My cello, the protagonist of this book, was born in 1720 in the northern Italian city of Cremona.
In 1720, thirty-five-year-old Johann Sebastian Bach, then kapellmeister at the prince of Anhalt-Cöthen’s court, was composing his six suites for unaccompanied cello, among other works. At that time, when Philip V was king of Spain, the sun never set on the Spanish dominions. The viceroyalty of New Spain extended from the Panamanian border region to Louisiana, east along the Atlantic coast, and west to what later became the territory of Oregon on the Pacific.
The cello in question, created in 1720 by Antonio Stradivari, has changed hands several times during its 286 years of life. While in the possession of various cellists in different countries, it has witnessed peaceful, turbulent, and tragic times.
Since 1979, I have had the privilege of being the temporary trustee of this cello, known as the Piatti. I say “trustee” because I believe that a work of art—like this instrument—cannot be considered property, like a house or any other material object at one’s disposal. Those of us fortunate enough to play instruments that are genuine works of art must take the responsibility for treating them as such, with the utmost care, so as to transmit them to their future “trustees” in the best condition possible.
Since the day that the Piatti came into my hands, I started investigating its history, and soon it occurred to me that it might well be material for a book. The “biography” of a cello may perhaps seem like a trivial, rather dreary subject, whereas the biographies of great men and women appeal to us for many obvious reasons. However, rarely do we stop to think that some objects, like certain musical instruments, also lead a life filled with dramatic episodes and exciting adventures that reflect certain unique aspects of evolving societies and cultures. My research has taken me several years, and I hope to continue with this pursuit, even after the publication of this book. The history of the Piatti, its life and miracles—and there have certainly been many during its long and almost tercentarian life—are discussed in the second part of this book.
Since I believed that the biography and the adventures of the Piatti might be better understood if they were preceded by a brief history of violin making, Part One of the book is devoted to this subject. Here I explore the remote origin of stringed instruments, the birth of the various members of the violin family, the history of the great Italian violin makers—headed by Antonio Stradivari and Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesù—and the evolution of the violin, viola, and cello.
The birth of the Piatti took place during the same period that the cello began to figure more prominently in the history of music. In fact, it coincides with the dates when J. S. Bach composed the six solo suites for cello (c. 1720), the first fundamental work in the history of this instrument.
Part Three of this book is titled “A Brief History of Cello Music from Stradivari to the Present.” Here I refer to such subjects as the gradual incorporation of the cello into the category of a great solo instrument, the cello works of the principal composers, the musical treasures found in its repertoire, and the roles and contributions of some of the most outstanding cellists of the past and present.
Part Three highlights only the main features in the history of cello music, without entering into great detail or attempting a comprehensive, in-depth analysis of this complex subject.
I must clarify a few additional points regarding Part Two, devoted to the history of the Piatti. Although its existence from 1720 to 1979 has been the subject of my research ever since it came into my hands, its life has been intimately linked to mine. Therefore, this story contains many autobiographical elements. I include, for example, a brief account of the adventures that the Piatti and I have experienced during our travels around the world. I certainly wish I had come across similar anecdotes written by its former owners!
In addition to describing several of our tours throughout Europe, Asia, and the Americas, I also refer to one of the subjects that has most absorbed me over the past twenty-six years: celebrating and promoting the music of Mexico and of the Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking countries from both sides of the Atlantic. Through the years I have met many distinguished personalities in the world of Mexican, Latin American, Spanish, and Portuguese music in general, and without professing to have made substantial contributions to Latin American or Iberian musicology, I describe my encounters with some of these musicians—some are close friends who have dedicated numerous works to me. I discuss the music and musicians of Latin America, Spain, and Portugal, the works that I premiered (almost always with the Piatti), the often picturesque circumstances characterizing these premieres, and my tours and musical adventures with this cello.
The painting and literature of Latin America are better known than its music, although the quality of the latter is certainly on the same level. We, the people from Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking countries, have the obligation, as far as possible, to promote and honor our artistic legacy (in my case, music), especially in these times when most First World nations view our countries through a distorted lens of misconceptions and oversimplifications, focusing only on the most negative aspects of our reality and minimizing the importance and merits of our extremely diverse and rich ancestral cultures.
The instruments created by the great violin makers are often named after some famous musician or prominent collector who has owned them. They are also sometimes identified with a distinctive trait or a particular aspect of their life. Thus, for example, the Stradivari viola once owned by Paganini is known as the ex-Paganini or simply as the Paganini, whereas his Guarneri violin was dubbed Il Cannone for its extraordinarily potent sound. A Montagnana cello that spent an entire century untouched and immobile in its case in England was nicknamed Sleeping Beauty. My cello, when it was in Ireland and England between 1818 and 1900, was known as the Red Stradivari. Shortly after 1900 it became the Piatti, or ex-Piatti, after the prominent Italian cellist Alfredo Piatti, who owned it from 1867 till 1901.