And not just because they might be fake. Even if they are real, the culture that has grown up around these things is evil and poisonous. Keep your Strad and give me a Zyg, an Iizuka, or a Cole. (Or my Gliga.) The illogical snake-oil-driven mysticism behind these things is ludicrous. It’s a bunch of wannabe aristocrats who long for the “romantic” days of masters and
owned human beings serfs, who playact at being important. Even when the fiddles are real, it’s the same thing. These people are pathetic. They are the kind of insecure idiots who either come up with the “Diamonds are Forever” marketing slogans, or who swallow them hook, line, and sinker.
I become happier and happier that my own chosen instrument is flat-out commoditized. The string instrument culture is screwed up.
I’ve had a post about this brewing for a while now that will probably win me no friends; thankfully, I have few readers. But between this Gordon-Gecko-meets-Czar-Nicholas-style junk and the insistence on maintaining the instruments themselves in the least playable state — and the fetishizing of that — I’m happy to play the piano. There’s no mystery there — they grew up in poolhalls and illegal taverns, and people have been pounding them to matchsticks playing everything under the sun on them for well over 100 years. Violinists shriek over violin-playing robots. Please. Robots have been playing my instrument for a century — they’re called player pianos. A lifetime later, Billy Joel did just fine despite them.
Stop abasing yourselves before your instruments like stone idols. Jeez. They’re pretty, like Horowitz’s piano some have significant historical value, and some of them — no different from new instruments — sound fantastic. But get off your knees.