When someone takes up a string instrument for the first time they are reliant on the luthier of the shop to decide on the set up. When we talk about set up we are talking about what strings are on the cello, the tailpiece, bridge, soundpost and how the fingerboard is planed. In our shop we make the determination ourselves by knowing something about the player; how long have they been playing, what kind of playing will they be doing, solo or ensemble, do they have any physical limitations? For a brand new player we will plane the fingerboard so that it is very easy for them to put their strings down- there is enough to learn without needing to lift weights first in order to stop your strings. Another variable is the height of the strings themselves: new players would like to follow the path of least resistance while more experienced players want a bit of push-back.

As people progress on their cello it is natural and good for them to listen to varying styles of music that include the cello. I will often send links for students to hear something that is particular to the music we are working on together. However the challenge becomes when someone begins to make progress and starts to listen to recordings against the sound of their live instrument and, to their ears their cello falls short.

Pretty much 98% of their complaint is about their A string. In listening to recordings, with all of their wonderful reverberation, their live cello sounds more like a clarinet than what they are listening to. Sometimes I am privy to the recording they are listening to and I am quite amazed to find that, while it seems that the video is live, the cello sounds as if it was being played under water. Often included is a lot of hair tossing, frequent scowling and occasional chest hair, which I guess is suppose to make everything OK. And it is always the A string that sounds most unlike that of our own cello..

We want balance across our strings, ideally we try hard to find strings that work, not just as individuals, but as team players. However, as you progress, you will find that your star player is your A. As Paul reminds me, “Your A string is your money string.” Even in finding balance, it is necessary for the A to cut through the fog.

What happens is that electronic enhancement in recordings, among other things softens the edges. Advancing electronics can make a cello sound richer, fuller, deeper, devoid of sizzle. But the one thing it almost never does, is to make it sound like a real cello. In live performance the instrument would come across completely differently. More focused, with more bite and you would love those sharp edges.

In Vermont, the crazy flux in humidity levels wreaks havoc on our sound post placement- too tight one day, not tight enough the next. This, in turn, wreaks havoc on our sound production. I am, for many reasons, incredibly lucky to have Paul: but one reason for sure is that he keeps my cello barking. And that is exactly the word I use. (In a private conversation, out of my earshot, Paul might tell you that he would prefer it if that dog didn't have to be adjusted so it could bark at ten at night however.)

We have to examine our reasoning for wanting our sound diminished with a soft A string. Where you are today as a student will not be where you are tomorrow. Of all the strings, the open A can be the most intimidating. I've watched students do some amazing acrobatics to avoid using an open A. But an open A can be amazingly effective when played well and by well I mean with courage.

Perhaps the adjustment we need to make is not with the instrument and not with the strings...and you know who that always leaves.

Melissa Perley

The holidays have come and gone. We have made the numerous trips up and down the ladder to the upper storage space in our garage with box after box of decorations. The sparkle of December has left [us] and January has arrived.

In Vermont, January is traditionally one of, if not the coldest month of the year. It is the month when we are most likely to see the thermostat plummet below zero, sometimes for a stretch of frozen days. We don't see much of anyone, Covid or not, because we are hibernating. The rule in our house is that nobody comes in the door without an armload of wood. When returning from an evening walk the final holler is always “everybody grab an armload.” I want to kick the threshold and thunk snow off my boots as I enter the house and run into a wall of heat coming off the stove. There is something wonderfully comforting about the tick of the metal expanding in the stovepipe as things heat up. I quickly pull a chair up and prop my chilly feet on the footrests so kindly designed into our hundred year old wood stove.

This afternoon Paul, Josh and I spent a few hours stuffing wool to be made into blankets into shipping boxes I relished the opportunity to plunge my bare hands into the pile of mitten material. We stacked two wooden planks on top of the wool and labeled all boxes for shipment: my hands, colder by the second, fumbling with the markers that too, did not seem to like working in the cold. Once finished I piled some thawed blueberries into a bowl to feed to the chickens. I stood outside the hen house and did my best chicken impression, calling the ladies in for an afternoon treat. I watched them come running, not out of the coop, of course, but out of the sheep barn. Wings tucked back, they reminded me, somewhat, of Batman racing to the Bat-mobile. I sat down on the milk crate which acts as a step into their laying boxes and began handing out the cold blueberries. It didn't take long as they are pigs as well as chickens, but my hands were now truly blue, in every sense of the word.

I noticed the handle of the barn door mysteriously (or not) bobbing, so I ducked under the door to the hay storage barn to grab a handful of grain for Mrs. Chubbers. Sam followed on my heels because Border Collies find sheep grain a great treat. I'm not sure that Sam likes the treat quite as much as he enjoys taking those treats from the proverbial mouths of the sheep, but either way he was staring me down...and won. The buckets that hold all grain, etc. are of course, metal and not helping the cold of my own paws.

Finally, wool boxed, chickens, sheep and Border pigs sated, I crunch up the road to the house. I sneak in without an armload because I'm afraid my hands are too cold to hold the logs anyway. I open the front door, feel the heat in front of me while the cold pushes from behind and smell food cooking in the oven.

Normally we are all looking for outdoor things to do on our days off. But in January we are content to be still. Paul reads in the living room while Josh works on editing photos from the couch, a fire coming to life in the fireplace. The dogs stretch out with their backs against the warm stones near the stove, understanding that for now, herding is on hold.

The pandemic has heightened our consciousness of living according to the season. January being the time to curl up into our corners. The chaos of the past weeks making us realize the importance of taking this quiet time to think about defining who we are and what is important, or at least acceptable, to each of us. There is something metaphoric about the frozen landscape and the need for patience as we wait for the thaw and the revelation of change.