This afternoon I said goodbye to the cello I have been playing on for the past 10+ years. The cello was made by Luthier John Terry, an Englishman living in Florence Italy. The story was that it was commissioned by the Frost School of music for their cello professor, Ross Harbaugh. It is a bench copy of the instrument he plays on and was delivered some time in 2007 or 2008. Ultimately the school either didn’t want it or could not come up with the money to pay for it and it ended up in limbo for a short time. I never confirmed this story as true, but I have enjoyed spreading it around nonetheless.

In mid 2009, I learned of it and was told it had been sitting in a shop in New York City for a little over a year. A colleague of mine happened to be driving down to the city for the weekend to play a concert and picked it up for me. I played it over several months in various contexts at Eastman and with the Rochester Philharmonic, and then, over Christmas break 2009, I decided to buy it. I wasn’t totally sure about it then and those who have heard me talk about this cello know that it has been a relationship marked by some ambivalence. At times it has been a difficult cello to play and I have felt quite distant from it. During other times it has felt wholly like my own voice. I wanted to make sure I honored the departure of this old friend by reflecting on what this cello has meant to me and what it has done for me.

I played all of my auditions on this cello, the successful ones and the very unsuccessful ones. It went with me to Banff and through Yellowstone National Park where we were very nearly stuck at 11,000 ft during the first big snow of the season. It went to Wyoming with me and the varnish made weird squeaking noises against my sweatpants as we recorded “Cinderland.” It has hung out in the car while I popped into gas-stations across the country for coffee. It has vacationed with me. It has visited with me. It has been with me to all four corners of the country and in doing so it has been jostled about in the back of my hatchback for probably 50,000 miles or so. It has been a total rock through all of that.

I think about the various shows that I have played locally as a member of the Madison Symphony, the Wisconsin Chamber Orchestra, the Willy Street Chamber Players. I think about the various pick-up chamber groups I played concerts with at the Chazen. I think about my recitals at UW and at Capitol Lakes. I think about all of the weddings I have played in not-so-ideal conditions. There are wedding videos of couples I don’t remember who can replay their special day and hear me on this cello. Then there are the more serious recordings this cello has been used for; I never did a full account of those, but needless to say, the two High Plains albums are the most important to me. There is a sonic record of our time together. This combination is something that will never exist again, and that’s a bit glorious, and perhaps a little too sad to ruminate about.