Albert Storace delves into the backstory behind composer Joseph Vella’s recent work, Ode to a Resurrected Violin, and finds that it’s all in the name.

Commissioning a new work from a composer is usually linked with a special event. It could be an anniversary or a wedding, some inaugural occasion, an anniversary and so on.

Very rarely has a work been commissioned as an ode to a resurrected instrument.

Joseph Vella’s Ode to a Resurrected Violin, Opus 137 scored for violin and strings was premiered during the inaugural concert of this year’s edition of the Victoria International Arts Festival at the basilica of St George in Gozo.

The soloist was the composer’s own great-nephew, Pierre-Louis Attard, with members of the Malta Philharmonic Orchestra.

What is unusual about this commission is that the Ode is addressed to the very violin played by Attard during this premiere. Not so unusual is that Vella dedicated his Opus 137 to George Debono, the man who brought back to life the violin.

Debono is a retired medical doctor whose hobby and passion is restoring string instruments. He is also well-known for his building of clavichords, some of which are replicas of authentic and historic clavichords. Thanks to him, what must have been the first clavichord recital became possible.

Held in Malta after centuries during which the instrument was neglected, eventually there were even recitals during which different clavichords with different sonorities (as many as four) were separately played by the same performer, Ramona Zammit Formosa.

These clavichords featured in a recital by the distinguished harpsichordist and clavichordist John Irving.

Meeting Debono I recapped on what I already knew... that he has been fascinated with string instruments ever since his adolescence.

This later developed into a passion for restoring instruments, because he feels that musical instruments are there to be played, although it was some time before he got into it as determinedly as he has been in the last two decades, devoting most of his free time to this activity.

Whole books have been written about the process of restor-ing instruments. Here, I want to trace the tale behind this particular restoration.

It began years ago when Vella was approached by a gentleman who gave him a wooden casket.

The man said that there was a violin inside, once used by his grand-father who played with the Royal Opera House orchestra in Valletta.

The composer was intrigued and found the disintegrated remnants of the instrument. There were only three parts left: the front, back and part of the neck.

It is not just passion that does it, but precision, care, some mathematics, much patience and a sharp pencil

Stuck to the inside of one part was part of an inscription, most of which had either disappeared with just a few details still legible.

About a year ago, Vella approached Debono, telling him that he had a number of violins which needed attention.

Upon seeing them, Debono immediately realised that the most damaged instrument seemed of particular interest, even though in his words “it appeared beyond rescue and I had little to go on. But, somehow I felt it was once a noble instrument and it would be a terrible pity not to revive it”.

From what transpired during our chat I was to find out about an even more spectacular restoration case Debono undertook, that of a seriously damaged double-bass from Macedonia, which is now restored to its full glory. But that is another story.

“It is not just passion that does it, but precision, care, some mathematics, much patience… and a sharp pencil,” Debono says.

“The challenge of restoring this particular violin was that the reconstruction had to proceed in reverse order. The first step was to fashion a mould precisely matched to the surviving pieces and ultimately to marry newly-fashioned ribs (the beautifully curved sides of a violin) to these pieces.

“Having nothing to go by, making new ribs and other missing parts needed much working out and careful aligning to the rounded contours of the instrument.

“Positioning the neck and scroll in what must have been its original orientation was also a matter of measurement and much trial and error.”

The instrument had obviously been intensively played and the surviving fragments were deeply scarred and bore many splits.

The most vital part, the front of the violin, which acts as the sound board (which is made out of spruce) was intact.

Some wood had broken away from the back and small bits of maple had to be matched and glued into place.

Fortunately, the reconstruction was quite successful. The rest was a matter of extensive external restoration of the instrument.

It was impossible to preserve the original varnish. Such varnish as had survived was deeply scratched and barely visible in places, as it was buried beneath the adherent dirt: a thick layer of blackened resin which had hardened and coagulated into the varnish.

This was particularly true at the front of the instrument where some parts were so worn as to be completely denuded of varnish.

The entire instrument had to be rendered down to bare wood, re-varnished in layers as though it was a newly-made violin.

Of course, the varnish used in violins is no ordinary varnish. Such varnishes are of very sophisticated composition and only obtainable from specialist firms. The success of any restoration also depends on the varnish.

The final – and most exciting part – involves setting up the violin. Particularly crucial is the positioning of the sound-post inside the violin which Italian lutenists poetically refer to as anima, the soul of the instrument, which is so important for its tone.

It is then time to give the violin a new pegs and bridge, fit it with strings and, of course, tune it.

“What follows are those first magical bow-strokes which sound out the voice of the resurrected instrument. And it sounded good,” Debono says.

The thrill and main reward Debono gets whenever he finishes a job, be it a viola da gamba, clavichord, or any other string instrument, is to see and hear it being played. In this case, it was a particularly moving experience.

Asking him how long it took him to restore the Vella violin, Debono says that it took him about three months.

And, when Vella asked him what was owed for the work carried out, Debono’s reply was that hearing the instrument ‘sing’ again was sufficient reward in itself, adding the after-thought: “Perhaps you could compose a work for this violin?”

And Vella did precisely this. The result was his Op. 137, which he dedicated to Debono.