Masters of Tonewood: The Hidden Art of Fine Stringed-Instrument Making

MASTERS OF TONEWOOD

Masters of Tonewood

The Hidden Art of Fine Stringed-Instrument Making

Jeffrey Greene

UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA PRESS

Charlottesville and London

University of Virginia Press

© 2022 by Jeffrey Greene

All rights reserved

First published 2022

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Greene, Jeffrey, author.

Title: Masters of tonewood : the hidden art of fine stringed-instrument making / Jeffrey Greene.

Description: Charlottesville : University of Virginia Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021042951 (print) | LCCN 2021042952 (ebook) | ISBN 9780813947464 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780813947471 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Stringed instruments—Construction. | Tonewoods. | Forests and forestry.

Classification: LCC ML755 .G82 2022 (print) | LCC ML755 (ebook) | DDC 787/.19—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021042951

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021042952

All photographs by the author unless otherwise noted.

Cover art: Violin image, iStock.com/annedehaas; background image, photo courtesy of Jeffrey Greene/Cremona Musica/30 September 2018

For Mary, and for Roger Raymond

In memory of Mark Harrill Saunders (1966–2019), director of the University of Virginia Press

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,

Or th’ unseen Genius of the wood.

—Il Penseroso, John Milton

CONTENTS

Tuning Up: An Introduction

1 | Origins

2 | A Musical Instrument Is More than a Tool

3 | Norway Spruce and Figured Maple in Violin Family Instruments

4 | Cremona and the Paneveggio Forest: Tonewood Sources for the Amati, Stradivarius, and Guarnerius Instruments

5 | The Franco-Swiss Jura Mountains: The Forest as a Renewable Garden

6 | Rougemont, Switzerland: Forestry Laws and Choosing Tonewood Spruce

7 | Styria, Austria, and Transylvania: Tonewood Sources and Environmental Issues

8 | Reghin, Romania: The Town of Stringed-Instrument Factories

9 | Zakopane, Poland, and Luby, Czech Republic: Mountains and Stringed-Instrument-Making Schools

10 | Mirecourt, France, and Andalusia, Spain: The Guitar-Making Tradition

11 | Luthiers and Alternative Sources: Sinker Wood, Floorboards, and Backyard Trees

Tree Rings and Beyond: A Coda

Acknowledgments

Sources

Index

MASTERS OF TONEWOOD

Tuning Up

AN INTRODUCTION

THE HISTORY OF CHORDOPHONES—stringed instruments—goes back much further than that of their oldest extant artifacts, such as the lyres from 4,500 years ago found in the Mesopotamian royal cemetery at Ur. We know this from images that have outlasted the instruments themselves in ancient archaeological finds. Versions of chordophones emerged in cultures on virtually every habitable continent, and Western musicians today have instruments developed in Asia, the Middle East, and North Africa to thank for the evolution of the modern violin, viola, cello, bass, harp, guitar, and piano. The piano, currently the most popular instrument in the world, evolved from a zither, an early stringed instrument played with sticks. Fundamentally, the piano is a harp strung on a cast-iron frame with a bridge, fitted over a soundboard in an acoustically sensitive piece of furniture. Violins, violas, cellos, and double basses evolved from one of the single- or double-stringed bowed instruments that came to the West via the silk trade.

One of the principal elements that give a distinctive voice to truly great acoustical instruments—a Stradivarius, say, or a Steinway piano—is impeccable tonewood. When luthiers are asked what specific forest produces the wood that makes their instruments sing, they often have not given it much thought, or they generalize, knowing that Italian and Sitka spruce, Balkan maple, and Central American mahogany are prized. They select the finest wood by the way it feels, its weight and flexibility, the quality of its grain, and finally the sound it makes when tapped. They rely on tradition, trusted sources, and years of experience, housing and aging their stock as carefully as others might a collection of the finest wine. Naturally, musicians care deeply about the voice and beauty of their instruments, but they may not be familiar with the forests from which they originate—unless, that is, their instruments contain wood of an endangered species, such as Brazilian rosewood, and they are obliged to register them when transporting them internationally.

I have played various instruments, primarily guitar, from an early age and continue to write lyrics for music decades later. One of my greatest pleasures has been to attend concerts nearly every week, mostly chamber music, in which the instruments themselves are featured for their exquisite sound and history. Instruments possess intrinsic beauty, both in their materials and in forms adapted to the human body. Through discussions with musician and luthier friends and my own keen love of trees, I have begun to understand an important coactive relationship between silviculture—the growing and nurturance of woodlands—in rare mountain forest areas, the art of stringed-instrument making, and the evolution of musical traditions.

Roger Raymond, a French forestry professor who knew of my interests, recommended a book on tonewood, a category that encompasses specific woods used in the making of high-quality stringed instruments. In Bois de musique: La forêt berceau de l’harmonie, author Jean-Marie Ballu identifies seven forests in seven European countries that produce some of the world’s highest quality tonewood, and because of my interest in both instruments and forests, I felt inspired to visit each of them. Forestry experts manage most of these forests, which are strictly protected by laws; but others still fall prey to commercial logging enterprises that use illegal and harmful cutting practices. Some of the greatest luthiers in Western history are directly associated with these forests, as are prominent instrument-making schools and instrument factories that distribute worldwide.

Over the centuries, the quality of this tonewood has contributed to the perfection of certain stringed instruments, an inspiration of luthiers working in proximity to great forests. In writing this book, I have researched luthiers, tonewood millers, and factory managers in these parts of Europe and set up appointments to meet them. In the course of our conversations, I would learn of other experts or forests to visit. As a result, my project expanded beyond the initial seven countries to include Spain and the United States.

Masters of Tonewood records a journey to some of the historically important centers from which our stringed instruments come. The narrative details the ways in which rare and valuable logs are selected, cut, aged, and processed into billets—blocks of superior wood that, in the hands of master luthiers, are carved into the world’s finest stringed instruments. Some of these instruments have elaborate biographies of their own, changing owner multiple times and sometimes traveling from continent to continent over a period of centuries. Each of them has its own distinctive voice, acquired from the characteristics of individual trees, the exigencies of handcrafting, and the generations of musicians who have added tonal depth through their playing. And alas, all of them, however cherished and well cared for, have finite lives. Conversations with foresters, luthiers, musicians, and factory executives in many different countries shed light on the influences and interactions that go into crafting the stringed instruments that provide some of our most pleasurable moments as players and listeners.

Map of Europe indicating key locations discussed in the book. (Nat Case, INCase, LLC)

1

Origins

DURING HIS EXPERIMENT IN asceticism and living deliberately at Walden, Thoreau famously questioned technological developments as a reliable measure of human progress. He noted, Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract us from serious things. They are an improved means to an unimproved end. Choosing the emergence of the telegraph as a particular example, he writes querulously, We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate. The telegraph, however, reemerges in a wholly different light in his rhapsodic journal entry of September 22, 1851:

Yesterday and today the stronger winds of autumn have begun to blow, and the telegraph harp has sounded loudly. I heard it especially in the Deep Cut this afternoon, the tone varying with the tension of different parts of the wire. The sound proceeds from near the posts, where the vibration is apparently more rapid. I put my ear to one of the posts, and it seemed to me as if every pore of the wood was filled with music, labored with the strain—as if every fiber was affected and being seasoned or timed, rearranged according to a new and more harmonious law. Every swell and change or inflection of tone pervaded and seemed to proceed from the wood, the divine tree or wood, as if its very substance was transmuted. What a recipe for preserving wood, perchance—to keep it from rotting—to fill its pores with music! How this wild tree from the forest, stripped of its bark and set up here, rejoices to transmit this music!

Thoreau’s description of the telegraph harp effectively summarizes the functioning principles of all stringed instruments: a vibrating wire or string amplified by resonant wood. More significant, the idea of wood fiber from the tree being seasoned and then transmuted by vibration captures the essence of mature tonewood endowed with acoustical brilliance.

A lifelong flute player, Thoreau would likely not dismiss musical instruments as pretty toys meant to distract us from life’s important meanings. He celebrated the correspondences of nature’s songs and the most moving human ones. The master foresters, who have a rare instinct for finding the best tonewood trees, will place an ear against a broad spruce trunk and knock on it to detect divine musical potential within. The early autumn winds portend the precise winter moment for cutting.

When musicians, luthiers, and foresters talk about great stringed instruments, they often use rapturous, even anthropomorphic, language that can elevate a telegraph pole to an aeolian harp. A single note from a great Stradivarius can rivet an audience. Violinist Rose Mary Harbinson once commented that the power of a sustained pitch on a Stradivarius can take the audience by the throat. Cremonese golden age instruments of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were—and are—known to possess their own personalities. They could project even in a large concert hall. The spruce that voices these personalities reportedly came from trees in the Val di Fiemme, the Paneveggio forest in the Italian Alps that foresters sometimes refer to as a cathedral of trees.

The violin family of instruments, the piano, and the guitar evolved through a vast if sketchy network of influences from Africa, the Near East, and Asia. However, the refinement of these instruments—at least as Western Europeans understand refinement—occurred most notably in Northern Italy in the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries with the famous Cremonese masters Amati, Stradivari, and Guarneri, supported by papal, royal, and aristocratic commissions. Centers for luthiers and instrument making burgeoned in Europe, many associated with specific forest areas that offered rare Norway spruce and figured maple tonewood. Skilled artisans crafted these tonewoods into masterpieces that are still being played by some of the world’s most accomplished musicians. Some are on display in museums, where they are also played to maintain their responsiveness while affording audiences an opportunity to hear the individual voices of these instruments.

Aeolian harp in the Berlin Musical Instrument Museum.

So where does your stringed instrument come from? Thoreau wrote, Every swell and change or inflection of tone pervaded and seemed to proceed from the wood. Your stringed instrument comes from a forest growing in strictly defined environmental conditions, and luthiers and musicians will tell you the wood is still living, responding to warmth or cold, humidity or dryness, making it at times unruly. For top-quality instruments, even the varnish is an elastic and breathing skin.

How a stringed instrument acquires its unique, even mysterious personality provides a complex story that includes numerous musical traditions, the works of composers and musicians who contribute to those traditions, the inventiveness and innovations of luthiers who strive to perfect an instrument’s voice, and finally the foresters who select and cut the music trees. Most important of all are the rare and vanishing forests that produce old trees and the wood that rejoices in transmitting music.

2

A Musical Instrument Is More than a Tool

IS A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT merely a tool, or does it have a life of its own? Philosophers, writers, and musicians have long argued that tools can enslave us or inspire us. Violinist and conductor Pinchas Zuckerman, however, came to a monistic understanding of his instrument. He once held up his Guarnerius and announced, To me this is not a tool. Never was. In fact, for me, this is a complete extension of my being.

The greatest musicians gaze at their instruments in wonder, reflecting on the challenges, potential, and sometimes the limitations they present. Even late in their lives, masters such as the cellist Pablo Casals and the guitarist Andrés Segovia would admit there is always progress to be made. The quality or personality of an instrument can enhance or impede the player’s progress. For an array of reasons, top musicians commission instruments to be made specifically for themselves. It might be that their eighteenth-century Cremonese instrument is temperamental when on tour, requiring a backup; or a musician may want to explore a customized voice, a tonal coloring that might lead to artistic discoveries.

Sometimes, playability and response become critical. This was the case for the British cello virtuoso Jacqueline du Pré, who during her mercurial career owned and played two Stradivarius cellos, one made in 1681 and the other her beloved Davidov. All of du Pré’s recordings between 1965 and 1968 featured the latter Stradivarius. She also played for two years on a cello made by Matteo Goffriller, another Italian master luthier of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries appreciated for his cellos. When celebrated musicians and conductors discuss du Pré’s gifts, three qualities invariably emerge: her complete mastery of the cello, her capacity for absorbing and internalizing music almost instantly, and her ability to elevate all who worked with her; she is often described as a powerful instrumental conversationalist. Charles Beare, a leading expert on stringed instruments who worked with du Pré, recalled how she tested a new instrument: I remember vividly her way of trying out a cello was to play a note fairly low down on the D string. She played that note for two or three minutes, and you wouldn’t believe the variety of sound and volume and beauty she could get out of it.

Beare spoke on other occasions of du Pré’s brilliant playing of an F on a D string: You lost all sense of time, and she got more into that note . . . than most people can get into a concerto. Beare added that du Pré would instinctively devise her own approaches to Schumann, for example, that the composer himself might have wished he had thought of. Tragically, with the onset of multiple sclerosis, belatedly diagnosed, she experienced difficulties controlling her cello playing. Her confidence and sincerity were undermined, replaced by self-consciousness and ultimately the need to follow fingering by eye. Biographer Carol Easton writes that the combination of her forceful playing and the hypersensitivity of her cellos necessitated frequent adjustments and caused her considerable anxiety, particularly in a large hall. She worried that her sound might not carry above the orchestra, or that the cello would get—her expressions—a terrible ‘wolf note’ or ‘buzz,’ or start ‘kicking’ or ‘bubbling.’

Daniel Barenboim, du Pré’s husband and musical soulmate, commissioned Italian American Sergio Peresson, considered by many to be the greatest twentieth-century luthier, to make a cello specifically for her. The new cello provided the volume, stability, and quick and easy response that du Pré desperately needed during what turned out to be the close of her career at age twenty-eight. Her last three performances were the Brahms Double Concerto with Pinchas Zukerman and the New York Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein. A fourth concert was scheduled, but du Pré could not even feel the weight of her bow, leaving her shattered. A new program had to be substituted, with Isaac Stern playing.

When I am in the presence of professional cellists and du Pré’s name comes up, the tone automatically shifts to reverence. In a sunny kitchen in the heart of Paris, I spoke to Henri Alécian about commissioning a luthier to construct a new cello, and he hardly paused over my raising the question of du Pré needing the Peresson instrument. She was exceptional in her intensity, possessed impeccable musicality and sincerity. She had a tragic destiny. For du Pré, a new cello became part of that destiny. Henri recalled a far less dramatic case of an esteemed musician turning to a modern instrument: the great French cellist André Navarra, who played an eighteenth-century cello made by the Neapolitan luthier Nicolò Gagliano. Though the Gagliano cello was an extremely fine and valuable cello, Navarra at the end of his career preferred a modern cello, made by a relatively unknown luthier, that was not nearly as beautiful but was still very effective, with a great sound.

Because of a desire to achieve a strong voice and to overcome the shortcomings of his own instrument, Alécian was motivated to acquire a new cello. "I worked with a little cello made around 1740, very