In a world where children’s music is often defined by simplicity and cheerfulness, one artist is charting a more profound path. Chandrika Chandon’s Amu’s Treasure is more than an album—it’s a living gift, born from the intimate bedtime rituals between a grandparent and grandchild, transformed into a musical journey that bridges generations. In this candid interview, Chandon reflects on leaving a high-powered business career to embrace music as a path of joy and service, challenging the boundaries of what “children’s music” can be, and offering a vision of healing, connection, and emotional honesty through song.
So Chandrika, you’re promoting the new album, correct?
Yes, of sorts. “Promoting” feels too strong. I love creating music, but I cringe at the promoting part. Most of it is about the concerts. I’ve done a few already and have many more coming up, and that’s just pure joy.
As a creative person, do you find joy more in creating than in the business side of things?
Absolutely. Although I have a business background, what I enjoy is the artistry. This album in particular is unique—35 songs and 21 chants. It’s an omnibus. It doesn’t fit neatly into the “children’s music” category, even though that’s what I consider it to be. I’ve given my grandchildren complex music—songs with deep meaning, including ones that touch on themes like death and memory. It’s meant to elevate what children usually hear.
Can you share how this all started with your grandchildren?
It began with chants. I’d sing them to my first grandson, and he always wanted more—again and again. Eventually, I started recording them so he’d have them as memories. That turned into full nights of two-hour “concerts” in the dark with him in the crib. It became our ritual—and that’s when I decided to preserve it for him, and eventually, to share it with the world.
I think that children can understand more complex topics in music.
Yes, definitely. While repetition and rhyming are essential for learning, that doesn’t mean the music needs to be simplistic. Children can grasp more nuanced subjects when presented appropriately, like understanding loss or memory through a beautiful song.
Are you saying you’re not directly addressing dark themes, but rather using metaphor and beauty?
Exactly. Take Where Have All the Flowers Gone?—it’s about cycles in nature and loss, not direct commentary on death. Children can understand these deeper ideas through beautiful music. My grandson would sing mournful lines like “With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden” from The Ash Grove. Some may see that as sad, but to me it’s about cherishing memories.
So the songs are about emotional honesty, not sadness?
Yes. Some songs may seem mournful, but they convey important ideas. For example, The Ash Grove is about memory. I even made a booklet highlighting the big ideas from each song to help parents and grandparents share these thoughts.
Do you think music like “Que Sera Sera” can open deeper conversations with children?
Yes. My grandson once asked, “Amu, will there be a rainbow tomorrow?” I replied, “Que Sera Sera,” and that led to him learning the song. It teaches acceptance and openness to the future. These are beautiful messages we can pass on through music.
Would you say that your music challenges the idea of “children’s music”?
Definitely. I grew up without strict genre boundaries—just music. Songs like Listen to the Falling Rain or Sway are often seen as adult love songs, but when sung to my grandchildren, they become songs of connection and joy. Love is universal.
What does “Amu” mean, and how did it become the theme of the album?
“Amu” is what my grandchildren call me. It means love, joy, and purity. The album is titled Amu’s Treasure because it reflects the unconditional love we all have experienced at some point—whether from a grandparent, a parent, or someone else. I now sign off emails with “Love, Light, Laughter—and a giant Amu hug.”
Did you always do music, even during your business career?
I always sang. Even during business school, I was known for constantly playing Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly. I’d go to piano bars late at night in Brazil just to hear music after meetings. But I didn’t fully embrace music until about 20 years ago when I knew I needed more joy and service in my life.
Was it difficult to make that transition from a high-level business career to music and service?
Very. I left a major deal on the table, but I knew I had to focus on what fulfilled me: singing and giving back. I began teaching at NYU and started working with master musicians. I wasn’t trying to perform or be famous—just to sing and serve with purity of purpose.
So the album really isn’t about career success or fame.
Not at all. This is a not-for-profit project. It’s about sharing love and healing through music. The musicians involved all said it felt so pure, they wanted to give their best. Mixing took months because each version was beautiful in its own way. This wasn’t a product—it was a gift.
Have others reacted strongly to the album?
Yes. Anyone who’s heard it is deeply moved, even though not many have heard the full album yet. I’ve seen how it brings people together across generations and geographies. Whether it’s Prague or a concert hall here, the message resonates.
It seems like everything in your life led you to this point. Do you believe in that kind of synchronicity?
Absolutely. Nothing is wasted. Even in my business life, music was always there. Rumi said, “Take one step toward the Divine, and it takes ten toward you.” Once I committed, everything aligned—the right musicians, the right support. It’s not random.
Has your music brought healing or connection beyond your own family?
Yes. When I performed in Prague with Ukrainian children, they just wanted hugs. In Maryland, 250 high schoolers lined up for hugs after our concert. One student said he rediscovered the joy of singing. That’s the power of music—it builds bridges and heals.