Well, it was one
of those things I came across in that surreal time between wake and sleep, when
a medicine I take that knocks me off reliably forty minutes after taking it
then wakens me sternly and craves sweets. It’s called mirtazapine, and if you
don’t have to take it, don’t. If, however, like me, the choice is the black dog
of depression or mirtazapine, then run for it. Anyway, here’s the text:
Hi, please read this letter. I am a musician who has nothing to
do with this incident, but I am very interested in making sure that no harm
comes to the extraordinary antique you have in your possession.
1. You need to know that without a violin case, you risk serious
harm to a living piece of history. I know you threw away the case, so go buy
another violin case at a music store. Today. Store the violin safely in the
case.
2. Dry winter air could be very damaging to the violin. Go out
today and buy a room humidifier. Run it a few hours a day in the room where you
keep the violin. If the wood dries out too much, it will crack, doing terrible
damage.
3. You will never sell this violin. The violin is individually
known and marked. It is not like a diamond where you can have it recut before
it's fenced—think of the violin more like a human being, as someone's child. It
is a living piece of history, 300 years old. Benjamin Franklin was a boy of 9
when this violin was lovingly crafted in northern Italy.
There is a powerful network out there looking for stolen
instruments. If you attempt to sell it, you will certainly be caught and will
spend years in jail. What you have done is tantamount to kidnapping. Violinists
the world over hate your guts. Not a one will give you a dime.
4. After you buy the case, your best bet is to take the violin
into a local mall and set it down safely, then walk away. Leave it somewhere
warm where it won't be crushed or in danger of water damage.
Do the honorable thing. Give the violin up so that it may
continue making music. It is worth nothing to you, while the music that still
lives inside it is priceless.
Well,
as a cellist, that was all pretty interesting. Also interesting is that this
appeared on Craigslist > Milwaukee > all personals > rants and raves.
What was the deal, or would I go back to bed? Bed I could do, I decided; a
stolen violin in Milwaukee was beyond my reach.
The
next day, I checked in on what I had been reading during the night, and was
interested to find that it was the Lipinski Stradivarius
that was
stolen in an armed robbery in a Milwaukee parking lot after a concert.
That
at least is reassuring, since the possessor of the violin—Frank
Almond, the concertmaster of the Milwaukee
Symphony—had been attacked with a stun gun and had the violin taken from
him. And that implies—at least to me—that the thieves (a man and a woman) knew
very well what they wanted and what it was worth.
In
the case of Strads, many of them are named after the famous people who have
played them. But this Strad is particularly illustrious—it was owned by Giuseppe Tartini, an
Italian baroque composer most known for his “Devil’s Trill”
sonata. Why the instrument is known as the Lipinski Strad—after Karol Lipinski, a Polish
violinist of the first half of the 19th century—and not the Tartini
Strad is a mystery no one can explain.
So
the concertmaster had left the concert with his violin…but wait. It
wasn’t—Almond, like so many others, couldn’t afford an instrument of that
quality and especially that rarity. So the violin was on loan. But from whom?
It isn’t stated—or rather, the violin was lent anonymously by someone who had
“strong ties to Milwaukee,” but it’s almost
certainly the estate of Richard Anschuetz, a pianist who bought the
instrument for his wife, the Estonian violinist Evi Liivak. Here’s what one source had to say:
Mr. Anschuetz
missed her dearly, and continued to do so until his death in 2008. He could not
bear to be parted from her beloved violin, and treasured it to the end.
So
Almond was—in a sense—lucky. The worst fear of a string player is that their
instrument will be stolen by some junkie, who will abuse it and possibly
destroy it. That said, I can’t imagine the agony of having my cello stolen. It
would not be losing my instrument, not even losing my voice: it would be losing
my soul.
Don’t
think that it goes just one way—that the player makes the music. I recently
rented for a week a cello in New York City. It was a cello mass produced in
China, and it wasn’t bad, though it was miles behind my instrument at home. But
that’s when I learned: even a bad cello can sound good. But it can sound good
in only one way. A great instrument can sound good in every way.
And
so an instrument teaches the player—suggests a sonority, allows a phrasing,
responds and reacts. And it becomes not an instrument but a part of the body.
Which
is why a surprising number of players have had their instruments stolen: their
instrument is so much a part of them that they forget to watch it, or even take
it out of the cab they had been riding in. Think I’m wrong? Quick—what is your
left hand doing right now?
It
happened
to Min-Jim Kym in 2010—she was eating at a London Pret a Manger and checking
her iPhone (why am I not surprised?) and then…the Strad that she had been lent
was gone. And then, after three years, it turned up in the Midlands. But in a
curious and horrible twist of fate, the owner of the violin decided to put the
instrument up for auction. It was sold for 1.38 million pounds. Kym, one classy
lady, released this statement:
"This violin was a faithful friend
for many years, and I was devastated by its loss," Min-Jin Kym said.
"Its recovery is an absolute relief, and I am eager to hear the violin
onstage once more. I wish its next owner all the best of luck and
success."
What
do cellists Lynn Harrell, Yo-Yo Ma, and the
violinist Philippe Quint have in
common? They all have left their instruments in taxis—and all have gotten them
back. And yes, all of them were Strads.
It
seems that Harrell, at least, should stick to ground transport, if possible.
Why? Check out the video below….
