a violin gone missing

Some thoughts on

Gone: A girl, a violin, a life unstrung

Min Kym

Viking 2017

I still remember reading the news when Min Kym’s Stradivarius violin was stolen from near her table in a Pret a Manger outside Euston Station in London. (On our way to St. Pancras we usually have coffee at a Pret a couple of hundred metres earlier, but I think on one or two occasions I may have used the same one.) So it felt a bit weird buying a memoir pegged to that story, but then again, it crossed my path when I had just restored a neglected family fiddle, so was on a violin vibe anyway and keen to read the violinist’s account of her relation with her instrument.

As the guardian of several old string instruments that are a bit less valuable than virtually all of those mentioned in the book, I am in two minds about the story of the author and her violin. I can relate to the emotional bond she describes, especially to the instruments that have a long and well-documented history, as the Strads usually have (but some of my more modest instruments also have to a certain extent).

But then the value thing comes in and disturbs the romantic story of emotional connection – Kym doesn’t appear to consider any instruments worth playing if they have fewer than six figures on the price tag. After her beloved Strad was stolen, she duly got the megabuck (literally) payout from the insurance, but by the time the stolen instrument was recovered, the money had dispersed this way and that, as life happened and she was unable to continue her glamorous solo career without the one instrument that meant everything to her. So she wasn’t able to pay back the insurance and thus couldn’t get the instrument back.

Which in a way reflects the typical situation that even celebrated soloists find themselves in these days – the prices of these instruments are so astronomical that no amount of gigging and recording will pay for them. If they’re lucky they can find investors who will buy the instruments and let the musicians play them. This can be a win-win, as appearances with a top player will also boost the value of the instrument and thus the wealth of the investor.

This is tragic in a way, but it was to be expected if you have a very limited resource in a competitive capitalist environment. Arguably, by hyping the importance of playing only the best 17th/18th century instruments and nothing else the stars of classical music have dug this hole for themselves. Had they kept quieter about it, and from time to time agreed to play on instruments built by mere mortals, they might still be able to afford the top of the range.

Obviously, there is a similar race going on for the quality of the performers themselves – in a global competitive environment, where you can easily compare recordings made by everybody in the field, the top edge of the triangle gets higher and sharper, but that doesn’t help the rest of us, who are playing our ordinary instruments as best we can near the bottom of the pile.

Both of these developments are the opposite of what we are trying to do in folk music, encouraging everybody to join the fun, with whatever instrument they can find on a flea market. Personally, I am convinced that I am learning more about music (including the classical repertoire as well as folk) by trying to play it myself than by listening to some superstar having fun with their Strad.

So I’m afraid my empathy doesn’t go up in line with the price tag – if somebody has their much-loved folk fiddle stolen I can appreciate that it means as much to them as the Strad meant to Kym, even if there are five orders of magnitude between the market prices of the instruments. Although I’ll also continue to read stories of Stradivarius instruments (such as the six collected in this book I reviewed earlier) as tales from an alien civilisation.

The edition I found at a charity shop - appears to be a first edition and it is signed, so maybe it could become valuable too - if and when the author's solo career recovers. The blue dust jacket has a violin-shaped hole revealing the black of the hardcover binding underneath, which is kind of clever alluding to the dark hole in the author's life as well as perhaps the process of carving the instruments out of trees?

See also my twitter thread listing books I read in 2022. In the new year, the thread will be on Mastodon instead.