Different But The Same??

I’m sorry that it’s been so long since my last blog... I didn’t feel like I had anything to say, and I'm definitely not writing to waste anyone's time. This past week I had an emotional adventure with my cello that made me rather nostalgic about my beautiful instrument. I think the story is pretty cool, but maybe everybody thinks the story of getting their instrument is ‘cool.’

            I can still remember it all clearly. That summer had been trouble from the start. My carpal tunnel had gotten worse tenfold and even though I was at a music festival I wasn’t playing more than an hour a day. My teacher had told me at the beginning of the summer it was time to start looking for a new cello. My old cello was holding me back and exacerbating my carpal tunnel. With all of my free time up at Sewanee Summer Music Festival I began to look into cellos. What they were made of, their basic setup, and signs that point to a good instrument. Of course the more I surfed the web, the more I wanted to start playing all the amazing cellos I was seeing in many shops' inventories.

            One thing led to another, and I ended up calling Regie Williams and talking to him about getting a cello. He asked me questions about myself and what I looked for in an instrument. Everyone says you have a feeling, but I didn’t believe it. When Regie told me about an ‘old English cello’ that he was selling I suddenly felt a great urgency to get down to Atlanta and play it. I would do anything to play it, but how was I suppose to get down to it? I had no car. I knew it would have to wait. I wasn’t too disappointed since I hadn’t even played it, but I didn’t feel right about it either. I told Cremaine Booker (a fellow cellist) about my predicament, and before I knew it we were in his car and headed down to play my English cello.

            It was a great time. We listened to all of Beethoven’s third symphony and Cremaine taught me about its history and meaning. We talked about theory and cello. We finished the ride blasting Shostakovich’s 12^th symphony. If you’ve never heard this symphony, stop reading my blog NOW! Go listen to it, it’s amazing! Anyways, the three hour car ride seemed to take only an hour. The closer we got the more anxious I became.

            When we walked in the shop, I became truly excited. It’s hard not to with a hundred some odd instruments surrounding you. We headed to a room in the back and he had set up a chair for me to play in. He gave me a cello (not my English cello). I played around on it for a second and knew it wasn’t for me. Too bright, no soul. No passion. He gave me another that was a little better. But it still wasn’t something I loved. Regie came in and set down a cello in the corner of the room and walked out. Just looking at it I knew it was my English cello. I immediately handed Cremaine the cello I was playing and picked up the cello in the corner.

            It was a blonde instrument which was rather funny, because I told Cremaine on the way up that I’ve NEVER wanted a blonde instrument. It is a dirty blonde though! My English cello can only be described as different. It doesn’t take any musician long to spot its ‘flaw.’ It has a flat top. No arch. At one point in the 125 years it's been around the front must have caved in. It’s in perfectly good condition now after some reconstructive surgery. I don’t know when or where it happened, but it’s got a scar right down the middle to show for it. However, this didn’t change my mind. It was still amazingly beautiful.

             I was so nervous I waited a minute or two before I played it. I just sat there, bow in hand, waiting. What would I play? Elgar seemed too drastic. Popper was too formal. Haydn didn’t feel right. I finally settled on a G major scale. I know that’s rather boring but it was safe and who doesn’t love a G major scale? As I played the G, I could feel the whole cello vibrating. It was happy somebody was playing it. As I moved to the A, Cremaine just laughed. I knew I loved it but why was he laughing? Of course, he wouldn’t tell me. He didn’t want to affect my choice. If I was going to choose this cello, he wanted it to be purely my decision.

            Like I said, I always thought that getting a ‘special feeling’ about an instrument was weird but I knew within two notes of playing my English cello that I had made my choice. Of course I wasn’t completely close-minded. I continued to play more music. But nothing in the cello made me want to set it down. I tried out a few other instruments but even the more expensive instruments weren’t for me. I knew I could try a hundred instruments and I still wouldn’t find one I loved more.My English was loud, had power, strength, a bold but rich tone. It was everything I could ever want.

            My cello teacher still thinks I got swept up into the Romance of it all. It is an older instrument and it sure is beautiful. It took a while to get Annie’s approval, and maybe I never really got it but I knew that cello was mine. Everyone who heard it loved it but most importantly I loved it. I knew somehow it needed me. It was broken, just like me. With all the carpal tunnel problems I had been having, I felt like my injuries had broken me as a musician. This cello was like me. And just as much as I chose it, my English cello chose me.