Brand New
January 29, 2026
Throughout my life as a violinist, I’ve had the good fortune to own and perform on several fine instruments. They are violins made by:
Giovanni Francesco Pressenda (1777-1854)
Sanctus Seraphin (1699-1776)
Lorenzo Guadagnini (1685-1746)
Joseph Guarnerius del Gesu (1698-1744)
Lorenzo Storioni (1744-1816)`
At no point when I was replacing one old violin by another did I consider purchasing a new instrument made by any of the number of fine luthiers who exist throughout the world. And it’s not as if I had not personally encountered many beautifully made new instruments that produced vibrant and nuanced sound. As with blind wine tasting, where the brash new wine will sometimes be chosen over pedigreed old ones, the same has occasionally happened when the tone of an artfully made new violin has been judged more positively than a three- century- old one made by a Cremonese master. But call it prejudice, or simply my take on reality, that I believed that an instrument played for many years and aided by the passing of great lengths of time would sound different from when its life began. The relatively simple sound it might have originally produced would gradually but inevitably acquire complexity and refinement. I have to admit, however, that the magical sound coming out of exceptional violins can be of any age. The Andrea Amati made in 1564 that I once played in the Cremona Instrument Museum sounded after almost five hundred years like a healthy new instrument. Likewise, I’ve come across new violins whose sound was refined and had the patina of an age it did not possess.
But for every old violin I’ve played on, obviously there was a time when it had been brand new. I try to imagine myself transported by a time machine to Cremona, Italy, in 1785, the year my Lorenzo Storioni was probably made: I’m a young musician unable to afford the not- very- old but already expensive instruments of Stradivari or Guarneri. I’ve heard great things about Storioni, then in the middle of a flourishing career. So I walk into his workshop, introduce myself, and ask whether he would have time to make an instrument for me, and if so what it would cost. Once Storioni establishes his availability and the price is agreed upon, we talk about the future violin’s hoped-for qualities. Storioni would want to know whether I’d prefer a more brilliant, edgier sound or a deeper, richer one. As an expert craftsman, he would be able to control the sound’s quality to a certain extent by executing dozens of variables of proportion and thickness of wood. However, even if a luthier made two violins with exactly the same measurements and proportions, they each would inevitably sound somewhat different, owing to the uniqueness of each piece of formerly living wood used. Therefore, despite Storioni’s great skill, I would in a sense be buying a cat in a sack. Would its sound be fine and nuanced enough? And strong enough to reach the back of a large salon or hall? Never mind, I say to myself. I’ll take a chance, based on Storioni’s reputation. One or maybe two months later, I proudly join my musician colleagues with a brand new and lovely sounding instrument.
Sadly, there is no time machine to take me back to Storioni’s workshop. Instead, I have this cherished memory from fifty years ago: hearing that Joseph Roisman, the retired first violinist of the Budapest String Quartet, wanted to sell his Storioni violin,. I traveled to his home in Washington DC and introduced myself. I had never met Roisman, although I had heard him and the great Budapest Quartet often. He wasted no time in motioning to the violin case lying on the couch, opening it, and handing me the violin inside to play. Its sound was dark and complex—in a word, ravishing—and I immediately told Roisman I would like to buy the instrument. We sat down for tea served by Roisman’s wife, Pola, and quickly agreed on a price. This was more than a cool business transaction, but rather a poignant exchange between a great concert violinist at the end of his career, selling his beloved violin to a young violinist hoping to make a great concert career.
What followed over the years was a rich partnership with the Storioni In thousands of concerts. But often I would wonder what the original transaction between musician and luthier had been like. And with increasing frequency, I heard of new instruments being made that had impressive personality. One instrument maker’s name kept coming my way—Samuel Zygmuntowicz. His instruments were being played enthusiastically by some of the most distinguished musicians around.
I contacted Sam and made a date to see him. I took the subway to Brooklyn,,and climbed the stairs to Sam’s second-story workshop, where I was greeted by him, a bright and personable, youngish man. Violins were everywhere, some in various stages of construction. The smell of wood, glue, and varnish pervaded the room and tickled my nose curiously. Sam offered me several violins to play—all full and healthy sounding—but one in particular had the darkness and richness I preferred. That was exactly what Sam wanted to know in fashioning an instrument to my taste. He also measured the dimensions of my Storioni, which I had brought along. His intention was not to make a copy of the violin, but to be inspired by the ravishingly beautiful sound it produced.
Once the price of my yet- to- be- made violin had been determined, I shook hands with Sam and returned home as excited as could be. No cat- in- a- sack this. Most likely it would be an instrument with a distinct personality that would come to align with my own, and ultimately, I hoped, we would make beautiful music together.
Two months later I once again climbed the stairs to Sam’s workshop, where my new violin awaited me. The instrument was beautifully shaped, with a stylishly carved scroll, and in its newness had none of the nicks, scratches, and signs of wear that would ordinarily allow it to exhibit the patina of age through centuries of use. Through one of the violin’s F-holes I could see written Sam’s name, New York, the year 2006, and a surprise dedication: For Arnold Steinhardt. But most importantly, was there something alluring or even magical that would emerge from the instrument? To my relief, and then utter joy, a healthy and appealing sound rang out. From then on I performed with both my violins, junior and senior, but with a new found appreciation for how it must have been some 200 years ago when a violin and violinist met briefly and then began their long and unpredictable journeys into the future.
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Comments
Thank you for sharing this story of your commissioning a new instrument. I am a very amateur violinist (and a senior one) but during Covid I commissioned a new violin from a local luthier, Dylan Race, whose instruments I admired. I have loved the violin and often hope that in a hundred years, in two hundred years!, another violinist will love the mature instrument just as much. Again, thank you for sharing your story.
You left out the ending.
What will you do with your Storioni violin?
Beautiful story! I LOVE the book “The Violin Maker” which tells the story of Sam building a violin for Eugene Drucker.
I love this story. It brings me back to my father’s struggles to find the viola that was perfect for him. Someday, I will tell you the story of his violin. Best regards.
What a fascinating piece dear Arnold and it certainly makes one think twice aboutpre-conceived ideas when it comes to stringed instruments and the additional important factor of the player, who will again make every instrument sound different – his or her unique sound, and how much that can vary from instrument to instrument, and then the bow! So much food for thought provoked by your wonderful piece. Lovely to read you!
Lots of love Annabelle
Fascinating. And did you choose to play one instrument or the other according to the music programmed, the venue, the accompanist, etc?
It’s wonderful to read your brand new “Key of Strawberry” entry. Thank you!
Arnold, I have a fond memory of once, when I was in NYG, of going with you over to Sam’s shop to have your sound post adjusted. I still have a vivid picture of his shop in my mind.
What a wonderful interesting piece giving much food for thought concerning prejudices
When it comes to choosing instruments. Then there is the whole mysterious world of the sound each individual makes no matter what instrument they play; some, instantly recognisable! Thank you dear Arnold, it is so great to read you!
Warmest greetings to you and Dodo Annabelle
arnoldbronson@icloud.com
Having had the pleasure of hearing you perform dozens of times the interment you were playing had a magical sound but I’m sure the talent of the performer would have come out with whatever violin you had under your chin. I continue to listen to you regularly with my recordings.
Dear Mr. Steinhardt,
Thank you for your brilliant recollections. You’re not only a fantastic violinist, but also a gifted raconteur (story teller).
May I share some recollections too, please:
During the last 45+ years I have heard the Guarneri Quartet live in concert at least 20 if not more times, in Germany, the US and the UK. I also collected many of your recordings on CD etc.
– In Bahnhof Rolandseck near Bonn (very close to a noisy railway line which was particularly disturbing in quiet slow movements…) your quartet started the second Brahms quartet (in A minor) – and your wonderful cellist, Mr Soyer, began with a wrong note. I remember the astonished looks of the other three. Nevertheless, everything afterwards went well and beautifully.
– A Würzburg concert didn’t go exceptionally well, perhaps the quartet was tired after a long concert tour. Still, at the end the audience wouldn’t let you go without an encore. If I recall correctly, you played two – and the slow movement of a Schumann quartet was just heavenly, from your four hearts – and the quartet players then looked satisfied again.
– In Stuttgart the quartet started with your new cellist, after Mr. Soyer had retired. In the beginning you played the Mozart B flat KV 589, which the composer had written for a Prussian amateur king. The two violinists and the viola player looked very interested and quite happy afterwards – like the audience.
– In Princeton, N.J. the quartet played the Brahms f minor quintet with the son of Rudolf Serkin. I was intensive and just great!
– After more than 40 years your quartet gave a farewell concert at the Wigmore Hall of London. I recall the Haydn D major op. 20 and the Smetana ‘From my life’ – quartets you had played decades before at the beginning of your quartet career. The day after I could hear the recording at BBC3, which confirmed my impression during the concert: the left hand fingers of the first violin didn’t function any more 100 percent, as they had done before in numerous concerts for 40+ years. Your second violin, Mr. Dalley, who always was the most reliant partner, played in certain passages a little louder than usual to cover any “sound holes”. The audience, conscious of the quartet’s impending retirement, gave you a standing ovation – so well deserved after so many years of quartet playing at the highest level possible.
Thank you, Mr. Steinhardt, for giving me so many rich and beautiful experiences!
Helmut Hubel, Cheltenham/UK and Stuttgart/G
While I’m not a musician I greatly appreciated this story. This isn’t just a story about a violin. This is the story of our lives. Please, more stories.
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