The Bat

April, 2008

We’ve all seen funny home videos of animals getting into trouble. I’ve personally experienced some pretty hilarious moments on stage (a Daschund trotting through the viola section at the Aspen Music Festival), but nothing could prepare me for what I’m about to tell you.

It was summertime in a picturesque southern France; I was performing two recitals in Monflanquin. At the time, I was playing the 1692 Avery Fisher Stradivari, on loan to me from The Juilliard School. Of course, I had strict instructions on how to keep this priceless violin in perfect condition: climate control case, special travel care, controlled performing environments.

My first concert was in an outdoor cloister. A stunningly divine location to enjoy fine music…but a controlled environment?! Not so much. Praying it would not rain, I fearfully prepared for my recital. The evening turned out to be a mild summer night, and despite the incredibly dry acoustics, it was a delightful performing experience. To my great relief, the following evening was to be in an old church. When I arrived, I walked around the grounds and drew in the beauty of the vast land. The church was built atop a hill overlooking a valley of vineyards...an absolutely stunning view. This was to be an evening of inspiration! I went inside the church to warm up and sound check in the hall. I discovered the acoustics here were entirely opposite of the night before. Where the cloister was dry and my sound ended even before my bow stopped, the church was live, resonant, and my sound echoed through the grand hall endlessly…

In the first half of the program, I was performing Beethoven’s 9th Sonata for Piano & Violin, Kreutzer. In the last movement, the piano has a grand A Major chord, and I usually wait for the sound to dissipate before entering…but on this night, after what seemed like several eternities of endless ringing, I finally gave up waiting and broke into the finale with a huge smile! (For those wondering where the bat comes into this story, don’t worry…it’s coming soon!)

After intermission, I was to play Ysaye’s Sonata for Solo Violin No.2 á Jacques-Thibaud, which obsesses over Bach’s Partita No.3 and the Dies Irae (Day of Wrath) theme. Already a little wary about playing this in a church, I was practising backstage…and started to hear some rustling above. I looked up and saw nothing; I continued to practice, and continued to hear foreign noises from above. Summoned to stage, I finished warming up, and walked onto stage alone for my solo. I began playing the quote from the Preludium of Bach’s Third Partita and my violin’s voice echoed throughout the high hall as Dies Irae crept into the prelude. I was so passionately involved in my own world that I was hardly distracted by the rustling from above which had gotten louder and louder…

Then, as I was delivering the full Dies Irae theme to its climax, my ears tuned into the sound of fluttering wings. I opened my eyes and adjusted to the light, and made every effort to refocus on my violin only, and ignore the fluttering and movement I heard above me. Then, at that exact moment, I realized in utter horror…that there were two streaks of translucent white liquid slowly trickling down the face of my Strad…my beautiful perfectly maintained Strad!! I glanced up and immediately realized the source of all the commotion. There, directly above me, was a frightfully fast flurry of black-winged shadows. Mortified, my mind started racing: “what are bats doing inside the hall? What was this mysterious liquid? What would it do to the varnish of my violin?” With my head mimicking the circling flurry above, I finished the movement, and excused myself from the audience: “I believe I may have woken them up!” As the audience laughed and stared up in bewilderment, I ran backstage. Ever so carefully, I wiped the white liquid off of my violin, and to my disbelieving eyes, it came off…along with the varnish! My Strad stared at me with two naked streaks of wood…

Numbness washed over me. Shaking and unable to breath, I blinked and reminded my lungs to pump oxygen to my brain. It took me quite some time to stop shaking (pick up my jaw from the floor), and regain my composure. I stared back at my Strad, cleared my mind, and decided I had to finish what I started.

I walked back out to meet my audience, and discovered the bats had gone back to their caves. Slowly, I continued the solo sonata from Malinconia. The rest of my concert played itself in a daze.

What followed the concert was a desperate phone call to Rene Morel, my Luthier, telling him of my mortifying experience; he reassured me everything would be fine. And it was. Though to this day, there are still two faint streak marks on the face of the 1692 Avery Fisher Stradivari…

I will never forget that night…the night I awoke bats with Dies Irae!