People often think I play viola on a million-dollar Gasparo Da Salo. But on closer inspection, see that the beauty of tone comes not from a creation over 400 years old, but from one made 30 to 50 years ago by William Carboni (1915–1985), one of America's greatest viola makers.
Gasparo Da Salo (1540–1609) came 100 years before Stradivarius (1644–1737) and is considered, along with the great Andreas (and brothers) Amati (1551–1635), to have created the ultimate violas in quality as well as visual and tonal beauty. Carboni violas and violins will be the Gasparo Da Salos of the future—for although rare to find these days, they are highly coveted by players, still affordable, and among the finest sounding instruments to be found anywhere.
Born in Philadelphia in 1914 to Italian and French immigrants, William Carboni, as a young violinist, first learned to carve wood with his handy pocket knife, making all kinds of figurines, pipes, and carvings of the most intricate sort. But he soon became bored.
Violin and viola playing was his love. He was a player in the New York Philharmonic for some 40 years and played under the baton many great maestros—Arturo Toscanini, Bernstein, Boulez, and Bruno Walter to name a few.
Early in his career, he set himself the practical task of making his own violin and viola. He constructed his first violin from an instruction book. His practical knowledge and experience informed his design, for the viola had to be, above all, resonant. Also, the "fiddle" as he called it, had to be light and easy to handle since symphony players often hold their instruments under their chins for hours at a time. It was in this realm that his instruments are revolutionary in their acoustic design.
Carboni was influenced by the legendary names in string-making. The great Simone Saccone (1895–1973), who for years was considered the father of violin restoration, worked with Carboni. Carboni also worked with the great French luthier Rene Morel, whose talent is legendary among New York's finest string players.
For a long time, Carboni was the New York Philharmonic's official string repairperson.
With 90 orchestra members touring in Cape Town, New Zealand, or Tokyo, anything could happen to violins, celli, violas, or basses. Pegs could get stuck, sound posts could fall, bridges could snap, or tail guts could break and leave a player holding his or her $1,000,000 wooden box with strings dangling.
As a child, I went to Carboni's New Jersey home many times. He was a multifaceted genius who taught himself to speak Japanese and taught himself calculus. He was a superb cook, and also built much of his home. He could make anything with his hands.
He contributed greatly to the industry of violin-making. In the manufacture of a violin, the luthier needs to have tiny planes for shaving wood. Fifty years ago, these were not manufactured in 1/2-inch sizes and up. Carboni made the sand castings which, in turn, were used to make brass molds for manufacturing tiny planes in about 20 sizes. At the time, he freely distributed them to his colleagues to help them work more efficiently.
He taught me much about playing the viola, which he had learned from the legendary string teacher Demetrius Dounis. Often during a lesson, he would tell me, "Watch the hands in their restful state. See how the fingers look; watch how they work; watch the cat stretch out his paws."
These examples demonstrated an economy of motion, the purpose of movement without extraneous motions. And it was the same in his carving or bowing, in his concepts and his demeanor. When he said, "Good, kid," it really was good—no mincing words for him. He was a man of great modesty, honesty, and integrity.
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