The end of the year always makes my fingers itch for something new, or something old to make new again. A few years ago, I was inspired by Josh Roman’s Instagram post where he was being adjusted by an Alexander Technique practitioner while playing the Toccata from George Crumb’s Sonata for Solo Violoncello. The Toccata takes the idea of a movement of music to a new level: it’s a relentless and incredibly athletic section of the work, and what Josh was doing sort of epitomizes the approach I’ve been cultivating and refining over the last two decades. Together with Shostakovich Concerto Nº1, Britten Suite Nº1, and Bach’s 4th Suite, the Crumb sonata represents a sort of ultimate test case for playing with a feeling of ease and openness in a context where sentiment and connection with a work can create tension and compromise technique.

The last time I worked on this piece, I focused solely on the Toccata: it’s incredibly sexy, wildly cellistic—one of those pieces you fall in love with for what it demonstrates about both instrument and instrumentalist. You fall in love with it as it takes your ego to the cleaners. You form a commitment to it while you take a day off to grieve the previous evening’s ego-to-the-cleaners session with a day of Galamian arpeggios.* You return to it again and again, beauty unfurling as the thing becomes, unbelievably at first, playable. Possible. In time.

I’m in the beginning stages of note acquisition in the other movements now, which entails lots of Mode 1 practice, score study away from the cello, and watching YouTube videos, as those help with fingerings and developing a sense for how other people are interpreting the piece. Not so much to copy them, but to know where the lines are so I might make sense of coloring outside of them, if I choose. Cue the old aphorism about knowing the rules before breaking them razza frazza something something…

Last night, I stumbled upon an old video from Benjamin Truchi that may well be one of my favorite recordings of the cello, period, let alone the Crumb. It’s that good. I was just now trying to listen to it while writing, but my eyes became smoked with tears and his playing demanded my full attention. Some credit must go to the composer for writing such a devastating treatise, but Truchi brings his own magic in abundance. So here, I share with you, about twelve minutes of staggering beauty and confrontation.

*if you aren’t clambering up and down the fabulous arpeggios in that Jensen/Galamian book, today is the day to start, my friend.