The Hartford Symphony Orchestra is not the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. But at the concert last night, more times than not, I could close my eyes, and not hear a difference. It was simply outstanding.

I'm not saying the concert did not have flaws. There were some, particularly in the Tchaikovsky Fifth Symphony. The program...

• Bedřich Smetana - "Vltrave" ("The Moldau") from Má vlast ("My Fatherland")
• Jean Sibelius - Violin Concerto in D minor, Op. 47
• Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky - Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64

Bedřich Smetana - "Vltrave" ("The Moldau") from Má vlast ("My Fatherland")
This work has always been one of my favorites. The technical problem with this work is that it is more often than not, taken for granted. And, it's performed as such. People think it is a beautiful peace, but there is much darkness and turbulence in this work. And most orchestras gloss over this like it means nothing. Last night, I could hear all of this darkness in stunning clarity with these dark passages rippling through the orchestra without hiding their face to us. This is thanks in no small part to the conductor (I'll get to him in a minute) who paid particular attention to these important elements. And when the light of the sun triumphed over this darkness, it was simply breathtaking. Everything is a comparison to the other and when the sun came out, the excitement that this orchestra gave with this conductor at the helm sent shivers up my spine. The work has a lot of nationalism in it, or pride of country. And I found myself feeling that.

Jean Sibelius - Violin Concerto in D minor, Op. 47
This was an odd experience for me. Right after the Smetana, room was made for Leonid Sigal, the orchestras concertmaster, to perform the Sibelius Violin Concerto. But then they brought out a stool where he would play. They then secured the stool with weights on the feet of the stool. I was thinking, "How strange. He isn't seriously going to sit down and play this work." We all got quiet, and when he came out, he was holding his violin and bow in one hand, and limping out with a cane in the other hand. The stool it seems was to give him something to lean on. There was an injury to his leg and after he secured the cane to the back of the stool, he took his bow. You could see on his face that he was clearly in pain. I thought to myself, "This isn't a good sign. He shouldn't be up there."

Let me make one analogy of the Sibelius Violin Concerto, and something that Beverly Sills said once about "mad scenes" in opera. She was asked about mad scenes. She mentioned scenes in early opera that had some mad scenes, mad scenes in verismo opera where the lead character will go mad, and then she said, "... and then, there's Lucia", referring Lucia di Lammermoor, by Gaetano Donizetti. She put Lucia in it's own category because as she put it, Lucia didn't go mad, she was mad, and had this profound condition from start to end.

I mention this because this is exactly how I feel about the Sibelius Violin Concerto. In the violin literature, there are many violin concertos from the Classical era (1750 to 1820)* that offer their fair share of difficult passages. And then there are the concertos from the Romantic era (1820 to 1920)* that concentrate more on the virtuosity of the violinist. And then, there's the Sibelius, this concerto that towers over the others. It's not the virtuosity of the piece, it's simply to be avoided. In opera, you make a choice. The singer can be extremely virtuostic in terms of sheer notes in a given passage (for example coloratura, which emphasizes lightness, dexterity, and the higher range), or, darker heavier roles, such as Puccini, Verdi, or Strauss. In these works, the sacrifice of the fast moving passages for the singer, are gone. The reason, weight. The weight of the work, both emotionally and on the voice itself, sacrifices dexterity. So too is it with the Sibelius... kind of. The problem is, Sibelius doesn't sacrafice either. It's all there, passages that are just beyond human endurance, and emotional weight in the form of anguished dark moods. You will find hints of sunshine in this work, but it never wins.

In other words, it takes a toll on the violinist both technically and emotionally. Jascha Heifetz approached this work with the technical skill of a surgeon. Technically placed perfectly, yet leaving me unmoved. So last night, I was wondering how Hartford's Leonid Sigal was going to perform this work with his injury. It wasn't long into the work that I realized that he was using the pain to his advantage. The virtuosity was there, and the suffering on his face, from either the music or the pain, was genuine, and they worked with each other. It was an amazing experience to see. He didn't muddle his way through the work, he conquered it. And it was followed by a thunderous standing ovation. This was "our Lenny" after all, and I'm proud that he is with us in Hartford.

Pyotr Ilyish Tchaikovsky - Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64
This work is close to my heart. When I was a young lad way back in 1973, I had the wonderful opportunity to tour Europe after I was accepted into America's Youth In Concert. This symphony was one of the works we performed. It was the last work we performed in New York City together, before I said goodbye to so many wonderful friends that I made on the tour. So for years, I went without listening to this work. But now, I'm ok with it. It was performed well, with a few exceptions. I noticed this in the third movement mostly with the very fast spiccato in the strings. They weren't quite together. They had the work under their fingers, so I believe this was a fault of the conductor through these passages. And it was only a couple of passages that I noticed this.

The second movement with the towering horn solo was magnificent. In fact, through this symphony, I must say that what really came through was the the great wind and brass sections of this orchestra. Honestly, they sounded like the renowned brass section from the Chicago Symphony. I put this squarely on the shoulders of the guest conductor last night. Far too often do conductors with string backgrounds (the guest conductor is a violinist) diminish the brass players as though they are second class to strings. You do this at your peril in music. It's a strict partnership and yet, you'd be surprised at how many conductors out there just don't get that. Concerning the second movement, the only criticism I have is that it was a bit too dry, or metronomic, for me. There are times in this movement that you break tempo and let the moment play out. I felt that a few opportunities were missed by "moving on" too quickly, when we should have stayed and savored the moment a bit more.

All in all, I was satisfied with this performance. It wasn't perfect. There were some flaws, but I felt the conductor added much welcomed interest in exposing inner passages here and there that are often just glossed over in recordings. He's on the right path. Those aren't just notes. They are COLOR!

About the conductor, Andrew Grams
The Hartford Symphony is searching for a new conductor. As such, different concerts feature different conductors. So far, Mr. Grams is my first choice. He brings to the podium a youthful energy, respect and appreciation for all sections of the orchestra as equals in a partnership, and his technique is precise and well executed.

I was able to attend his pre-concert talk at 7:00. Most conductors want to talk about the music that will be performed, and how it effects them. Not Mr. Grams. He was more interested about us, the audience, the community, and where we would like to see the Hartford Symphony go in this time of it's life. He made it clear that if he was selected, he would be much more interested on our feedback and what we wanted from the symphony. With that, he said, without that you will never be truly part of the life of this symphony. Brutally honest, and, he's right!

As for the music, he talked very briefly about it but then said (and I'm paraphrasing), "These are well known works. I have my feelings about them, but that's not important, and I'm sure most of you have lived with them through your lives. Each of us must listen to them and hear them in our own ways. And hopefully, I can bring something new to this experience for you." He then opened it up for questions from us. This never happened before. One question that caught my attention was this, "By doing works that are so well known to all of us, aren't you playing it safe by choosing those?" He answered that he didn't get to pick the program with the exception of the Smetana. The program was planned by the Board of Directors with the Sibelius and the Tchaikovsky. He pointed out that guest conductors rarely get to pick the compositions performed for any given orchestra. But they asked him to pick a piece that "wasn't too long." Perhaps this was a test from them to see what he would marry these two works with. He finally also mentioned regarding the question of "playing it safe", that by performing well known works, he confronts people who know these works, and that can be a double edged sword. Very true.

I'm glad I made this effort to drive to Hartford through a snow storm. I got there a bit cold and weary as it was snowing out, bought a glass of wine, took it to my seat with me (yes, they let us do that), and listened to Smetana's The Moldau in a live performance, as I sipped a nice Merlot.

* Note that these date ranges are approximate. You will find that among different sources, they will vary somewhat.

It's been awhile since I last posted. It's not that I've taken time off. I've been really busy with things lately, but all in a good way. We went to Portland, Maine for a long weekend last weekend. It was nice, but the weather could have been better. Then I faced another really busy week at work.

Work... well, it's going much better now than it was. In fact, the IT department (and network infrastructure) is probably in the best shape it's been in in years. It turns out that a changing of personnel was a good thing, although at the time it didn't seem so good. It's funny how sometimes you want to hold on to things that really aren't working that well. You want to hold on to them because you've become accustomed to them. When things change and you reflect on where you are today, you realize that what you had and the way it was arranged really didn't work that well. So, I'm glad that it all happened. I'm glad the department is new.

I'm also glad to have a solid stable job! This graphic was in the Hartford Courant this morning. This is where are state stands on unemployment.

So I feel very fortunate to have a job, and I'm well aware that so many states are far worse off than Connecticut. In fact, Kent and I tell each other several times a week, "We are very fortunate." We don't take it for granted.

We went to the Hartford Symphony last night. We usually go out for a nice dinner beforehand. Last night we went to Max's Oyster Bar. I love the food there and they make killer martinis with olives stuffed with fresh Blue Cheese. The symphony performed...

Mozart - Overture to "The Abduction from the Seraglio"
Beethoven - Symphony No. 8
Bruch - Violin Concerto No. 1 (Sirena Huang, violin)
Kodaly ' "Dances of Galanta"

Julian Kuerti was a guest conductor from the Boston Symphony Orchestra and was quite an amazing young conductor who brought new life to the orchestra. I was impressed with young violinist Sirena Huang, who performed the Max Bruch g-minor violin concerto. It's a rich, heavy Romantic concerto that demands muscle mass to perform. My history with the concerto is that I also performed it in California, and I conducted the orchestra at the College of Idaho when my teacher, Walter Cerveny performed it, when I was a student in college.

Technically, this 14 year old violinist was there. But the concerto was a bit heavy for her. I would have teamed her up with a Bach or Mozart concerto. Leave the Bruch, the Brahms, and the Beethoven concertos for later when she's more physically and emotionally mature. Other than that, and a small lapse in memory in the third movement, she was quite remarkable. She has a wonderful career ahead of her, if that's what she wants in life.

And just when I thought the Bruch was the highlight of the evening, the orchestra performed Kodaly's Dances of Galanta. The work is filled with land mines of extremely virtuostic passages and fast notes, syncopation, and accuracy that is simply unforgiving. Yet, our local orchestra stacked right up to one the major orchestras. I thought I was listening to the New York Philharmonic! It goes to show you how much difference a conductor can make.

All in all, a wonderful evening.

Last night we went out to a nice dinner at Peppercorns Grill in Hartford. The food is good and better yet, it's only a small distance to the Bushnell, where the Hartford Symphony (and now defunct Hartford Opera) performs. It's a beautiful place, and I especially love the Chihuly chandelier inside.

Last night we went to see the Verdi Requiem. OK, it wasn't cheery. In fact, I cried through a lot of it. You see, I don't listen to music. I EXPERIENCE IT. I feel it inside, for better (joyful) or worse (terrifying and sad). It's a way of life for me. It's not just notes. The performance has to be a work of art itself for me to get there. Otherwise, I just think of notes.

But last night, they did it. The soloists were solid, the Hartford Chorale was wonderful, and the Hartford Symphony was the best I have heard them in a long time. It worked for me.

This ability to absorb emotion from the music in it's entirety, is probably because I'm gay, which led me to be completely lonely as a teenager in Emmett, Idaho, without anyone to talk to. How could they understand? I lived in my own world. What was that world like? During the week, damn lonely. I was an outsider. I thought often that I was the only gay person on earth. And I knew, from listening to all the gay jokes from my friends, that gay was a bad thing to be. Therefore, I was bad.

But there's one thing I had that no one else knew about. Every Saturday afternoon, I would sneak off to what I called "the dam park". Today, it has a name, although I forget what it is. It was this small park not far from where I lived, with a power station and a waterfall in the background, away from the park. I would take a blanket, smuggle off a bottle of wine, cheese, and perhaps other goodies, along with my radio, and would tune into "Live from the Met"! This is where I developed a love for opera. I used to listen to Maria Callas (live) and many others, such as Renata Tebaldi. Think of that. Of course, I didn't love opera. It was an escape from my extremely intolerant world. But I grew to love opera.

Hardly no one went to that park, so it was a perfect place to be with friends that I'd never meet, that had given me so much from this far off place called Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York City. In little Emmett, Idaho, it might as well have been on Venus. Later in life, I would walk up the steps of Lincoln Center and see an opera at the Met, where so many legends had walked.

So as I'm listening to opera, with all the force of running water from the spillway off in the distance, you can imagine how my mind would go wild with imagery as I listened to Wagner's Siegfried from Der Ring des Nibelungen (also known as "The Ring Cycle"), as Siegfried wins the Ring, but is eventually betrayed and slain. The great Valkyrie Brünnhilde (Siegfried's lover), returns the Ring to the Rhine. The water rushes in the background and I stand up from my blanket, draw my imaginary sword and prepare for battle! In the process, Valkyrie Brünnhilde and I destroyed the Gods!

The last time I went back to Emmett a couple of years ago, I went to that spot that I always went to, under this tree to listen to The Met. It's larger now, and I was pleased to see it still there. I walked up to it, touched it, and said, "Hello, my old friend. You and I have traveled some distance." I'm so sentimental.

Yes. That's me. So maybe you can understand that the Requiem last night was a somber experience for me. I haven't listened to it for years, and yet, I never forget anything. It came flooding back to me, and I was quite simply in tears for much of it. How wonderful is that? How lucky am I that I feel what Verdi must have felt when he applied pen to paper to create this Requiem?

I don't know if this is because I am what I am. Some people don't like what I am. But I've come to a place of peace and reconciliation in my life. I want what others have. I want equality. I want the world that I live in to find balance. And that can only happen if the group that I seem to belong to ceases to become a group, and starts to become ONE, with other fellow citizens. In a large sense, that's up to them. I'm not going anywhere.

I've learned something about my body. I suppose it's the same way with everyone, but I never really thought about it. If there's one thing your body likes, it's predictability. So if you are on a diet, or have changed anything in your lifestyle, it can really wreak havoc if you throw your body a curve ball.

I did that last night. I'm not on a "new diet" or anything like that. I'm trying to change my lifestyle overall. That means, I'm watching foods with high sugar amounts, keeping a very close eye on fats, and the like. Overall, just by changing my diet, I've lost 13 pounds in the last few weeks with little effort. And that is not taking into account any other lifestyle changes, like exercise.

Diet is a huge factor in how you feel overall. But aside from that, you need to look at the numbers behind it all. I'm talking lab tests here. Glucose and lipid test (cholesterol). I'm told I'm very typical of most Americans. We are eating more, exercising less, and, we are doing so in a very short period of time.

I'm reading this rather fascinating (and somewhat depressing) book called Beating Diabetes, from the Harvard Medical School. I highly suggest that you spend the $17.00 for the book because it can save your life. It can also be found at the large book selling chains. I'm still reading the book, but so far, two things really jumped out at me.

If all of human history was represented by a twenty-four-hour day, the nineteenth and twentieth centuries would be the last twelve minutes of that day. Yet in the blink of a geological eye, our lifestyle has changed more than in the previous hundred thousand years. The implications of our current environment are still playing out, but we are already seeing adaptations to our new industrialized lifestyle that aren't necessarily good. Simply put, we're moving our bodies less, eating more, and eating more of the wrong foods.

And this...

Metabolic syndrome is a constellation of problems that often includes diabetes or prediabetes. What are the other conditions? Being overweight, especially when extra pounds accumulate around the midsection; having high or borderline-high blood pressure; having high triglyceride levels; and having low HDL (good) cholesterol. Specifically, you have metabolic syndrome if you have diabetes or prediabetes and two or more of the following:

• A large waist (forty inches or more for men and thirty-four inches or more for women)
• Borderline or high blood pressure (greater than or equal to 130/85 mmHg)
• A high level of triglycerides (greater than or equal to 150 mg/dL)
• Low HDL (under 40 mg/dL for men or under 50 mg/dL for women)

It's easy to overlook or brush aside the health implications of a few extra pounds. Or of blood pressure creeping toward the high end of the normal range. Or of slowly rising levels of blood fats. Ignoring the cluster, though, is a big mistake.

Which brings us back to me. When I read that, it was like this book was talking about me. Just me. I was thinking, "What the hell?!?" I was shocked. I have those extra pounds around my waist. I have "borderline" high blood pressure and I am taking a low dosage of a drug to help with that. I have slightly "above normal" triglycerides. I have low HDL. But I never thought about all of those elements collectively until now. I suppose those factors are found in most of us today because of our lifestyle.

We went to the Hartford Symphony last night. They gave a speech before the performance about the opera closing after 67 years. We were notified in a letter from the opera about the closing, followed up a week later that they would not be reimbursing the tickets. That followed a scathing editorial in the Hartford Courant about whether or not anyone could (or should) trust any of the arts in the Hartford area. So, the speech last night was to put people's minds at ease, and to offer to honor those opera tickets with other performances.

The performance last night was...

Wagner - Prelude to Parsifal
Strauss- Four Last Songs
Beethoven - Symphony No. 3, "Eroica"

The Stauss was wonderful. Soprano Adina Aaron performed and she was simply amazing. Difficult singing and she made it come to life.

Unfortunately, the Wagner was about as interesting as a wet dish towel, offering little of the dynamics that Wagner demands in that work. Wagner, to me, is like Rembrandt, offering dramatic differences in light and dark, in mood and color. Without that, it's not Wagner. If the conductor is unable to move the orchestra to do that, he shouldn't be their conductor, or, that orchestra shouldn't do Wagner.

The Beethoven was probably the worst performance I've ever heard in my life. Single sections were together, but different sections were out of sync with each other. This usually means that the players themselves know what they are doing, but there is a problem with the conductor. This was the case last night.

The Eroica Symphony is a difficult work, not just because of the notes, but because of the content (especially the 2nd movement that often wreaks havoc with many conductors). You simply must have a deep understanding of Beethoven and his life to play this music. Any monkey can memorize the score and stand on the podium and conduct without music (I'm not that easily impressed). Conductor (not maestro) Cummings lacked that understanding. Indeed, there were times that I couldn't even understand what the hell he was doing. No doubt, the members of the orchestra were in the same boat, many of whom would often look over at the concertmaster with that look on their face that could only say, "Where the hell is the beat?"

I just returned last night from Idaho. It was an interesting, exciting, exhausting, happy, sad, regretful, time for me. That's the thing about going back to Idaho. It's not that I don't want to go. Some of my very best friends are there, and I love them very dearly. I've come to realize that I have so much baggage from my past, that it's honestly difficult for me to keep my emotional balance when I'm confronted with so many things all at once that are connected to the past, especially when so many of the things associated with my past are very negative. I think what made this trip difficult was the fact that so much was crammed into two days. Then, I left Idaho for Connecticut, and Kent left Idaho for Washington, D.C. Yesterday, and last night, I was left to myself with my thoughts.

First, I visited with my brother. We've grown closer over the years, but we both know that, despite the fact that we spent the first part of our lives together, that's pretty much all we have in common. I consider myself fairly cultured and I try to be intelligent in my thinking, to the extent that my mind will allow me to be. I take pride in knowing more, reading, listening to new music, finding new things in old music... In essence, I am everything that my brother is not. He hates culture and finds it snooty, or fake. This is perhaps the single biggest thing that has driven us apart over the years. But for the last ten years, we have both made an attempt to get closer. It's awkward. I visit him, but what to talk about? We spend all of our time talking about the three conversations that we've talked about over the last ten years; how our family doesn't care about other parts of the family, how messed up politics are, and our sister, Jeannie, and how she hates my guts. Always the same. We both know this, yet, we go through the exercise of doing it yet again. I'm fine with that, but I realize that there's really no place else to go. I'm there for him, but we are from completely different cultures. You know, I used to be a concert violinist. And yet, my brother has never once heard me play.

USED TO BE are the operative words. I am no more. Mentally, I'm there. Physically, it's gone. I took my gift for granted, and for political reasons, discarded it. I heard the beat of a different drummer, and I went with it. And years later, when I wanted it back, I had the audacity to think that it would still be there, waiting for me, when I was ready to pick up the violin and try to play again. I can't. My body has changed in the last twenty years and it no longer has the dexterity required to play Paganini. And perhaps what hurts the worst for me are the very last words that my mentor, Walter Cerveny, said to me. He looked at me and said, with a great deal of disappointment, "You aren't doing anything with it, are you Bill?" He then turned around and walked away as if to dismiss me entirely as a non-person. He was right and now he's gone.

We went to Idaho to accept an award that was being presented to Kent. It was wonderful to see our friends again. It's difficult for me to be on campus because everywhere I look, I see ghosts. The hour before the awards ceremony, Kent went to meet with a former professor. I took the time to stroll over to the performing arts center. It was locked up, except for one door that was ajar. I went in and simply looked at the plaques on the wall of the people I had studied with half a lifetime ago - those who had shaped my young life. I realized that there would be no way for me to make them proud of me. There would be no one cheering for me. There would be no award. I threw it away long ago.

So my place is now to be in the shadows where lesser men belong. That sounds so very negative, but it's how I feel. I have no colleagues to share my triumphs with, because I have no triumphs. I live a simple life, in the shadows of others. I have done good deeds in my time. I have. I have done much to help those who are suffering, most of the time at my own expense. As I've said many times, I've tried to be the example, as my mother used to tell me, for others. But I was never the example for myself. I put others ahead of me, every single time. I still do.

The awards ceremony was nice. There were an handful of people accepting awards, and Kent was one of them. And when he spoke, he was eloquent, not long winded, and witty. And at the end, he thanked his friends, his family, and me, his "life partner." I was uncomfortable with that because of the conservative crowd. I'm sure most in the audience voted for the Idaho marriage amendment to prevent gay couples from having anything, legally speaking. So when he mentioned me, they were presented with a real life gay couple. When he said that, I thought to myself, "...the stones will start flying soon...", and felt like there was a spotlight on me. It's more of my baggage that I have these feelings, but I can justify those feelings. Throwing away my career is harder to explain away, except that it was the only way to stay with Kent. A career for me would have been leaving the college and going to New York to study at Julliard, an offer that was extended to me. That would have most likely ended our relationship. Kent was, to me, very courageous. He wouldn't admit that, but standing up in front of your family, and people that your family knows and went to school with, and giving credit to his "life partner" was an act of courage in Idaho. Aside from the discomfort of all of this, I was proud of him.

We left the college, went back to our motel, and said goodbye to our folks. We took separate flights the next morning. On the way home, I couldn't listen to anything that would cheer me up. And last night was a total downer. I do realize that a lot of this is fatigue, but I also know that being tired can bring true emotions and feelings to the surface, and those feelings are real and honest.

Those feelings were about my net worth. What am I worth? As a musician, nothing. As a compassionate human being, I'm solid. As a musicologist, I have a keen mind that borders on brilliant. I never forget how an artist made magic out of a single phrase. I never forget themes, execution of a part, opus numbers, how Vladimir Horowitz played Scriabin's Op, 8 no. 12 etude, Scarlatti and the Chopin Ballade 1 in his 1965 Carnegie Hall performance... everything is kept neatly cataloged. I joke with people who know me that my mind is just full of useless information.

So what is my net worth? I don't know. Life is a path. I find it amusing that at one time I had musical colleagues asking me how or why I came to a certain artistic conclusion on why I performed a phrase in a certain way. I had such unbelievably raw passion. It's hard now for me to understand why I let that go. Certainly, a regret.

So, it would seem that I took the path less traveled. As Robert Frost wrote,

Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

It did make a difference, but I'll never know if it made the right difference. I honestly no longer know what I'm about. I go to work. I make good money, for whatever money is worth, but my work holds no passion for me. I seem to have been part of two worlds; my past, and the present. As long as I keep the past in the past, I'm fine. When I try to bring a part of my past to the present, it's a problem and whenever I bring the ghosts of the past to the present, it causes me anguish.

It seems like I've become hooked on iTunes these days. I seem to download my music from there onto my Mac, and from there, onto my iPod. This is available on iTunes and Amazon, but I ended up buying it last night while at the mall.

If you like Renée Fleming as I do, you may not like this album. It's not what you would expect. She's singing jazz and blues - a far cry from her earlier Mozart, Handel, and later Verde, Puccini, and Strauss albums. She has a breathiness in her voice that I find very seductive, and I love the way she explores the lower registers in her voice. It lends itself beautifully to this style of singing.

While we were listening to it, it reminded me of Ella Fitzgerald. And after reading what Renée wrote inside, I can see why: "One issue I faced in making this recording was in choosing a vocal style. As a college student, I sang with more jazz inflection, with scat, be-pop and melismatic treatments of words, but ultimately, I decided to emulate the atmosphere created on my favorite duo ballad recordings by Tony Bennett and Bill Evans or Ella Fitzgerald and Paul Smith; approaches so understated, I have never tired of hearing them."

Today, I took my violin to be tuned up and polished up a bit. It was a big step for me. I used to play violin some time ago. I started playing violin when I was seven years old. I've studied with a lot of different people in my time. The one thing that has always been there in my life, front the age of 16, was my violin. I was very fortunate to come into possession of a violin made by Antonio Gagliano in 1750. He's considered to be one of the Italian masters of his period. Below is the family tree.

Alessandro Gagliano - Napoli (~1660 - 1725)

Nicola (I) Gagliano - Napoli (~1695 - after 1740)

Ferdinando Gagliano - Napoli (1706 - 1781)

Guiseppe Gagliano - Napoli (1724 - 1793)

Antonio (I) Gagliano - Napoli (1737 - ~1797)

Giovanni Gagliano - Napoli (~1730 - 1806)

Nicola (II) Gagliano - Napoli (1793 - 1828)

Raffaele Gagliano - Napoli (~1790 - 1857)

Vincenzo Gagliano - Napoli (? - ~1886)

Antonio (II) Gagliano - Napoli (after 1790 - 1860)

Gennaro Gagliano - Napoli (~1700 - after 1770)

There were two brothers, Alessandro and Gennaro. Antonio was the son of Nicola. Antonio is the man who made my violin in 1750.

There's nothing quite like visiting a violin shop. The man who owns the show actually makes cellos, and has quite a reputation for his work. I was greeted by the shop cat (always a good sign of impeccable taste) who inspected me with great care. She concluded I was ok to be there, and preceded to go back to her sun spot.

I opened my case, and presented my violin to the shop keeper. He immediately started looking at the violin with a mixture of astonishment and awe. He placed the violin on the workbench and quickly ran over to grab some books on Italian violins. He studied the label inside the violin, and authenticated it. He then stepped back, took a breath, and said, "Oh wow!" I asked, "Is something wrong?" He said, "It's just so rare that I have something this beautiful in the shop. It's rare that an old Italian master comes in to the shop."

I told him my story of how I came to own the violin, why I stopped playing (he assured me that it was common), and proceeded to let me know the costs involved. I told him, "It's not about the cost. I will come and go with time. This will not if it's taken care of. When I bought this, I assumed the responsibility for it. That's why I'm here today."

We talked further about the "worth" of the instrument. In all honesty, I don't care about the worth of it. It's hard for me to think of it as "priceless". It's like a part of me. We have this history. He said, "I understand completely." He then looked at the bow and said, "Oh my God, look at the workmanship of this." He loved the bow and mentioned the weight of it. I replied, "I wanted a heavy German bow to match the weight that I deliver from my arm."

Well, I was a bit surprised by the "worth" of it all. We based it on another Antonio Gagliano that had been sold 10 years ago. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But, it seems disrespectful in a way to think of it in that light. I'm just glad I took this first step. This was the easy one. The more difficult step will be to pick up the violin and start playing again. That's when I confront what my body will allow me to do with the violin, after not touching it for 20 years. I'm a bit scared about that.