Why I’ll be throwing my new cello out the window…

The first thing I’d like to say about my new cello is that it is only new to me.  I bought it second-hand at the weekend from a talented young musician in West London.

Before I’d so much as clapped ears on this cello, I was already thinking of it as Crash.

This was unusual for me, in that none of the other inanimate objects in my life have names.  Indeed, much of the time I even refer to the much-loved cat who lives in our house as ‘the cat’.  So I started thinking about why I felt the need to christen poor old Crash, and it occurs to me that because I have dark plans for him, I am pre-attempting any niggling guilt by transforming him into a cartoon character in my own mind.

Odd as this may seem, it is far from being the worst thing which has happened to poor Crash.  As you can see from the photo, he’s got a whacking great crack running down his abdomen. This mortal injury was inflicted when a school chum accidentally yanked his previous owner off his feet while he had poor Crash strapped on his back.

Needless to say the chum, and the cellist were both more traumatised than poor Crash himself, but fortunately have since recovered.  And I’m delighted to report that the cellist has even gone on to a bigger and better cello.

Unfortunately, the same can not be said of poor Crash himself.  Judging from the mournful lament he now makes when tickled with a bow, for him the fall was nearly terminal.

Sadly, there is more pain and suffering still to come, which is why it was important to me to acquire a cello which was already beyond repair.

For in the not too distant future, Crash is going to be a guinea cello in an experiment I will be conducting as part of the research for my new novel, Blood Harmonies.

One of the plotlines of the book involves a group of musicians who are stealing priceless musical instruments so that they can be secretly redistributed to musicians who would otherwise never have access to such sublime tools.  Robin Hood with a classical twist, if you will.

Needless to say, things go horribly wrong, and while one of the thieves is trying to escape across the rooftops, a precious cello slips from his grasp and crashes to the ground from four storeys up.

While planning Blood Harmonies, I’ve imagined countless ways this scene might look, and more importantly sound.  But I just couldn’t be sure which one was the most true to life.

In the end, I decided there was only one way to find out.

Which is why, in the not too distant future, I’ll be throwing Crash off a roof, or maybe out a fourth storey window.

I’ve already got a quintet of photographers lined up to document the event for me, and we’re currently working out logistics and choosing a location which best reflects the reality of the location in the book, but which also allows them room to set up the shoot.  The photographers, like everyone else I’ve told this plan to, initially responded with horror to the idea, which pleased me no end.

I had hoped people would feel shocked at the idea of wilfully destroying a cello since this is one of the core emotional responses driving the action in Blood Harmonies.  Because key characters in the novel believe instruments of music are works of art in their own right that they go to great lengths to ‘liberate’ them from the glass museum displays where they’re being kept silent in keeping with the terms of a will which stipulates they may never be played.   (If this strikes you as too preposterous even for a novel, you might like to read a bit more about a violin called The Messiah, which is currently being seen but not heard at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford.)

Since one of the recurring themes in Blood Harmonies is how we each decide where the lines which can and cannot be crossed are, it feels fitting somehow that the research for the book should cross a few lines itself.  So while the idea of throwing Crash out of a window might sound a destructive note to begin with, I am quietly hoping his swansong will prove productive in the long run.

I’ll let you know how our plans are developing in coming weeks, and obviously will put the end results up on the blog once we’re done.  I hope you’ll join us along the way.

More as it happens…

This entry was posted on Monday, February 1st, 2010 at 14:21 and is filed under Novels in Progress. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

16 Responses to “Why I’ll be throwing my new cello out the window…”

  1. Dave G says:
    01/02/2010 at 15:12

    Brilliant – sounds like great fun. I hope you plan to publish the pictures.
    Ok, you have the photographers, but what about sound? I’, intrigued more by what it will sounds like though I am expecting the disappointment of a ‘crunch’ or ’smash’ rather than any cacophony.
    This reader wants to know!

  2. Melanie Garrett says:
    01/02/2010 at 16:19

    Thanks Dave! I agree completely, and we’ve been talking about ways of wiring Crash for sound, and possibly rigging him with a camera as well. One of my brothers-in-law is a sound engineer, so we’ll be roping his expertise in if we can. I’ll definitely post our findings, but it’s not likely to happen for a few weeks anyway. Quite exciting to look forward to though.

  3. previous owner of the cello says:
    09/02/2010 at 16:41

    YAY!!! MY CELLO IS FAMOUS AND GOING TO BE DESTROYED!!!

  4. Melanie Garrett says:
    09/02/2010 at 18:21

    Hi Noah! Relieved to hear you approve of the plan! We’re thinking it will be sometime in mid-April, as the photographers want to wait for the afternoons to be a bit lighter longer. But I’ll make sure and let you know when I’ve got the exact date. It’ll be a Saturday most likely, so you could always come along with your new cello and play a requiem as Crash takes the ultimate leap if you like! Any thoughts on what the most suitable piece of music might be?

  5. Noah says:
    09/02/2010 at 21:15

    I have sent this link to all of my friends- I will ask them for a requiem!!!

  6. Melanie Garrett says:
    09/02/2010 at 23:13

    Excellent, Noah! I’ll look forward to hearing what you guys think is the best solution!

  7. Simon Harvey Williams says:
    20/02/2010 at 18:29

    Now I understand about The ‘cello Project!

    I learnt the ‘cello at school many moons ago, and feel a little uneasy about the destruction you plan, but it seems it is a bit of an “Ex-’Cello” already!

    Please let me know when this event is going to take place, and I might be able to come and photograph the photographers for you.

  8. Melanie Garrett says:
    21/02/2010 at 23:09

    Hi Simon!

    You’re not the only one to express some unease, but I think once you learn the context of WHY this happens in the novel, you will feel it makes more sense. It would be fab if you could come along and take some shots! Will be in touch with the date, which is proving slightly hard to pin down for the moment. Mx

  9. If you’re only going to subscribe to one new blog this week… – White Nights & Blank Pages says:
    22/02/2010 at 13:30

    [...] to tell you that Lee has agreed to be one of the Quintet of photographers who will be shooting my Cello-Out-The-Window-Project.  Will the results be Zen or Frenetic?  Only Lee knows for now…In the meantime, here are a few [...]

  10. Harry (Noahs friend says:
    17/03/2010 at 09:29

    i want my french horn to be blown up… WAAA

    you are too lucky noah!

  11. Melanie Garrett says:
    18/03/2010 at 15:52

    Hi Harry,

    Good to hear from you! So do you think I should write a second novel where the brass section goes boom? For now, unfortunately, it’s just a cello that gets it. But I will be emailing Noah shortly, and there could still be a way you could take part if you’re interested? You can talk it over with Noah. All the best, Melanie

  12. Deborah says:
    03/04/2010 at 18:39

    Many years ago, I was going out with an ex-rockstar, ex-famous cellist. He was a very good cellist who practised most mornings for a couple of hours. It often took him an hour or so to overcome the shakes caused by the previous night’s drinking, but he usually persevered.

    His cello was 18th century and 3/4 sized – his estranged father had given it to him when he was 11, I think. As I said, he was a talented cellist, a prodigy, Menuhin’s favourite boy, but hamstrung by a lack of discipline (personal, not musical) and a tempestuous ego.

    He used to leave his cello overnight in his beat-up van, covered with a tarpaulin, when he was too pissed to drive home. Sometimes he would leave it in the van when it was parked outside my flat, which was up a flight of 50 stairs. He couldn’t be arsed to carry it. The funny thing is, he loved his cello.

    One night, we went home from the pub and he left the van in Highgate with the cello in the back. Thieves smashed the windows of every vehicle in Pond Square and discovered the cello under the mouldering old tarp. They took it.

    What did they think of it, I wondered? Did they sense they had something special; caress the warm, glowing wood? Did they sell it on to someone who cared for and understood instruments? Did it languish in a teenager’s bedroom? Or did they throw it on a bonfire (it was the beginning of November)or chuck it out of a window for a laugh, my worst fear?

    He burrowed under the bedclothes for two weeks and refused to speak or act. I hunted for his cello. Every music fair, every specialist shop – I became as much of an expert in tracing stolen cellos as was possible in those pre-internet days. It had gone.

    The stark realisation that he had deliberately put the thing he loved in harm’s way until the inevitable happened ended our relationship, which was on its last legs anyway.

    We are friends now. He showed no sentimental attachment to his old cello after his initial meltdown; he apparently preferred the replacement that he bought with the insurance payout.

    18 years later, I still look in the windows of second-hand music shops if there’s a cello in the window; just a quick glance to see if it is slightly smaller than usual, and glows richly, darkly, deeply.

  13. Melanie Garrett says:
    04/04/2010 at 09:44

    Thanks for posting this, Deborah. The fact that he risked something he loved, and then lost it is heartbreaking. But I was really swept by the idea that, while your friend appeared to have recovered from his sentimental attachment to the cello, you’re still keeping an eye out, still under the cello’s spell, as it were. It probably sounds completely mad, but when I read the last line I had a sense that your path will cross with this cello again. Is this wishful thinking? Hyper-romanticism? An innate desire for all stories to resolve to a wider meaning? Somehow, I can’t believe the thieves would have tossed something so beautiful on a fire, or chucked out a window for a laugh, as you say. Perhaps it’s just that I can’t imagine anyone destroying a perfectly good musical instrument, let alone a hauntingly beautiful one which glows richly, darkly, deeply.

  14. Deborah Kermode says:
    05/04/2010 at 11:41

    Hi Melanie, thanks for your reply. I hadn’t thought of that cello for ages until I read your blog. Strange.

    I’m not sure how I arrived on your blog page – Nicholas Royle invited me to be a friend of Nightjar Press on Facebook and suddenly there I was, reading about your doomed cello.

    I’m in Perugia at the moment, spending a quiet and rainy Easter weekend before beginning studying at the now notorious Universita per Stranieri tomorrow (as a rather mature student, I might add). I’m doing a lot of solitary walking, and half an hour ago stopped in my tracks as a cello glinted at me from a dark shop window – but of course, it was not it. Perhaps it will turn up one day, one year, maybe in another decade. Musicians say they usually do eventually.

    I would love to see Crash’s final plummet. Any chance or have you already done it? Also, I’m intrigued by the fact that you publish your thought processes in your blog when you’re writing a novel. Whenever I’ve written one I have to keep it all close to my chest or I lose the will to write it. That’s not like me, btw, I’m a pretty garrulous person!

  15. Melanie Garrett says:
    05/04/2010 at 18:22

    Hi Deborah,

    Perugia? Just how jealous do you want me to be?! I had a friend who went there as a mature student some years ago and he absolutely loved it. For a time he was even talking of trying to relocate there.

    Crash’s swan song happened a fortnight ago, but you’ll still be able to see it. There were seven photographers on hand in all, some of them using video as well, so the final flight was captured from all angles. I’ll be posting more about it soon, but life has rather got in the way for a lot of those who are involved (two of them got married last week, which was a nice uplifting thing for the throng of lenses to take aim at). Plus, we still have a bit more filming to do, and then we’ll be making a montage in the near future. In a rather rather thrilling twist, the original owner of the cello read the blog and will hopefully be playing a track for us on his new cello for us to film. Ideally, we’d like to inter-cut this with the scenes of Crash’s descent.

    Blogging about the books has been a surprisingly useful experience. To begin with, I only wrote about the Paris novel when my agent started submitting it to publishers. To begin with, no one even knew it was there, so it was pretty much the cyber equivalent of mumbling to myself in a corner, but at least it helped me gather my thoughts enough to speak to people about the books. Then I discovered Twitter and was amazed at how many people sent messages commenting on the blog, or volunteering advice and/or their own experiences. It was then that I decided it made sense to start writing about work-in-progress as well. That’s felt a bit riskier than writing about a finished book, but has proven VERY useful. I’ve been thrilled by how many musicians have got in touch with input and encouragement. I’ve not been blogging as much in recent weeks, as I’ve had too many other things on my plate. But I’ve now got my desk cleared and will be swinging back into Blood Harmonies mode. I think the trick is that I’m not saying anything on the blog what I would mind a reader knowing from page one, if that makes sense. My inner safety mechanism is set to ‘keep your powder dry’.

    I hope the sun comes out there soon and you can get in lots of long afternoons lingering on terraces, maybe writing with a glass of something lovely, or perhaps just chatting to locals. And if you get a chance, let me know a bit more about what you write?

  16. Deborah Kermode says:
    11/04/2010 at 17:24

    Hi Melanie,

    Sorry I didn’t reply earlier, it’s been a bit hectic, getting settled in and realising that the course I’m on is full on – I haven’t studied so much since I was at school. Actually, I was Skyping an old friend yesterday and she said, “Don’t be ridiculous, we NEVER did any work at all at school.” She’s right, this is a new experience for me.

    The sun did come out for several days and much wine was drunk (although that’s a given in any climate). Pissing down now and will be all week, but it is April after all.

    I would love to hear the experiences of your mature student friend. Any chance I could Facebook him or something? I’ll invite you as a friend in a minute if I can find you. So far all the other students are loads younger than me, there are even some hapless bambini in my class who are FIFTEEN. They’re on a school trip from Adelaide. They lasted 3 days and I haven’t seen them since, poor little buggers.

    I’m fascinated by your successful forays into the world of Twitter, I did sign up but have never used it – what exactly do you do? I’m most impressed as well – I think exploiting social media and the internet generally is the way to go with publishing.

    I packed in my freelance ‘career’ in TV ten years ago because I wanted to write a book. Fortunately, I got a job as a writer on the doomed start-up boo.com before my money ran out. After boo went tits up I had as much copywriting work as I wanted – there weren’t many web writers around in those days. Lately I was working for a charity in London but was bored stiff and packed it in to come to Perugia.

    My first novel got me an agent, quite a bit of interest but no deal. I wrote 100 pages of a second novel and the ed. director of Orion wanted it, but her marketing department turned it down. Then Sarah Waters published a book with an almost identical plot, rendering mine dead in the water, if you’ll excuse the pun. The third, complete book got a lot of interest – a lot of people hated it but the Harper Collins woman said, ‘ I laughed all the way through it, she reminds me of a female Nick Hornby’, then turned it down. I then ritually disembowelled myself (not really).

    Several misfortunes later I wrote a short story and submitted it to the Manchester Fiction Prize last year. It made the unofficial long list and I got a special commendation from the judges. I sent it around to a few publishers but none of them even answered me.

    Then to my amazement Nick Royle tracked me down on Facebook about a month ago and said he thought my story was excellent, it had almost made it to the shortlist and he wanted me to know it hadn’t fallen into a black hole. I told him it had, and he submitted it to the London Magazine on my behalf. They haven’t responded yet.

    And that is the sorry story of my literary career so far. I was going to have a bash at a short story or two here, but I’m too busy just being at the moment. We’ll see what happens when I’ve been here a bit longer.

    I’d love to see Crash crash. Do keep us posted. I’ve now got to struggle 10 feet through the wind and rain to drink some aperitivi with my landlady and her family next door.

    A presto,

    Deborah

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