I thought if I went to an instrument exhibition it would make me an instrument geek. Jesus, those people were so far evolved I may as well have been naked but for a penis sheath and a boar’s tusk through my nose. I was wearing a suit, they were wearing suits, mostly, but somehow it was immediately obvious that I was not one of them.

Maybe I was walking wrong, or breathing wrong – like, in short, terrified pants.

Okay, I’ve jumped from penis sheath to short pants there, haven’t I. Look, it’s a blog, I don’t edit this, yeah?

My cello teacher, who plays the instrument professionally in orchestras and shit told me to go check it out, so when the day comes when I’m looking to buy one of my own, I’ll know what the good instruments sound like.

So I went. It was at the end of March in the Karajan Center in Vienna, and I stopped by after work. Stuck my head in the door and sniffed carefully, like a hedgehog crawling out of his compost heap in spring.

Ventured in.

The exhibit, I’d expected it to be larger. I mentioned that to my teacher later, who said it was large as such exhibits go. I guess I’d been thinking about other exhibitions I’d been to, computer fairs and stuff. This consisted of three rooms; they had violins, violas, and cellos on display, and bows for playing them, all new, all exquisitely produced with exquisite care from exquisite woods by young instrument makers.

There are people who specialize in making violin etc bows.

Finally a guy played one of the cellos. I’d been walking around drooling over the instruments for nearly an hour like an old shoe fetishist at a Manolo Blahnik outlet. I really wanted to hear what they sounded like, but I was not going to touch those instruments. Sure, they’re quite expensive, as new instruments go, but it was more a problem of just not feeling worthy.

The cello sounded beautiful, to the extent that I can judge that.

I found out that an exhibition of this sort is actually slightly revolutionary in Vienna. New instruments, classical music instruments, are not highly prized in Vienna. Musicians here, I have been told, prefer antique instruments. As I understand it, it has to do with them being made out of wood, a natural product made from our friends the trees. As the instrument seasons – for years, or decades, or centuries, its sound continues to change. With a seasoned, antique instrument, the sound is mature and you know what you’re getting.

This appeal escapes me, though. Maybe if you’re a concert violinist this would be an issue. But new instruments have several advantages, I would think – the sound only gets better (usually), the instrument is new and has no cracks etc., they’re a hell of a lot cheaper and much easier to insure, since you’re insuring the purchase price, the actual value, and not some ideal value.

Also, the money is going to dedicated craftsmen and supporting a wonderful profession, rather than to wrinkled up old anal-retentive collectors somewhere.

Another interesting thing I found out is these instrument makers don’t just walk out into the woods, cut down a tree and carve it into a violin. Selecting, cutting, seasoning and selling wood for instruments is a profession of its own, and one that usually stays in a family for generations, because that wood is old.

Any instrument-wood-dealers out there are welcome to correct me if I’m wrong, but that wood is stored, seasoned, for a long, long time. There are centuries of history in a brand-new cello: the tree is already two or three centuries old when it’s cut. Then it can be stored for a century or more – one website I found researching this includes a picture of some spruce on racks wherever they store it, that was cut in 1884, for example, not at all uncommon to have it around that long.

I was told that basically they’re selling wood their grandfather cuts. So you’ve got a new cello, made out of a tree that was already a decent-sized tree during the Thirty-Years War. Imagine all the catastrophes that wood avoided – from being turned into firewood by some marauding Swedes, to getting bombed in WWII. (Not that they were bombing trees in WWII, although I suppose that happened, but rather, the wood would have been in its storage shed, by then, you know, maybe in a city somewhere.)

I looked around some more, then left. It was one of our first warm spring days outside, the sun was shining, but it was cool and dark in the stairwell on my way out. An ancient elevator, exposed, with a white wrought-iron cage ran up the open well. The cool air was a little musty, and more beautiful cello notes were the only thing that rained down on me as I headed for my car, happy to be human.