend.

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But these days, Bruce’s health had taken a turn, and they thought it best for him not to venture out in the winter air. Needless to say, we were delighted to bring our music to Bruce; it was the least we could do.

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Once we got there, Bruce was his usual sunny self — never minding his own health issues and instead wanting to hear all about what we had been up to. After catching up, we began to play for him. The piece was Beethoven’s, and as incredible as it was, what was most incredible for us was Bruce’s reaction.

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When Bruce listened to music, he was transported. It was clear that despite the serious health challenges he was facing, his pain and illness were far from his mind as he contentedly listened to us play. From the expression on his face, we could tell that he was in a state of true peace.

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After we finished playing, Bruce couldn’t contain his excitement. We assured him that we felt just as excited to get the chance to visit and to see him in such good spirits.

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With that, Bruce began sharing stories of his life prior to his paralysis — memories of a life we’d known nothing about. We learned about his many jobs and experiences and, eventually, about that which clearly mattered most to him: his family.

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He was enormously proud of his daughter, who at the time was studying abroad. Bruce glowed when speaking about her. Her name was Niamh (a Gaelic name, pronounced “Neave”), which, as we later learned, appropriately means “bright” or “radiant.”

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After many hours visiting with Bruce, it was eventually time to go. As we left the facility that night, we knew — without saying a word — that somehow this experience had changed something for all of us. It had clarified, in the span of an evening, why we do what we do. Something deep inside had clicked.

That night with Bruce was about nothing if not humanity. In one short evening, we had engaged with one another fully. The three of us and Bruce were completely present and captivated by one another — we by Bruce’s tremendous spirit and stories, and he by our music.

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We had exchanged with one another: Bruce giving to us more than he knew through his spirit and stories, and our giving what we could to him through the Beethoven that we played.

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That evening with Bruce was, in some ways, more important than any debut we would ever perform because it so perfectly captured what engaging, exchanging, and connecting through music can mean.

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Weeks later, we received a note from Bruce. Ever the poetic spirit, it was a beautiful message written on the back of a copy of the Beethoven trio manuscript we had played for him. In that note, Bruce thanked us for “sharing our souls” with him, declared that he “now doubt{ed} that {he} was alone,” and that, if there was a heaven, he felt he had been “given a taste of its music — for only angels could play so beautifully.”

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The fact that this beautiful note was also signed by Bruce — no small feat for someone in his condition — made it all the more poignant. We were truly humbled to receive it, and to this day, each of us carries a copy of it in our instrument cases as a daily reminder of Bruce.

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Why We Chose the Name Neave

When it came time to choose a name for our trio, we knew instantly that we wanted to honor Bruce and his daughter, Niamh — the “bright” or “radiant” light whose name captured everything we had felt that night.

For us, Neave is a symbol of connection — of how music can illuminate the human spirit, bring people together, and remind us of our shared capacity for joy, empathy, and meaning. That single evening with Bruce continues to guide everything we do: how we play, how we listen, and how we share music with the world.