Glazunov’s Le chant du ménestrel was composed in 1900 for cellist Anatoly Brandukov. Brandukov was a student of cellist and composer William Fitzenhagen, and a friend of Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov. He was helped by both of them during his life, and even was Rachmaninov’s best man at his wedding.
A rather sad story about Brandukov has him falling on his cello in 1919. The cellist was on his way to a concert at the Bolshoi Theatre. The story was told by his fellow musician at the Bolshoi, pianist Heinrich Neuhaus, who added that when the cover was removed for repairs, Brandukov embraced his cello, weeping tears as if it were a person.
The other day I was reading a chapter in a collection of short stories written by a Dutch violin player. She forgot her instrument once, missing it hurt a lot. Not only because these are expensive instruments, but also because you get used to how it feels in your hands, how it reacts to your bowing. Every instrument is unique, and the musician playing it gets attached to it. Like a relationship.
Oh, and I already wrote about this in June. Another double.