Every single time I have a new student over the age of 20 I get the exact same question “Am I too old to learn to play the cello?” and every single time I give the same answer, “no”.

The benefits of learning music as a child are real - let's face it, our brains are both more accepting of learning new information and, probably more important, our brain is not crammed with the minutiae of day to day living as an adult; work, family, pets, garbage day, car repair and, of course the plethora of code numbers for every single account we need to access (my personal hair trigger). The code numbers alone scientifically take up 7/8's of our usable brain space (my science).

In teaching both younger and older students I can say that another benefit of being a “younger” student is that children and teenagers don't normally carry the baggage of having to be correct all of the time. Adults become almost fixated on making their notes perfect. They will make room for some rhythm, when asked, but of utmost importance are the black dots. Kids, on the other hand, not only don't mind making mistakes, they often take delight in it. Most enjoyable to me is when a student, of any age, makes a really noticeable error and explodes into laughter. It makes me hoot as well and then we get right back at it.

Kids have that damned memory thing going for them. Many times I will assign a piece and the very first week they return they have it completely memorized. I remember having that kind of memory.... I think.

But take heart adults, that is why I give everyone a notebook!! And, interestingly, my young learners often don't “remember” to look in the notebook at what I assigned them.

Adult learners come to lessons, almost without exception, prepared. Even with full-time jobs, laundry, and kids to ferry to soccer, they arrive having practiced. Often they are a healing balm at the end my “young learner” day. Adults are studying the instrument because they really want to. They have thought it through and, recognizing the challenges, make it happen. And it is their name that is on the check at the beginning of the month.

Adults take my suggestions and really work with them. They will sit in front of mirrors, use a drone and make friends with their metronome. And I say “Bravo”

Interestingly, something both teens and adults need in lessons is some time to talk. I make the studio a safe space. If you haven't practiced- I talk with you, not your mom or your partner. And you can bang your fist and you can tell me that you hate this piece (I get the insinuation that it includes me..but I can take it) and it never leaves the room. Music gives everyone a second voice. We can use it to express joy and passion and love and...rage.

Learning something new is difficult at any age for different reasons, but it is also an inherent part of our growth as people. Perhaps this is what keeps all learners “youthful learners?”

Adult learners vs. young learners is a bit like the tortoise and the hare...and we all know how that ends.




This is what I hear the moment I bring up the fact that it is that time again. It matters not that the student has played in many recitals, in fact just played in one this past winter. The mere mention of the “R” word makes most of my students heads snap around and they get that “deer in the headlights” look in their eyes.

Paul and I combine our studio recitals. We plan two during the cello season. We have one around Christmas and one at the end of the season, around late May or early June.

I have each student participate in choosing one piece to bring up to performance level. Once in a while I'll have someone throw in an extra duet with a sibling or friend, etc. but normally it is one piece per student. This wasn't a difficult decision, it came about after both participating as well as sitting through millions (or just felt like it) of recitals where students played numerous pieces. I have memories of getting to one of our son's recitals at what seemed a reasonable time only to find that reasonable relegated us to the “overflow” room, in which there was not even a piano. Picture ten sets of parents all leaning in one direction straining to hear at least one of the seven compositions each student was allowed to perform, in the other room, the room WITH the piano.

The word broil also comes to mind.

So...we minimize. I have a large studio and I have empathy.

Once the piece has been chosen we begin with a wide scope and then tighten our field of expectation. I remind everyone that bringing a piece to performance is very different from working a piece week to week. They often laugh when I tell them that to be truly ready to perform there should be a bit of the “eating too many crackers'” feeling- that you will never eat those crackers again as long as you live. And then they stop laughing at about week six.

However, our goal is to not only work through the individual challenges of each piece but to create a muscle memory that will be invaluable when adrenaline joins the party.

We work the piece and, quite separately, we work on performance anxiety, which is another muscle entirely. I feel that to fully prepare even the youngest performer we must pay attention to their head as well as their hands. Teaching someone to perform serves a purpose well beyond studying the cello and it is my responsibility as surely as teaching someone to play notes is. Ron Thompson, my friend and author of the book “On Cue- Managing Anxiety, Inviting Excellence” talks about creating our ideal audience and reminding us that our performance is a gift to be given without expectation.

When the recital day arrives students stream into the space, appropriately early, to tune and simply to “be” in the space. Everyone has the chance to play a bit of their piece- although not so much that they give away the whole gift. I love to see the younger male students come in with their wobbly ties and their flattened hair. Sheepishly grinning and jamming hands into their pants pockets.

One by one they begin, some in duet with me and some braving the spotlight alone. I try to help the audience to understand how challenging it is to learn something new, anything new, but this is THE CELLO- enough said.

And we go though it all together. We look at each other in delight when they zip through a passage that they kept falling into at each lesson and I lean over and squeeze a hand when they fumble, because it is never about the falling and fumbling but always about the getting up.

Afterward there is cake- there is always cake at recitals isn't there? Everyone mills around and feels fabulous as their family and friends smile and congratulate. They hang onto the neck of their cellos with the hand that isn't holding the cake, they are a team, they need each other to shine.

I busy myself with odd jobs in the corners, exhausted in a way that only comes from emotional exertion. As each player walks forward to perform my heart begins to pound and I feel myself playing every note with them, urging them from a place that they can't hear. And now it is over and I'm softly happy.

The lesson from recitals is that we work and then....we play.


Melissa Perley

To Skype Or Not To Skype

There are germaphobes, agoraphobes, hydrophobes and there are technophobes, and that is me. You can throw in arachnophobia as well...so when one of my students was headed to Spain for a year and asked me to teach her via Skype I immediately said “no.” Then the begging began at each lesson and I could only take so much.

It involved me purchasing a laptop computer that was capable of Skype and a bit of bartering car privileges with our son, Ethan, to figure out how to make it work before I was ready.

I was cynical that it would be possible, let alone successful. I wasn't teaching someone to paint, which you might (I wouldn't but...) be able to do without good sound production, I was teaching them to play an instrument!

The computer “rang” for me and I answered with a video response and there was Chris, just as she was the week before, only on a screen. We sat down for our lesson, across from each other both in terms of position to computers and placement on the planet. The first hurdle is to stop looking at yourself. There you are, big as life, with all of your hair challenges. Horse blinders are helpful.

I always begin my lessons with scales and so we began. Up she went for four octaves and down she slid on the other side. I could hear each note distinctly. And I could easily hear, much to her dismay, if her pitch needed adjusting.

On we pressed to etudes. If I had something to show her, I would hold it up to my little camera and she could see what point I was trying to make. We began to take notes in tandem in our notebooks. One that she would keep for herself and the other I would keep here so that I could refer to it the following week. I would jot comments and ideas and, as when she was here in person, little jokes.

When we finished the hour lesson we both felt wonderful about what we had accomplished and the bonus was that she could “carry” me around the new house in Spain! After we had hung up I would send her an email transcribing what I had written in the notebook here. It gave her assignments to work on and enabled her to read my thoughts and ideas as she went through everything. Email allowed her to ask questions and, if a problem arose, I would appropriately primp and turn on the screen.

Our Skype lessons continued for the year that she and her husband remained in Spain. When she returned to “normal” lessons, there was no question that she had progressed. I was sold.

I have several Skype students now from various parts of the country. I have taken one student, Sherrie, from never reading music to working on her first Sonata. We have recitals with Paul as her audience (no snacks being the down side of this arrangement) and I snail-mail her any prizes she might collect from my infamous quizzes. We are a team as sure as I am with anyone who physically sits beside me. We laugh, we work through her struggles and we trust each other, as a team does.

I should be more amazed that this works than I am, but music always finds a way to break all barriers and I, as ever, remain grateful.



The trees are taken down, the candles put away and time to relax and contemplate has ended...it is January.

December is traditionally winter recital month and early January comes New England High School Music Festival and All State auditions. Cello students have put aside most other materials in order to fully focus on these events.

Over and over we run scales and measure by measure we take pieces apart only to put them together again. This is preparing for performance. As I explain to the audience at our student recitals, we aren't being total ogres by having students give a recital, it just seems that way. However, getting pieces ready for any type of performance is a very different animal from week to week assignments. And once these recitals and auditions are finished both teacher and student can take a deep breath.

And then in comes January. In Vermont this is the longest month of the year. Unpredictable weather means icy rain one day and piles of snow the next. No sparkling lights to lift our spirits as darkness descends by 4pm. All this cello study resumes anew.

For us it means pouring over pieces to find the music that will lift a student into their next curve of learning while being aware of pushing too hard and inviting disappointment and discouragement. Our winter meal consists of scales and etudes with new duets as the dessert. Difficulty and fun need to be put on the scales as laughter is as important in a lesson as challenge.

Lessons come at the end of a workday. Schoolwork or work for pay doesn't matter- the student is tired and it is our job to greet each student with renewed energy from the last lesson, we are tired too.

But in the midst of this effort is the music, always the music. I watch tired faces lift while playing a joyful stretch of Bach and laughter at silly mistakes by teacher and student alike.

And so we come to terms with stoking the stove, wearing our boots and returning to our musical studies while we wait for that first crocus


Christmas is one of my very favorite times of the year. December normally swoops in on the tail of frigid winds and blustery weather. Unfortunately, that is exactly when it is time to drive to the airports and pick up family, who are swooping in on blustery tailwinds of their own.

Our small house bulges at the seams to reaccomodate the ones we love. We have been food shopping numerous times to be sure to stock our refrigerator with everyone's favorite things.

Air mattresses are inflated and disguised with a pile of quilts and pillows. Our dog squeezes in between the chair legs under the table to hide from the fray.

Unless Christmas conveniently lands on the weekend, the week that people come in remains a work week for us. That means that our students tiptoe around suitcases with their cellos and the sight reading portion of lessons becomes holiday duets.

For our family, the official musical week of the holiday season always begins with a trip to the Flynn theater in Burlington to see a musical version of “A Christmas Carol.” brought in by the Nebraska Caravan Theater. Our kids know every line by heart and the post performance walk to our car is essentially a re- production of the performance.

Next is something most musicians are familiar with, Handel's brilliant Messiah. Paul plays in the Messiah performance in nearby Stowe. It is a sing-along and he is an original member of the orchestra going back 21 years. He is sedately dressed in musician black while his family fills the pew closest to his seat wearing our ugliest of ugly Christmas sweaters and various sparkly attire. He can't miss us, voices withstanding.

Another budding tradition is to bring members of both of our cello studios to Woodridge Nursing home the week before Christmas. We arrived this year with around ten cellists, one violinist (we like those numbers) and two bassists. The music has three parts guaranteeing that anyone who would like to play can fit into one of the parts.

We begin arriving with our cumbersome cases in tow. Some of the residents are already seated. A few will be in regular chairs and many in wheelchairs. Often as we come in we will get a weak wave or a small smile to greet us. Sometimes we get neither, just a vague stare.

This year one of our students made a handbook with the words to the holiday music that we were playing. We moved hopefully among the residents handing them the books so that they could sing along.

I conducted the group and Paul sat in. We began with a very familiar piece and, as we started up I could hear voices begin to sing from behind me.

As we moved from piece to piece I became much more adept at the “conductor swivel” One minute I would face the musicians, the next I would spin and face the residents. Flapping my arms like some kind of a Christmas bird to keep the musicians in tempo behind me and to encourage the chorus in front of me.

As we continued, people became braver and more animated. We watched them begin to clap their hands to the pieces that were as familiar to them as the hands they were clapping. Some of the voices were tired and weak but others rose above the music, strong and clear. The best part was when we would forge on to verse three, one that carolers rarely sing, and all of us, including this conductor, were forced to keep repeating the phrase “fa la la la la” as it was the only line we could readily remember.

I found that as I continued to swivel between orchestra and musician the line began to blur. One side was laughing and singing, the other smiling and laughing. Music and laughter becoming the ribbon that was tying this package together.

As the clapping died down we packed up to leave. We had made a plan with our students to meet for pizza and so they were hefting cases onto their shoulders and lugging music stands down the hall toward the elevator. At the same time many of the residents were being wheeled down that same hall to their rooms. But, as there are only so many “wheelers' available at one time, many remained in the space with us. Now that the music had ended they sat silent in their wheelchairs. Smiles replaced by vague stares.

I found it difficult to leave them. I knew that I was headed to a warm space filled with holiday cheer and laughing friends. I knew that when I left the restaurant it would be with my husband and son and we would be going home to turn on our familiar Christmas records and sit by our beautiful tree and, I knew that, at one point, the residents had lived this life as well.

But no longer.

Often we struggle to find and then describe what can make holidays special and important.  In this case, with those voices singing and faces smiling, no words were needed.


Melissa Perley

Thanksgiving 2015

What if today were the day when everything was enough?

What if, when you picked up your instrument, every squeak, the low percentage of right notes, and even all “unscheduled solos” were okay?

If today could be the day that your focus became on the process instead of on that far off perfect end point?

If those things were enough, could you be grateful? Could you be grateful for the ability to simply draw your bow across the strings and make resonant, beautiful sounds?

For the sheer power of the instrument?

For its smooth, curving beauty?

For your hands?

For you?

Today everything is real and good and it is all enough , including you - be grateful.


Happy Thanksgiving.


The Path That We Have Chosen

I 'm driving home in the late afternoon deep in thought, my brand new studded snow tires crackling against the stones as I pass over the familiar dirt road. I come around the bend and am struck by the light on the water of the pond. The conifers on the far side of the water look as if they have a spotlight shining on them. Staggeringly beautiful and in the water in front of them an equally stunning reflection- two for the price of one.

I pull my car over to the side of the road to take a moment and breath it in. Overhead geese honking their goodbyes as they fly over the water. Small ducks, permanent residents, bob up and down looking for food. Someone drives past me, dust from the dirt road swirls around my car, as it settles back the view reappeares as if it has been hidden behind a scrim just waiting for my show to begin.

The brilliant colors of the leaves have rusted out. But there is something in the faded color, in the new sparseness that pulls at my emotions. I think it is the ache of loss coupled with the anticipation of things to come.

I know this view. Every day I see the pines rise up from the shoreline. Their almost black- green creating aggressive stripes against the soft deciduous trees. I need each of them to be able to see the other.

The pond curves out ahead of me as I drive. One day it will be dark and capped with white foam, unsettled and rough. The next it will be beautiful blue green, peaceful and calm. I find that as it is reflecting what is around it to me, I also feel peaceful and begin to reflect it.

Today I notice my neighbors gathering their wood. One man comes out in red plaid carrying a maul. At the next house someone is pulling a tractor out of his shed, cranking his neck around to miss hitting the cars parked in the driveway. Like squirrels bravely darting across the road, we, too, are preparing for the next season. Each of us gathering. Friends are getting the final brussel sprouts off the stalk and forking potatoes into a bucket to be stored in the basement and brought out later when the ground is white.

I know this dirt road. Beautiful in the fall, hard and solid. Winding through the fiery colored landscape. Peaceful in the summer, long and dusty, passing in and out of the cool, green shade. Icy in the winter, almost unrecognizable with its white coat on. And treacherous in the spring. We take in big gulps of air before heading out on each journey anticipating the bumps and jolts of mucking though mud. Wondering if we really will ever get back home.

This is where we choose to live. We could choose somewhere that is placed on the side of smooth, black pavement. It would be quick to get to and the road easy to drive on. We would know what to expect each and every day. But we don't want to know what to expect from day to day. And we want to have to experience the struggle of living here because we need that to be able to appreciate the good that we have.

This is our road, why we are here and this is the path that we have chosen.


The Art Of Ensemble


I woke up this morning and noticed a dusting of snow on the grass. In response to this offense the trees seemed to be tossing leaves to the ground in a swirl of defiance. Protesting winter's early visit. We had to feed the stove big chunks of maple instead of poplar to keep the wood floor warm under our feet while making breakfast.

I put a whole chicken into a pot to roast the day away and made a pumpkin pie for dessert. It is fall in Vermont.

The younger students are back onto their weekly schedules both in school and for private lessons. It is not just math skills that gathered dust over the summer. We revisit our bow grips and climb down the scale to begin the climb back up.

They gradually remember my teaching subtleties - when my eyes drift over to an elbow that is cowering too close to their side- out it pops as if by magic. The quick turn of my head to catch a wayward pinkie having British tea brings it back in line avoiding a scribble in the notebook that will indicate the need for a week of bow-skill work.

At the end of each session we play duets. It is the cake of the lesson. Students get to pick their duet (something they have not played before) and their part, (top or bottom). It offers the opportunity for each student to be in charge of at least one part of the hour and that is important. There are laughter and mistakes but there is also growth. I liken it to adding chopped broccoli to spaghetti sauce, my kids never knew and yet they got the value of the vegetable. Amidst the laughter the student learns to sight-read - an invaluable tool in their cello drawer.

As the music programs in many schools falter and even stop, it becomes important that the private teacher offer some kind of ensemble opportunity to their students. Perhaps there is a youth orchestra in the area that can help with those skills. But, for some, for different reasons, that may not be feasible, and for many early-learning adults it is not possible.

Paul and I have run an ensemble (known simply as “ensemble”) for many years. It began life as a way to give students the chance to learn how to play as part of a group, how to work under a conductor, and what it means to be part of a musical community.

We decided on music and there were normally four levels of parts matching skills. We, (and when I say “we” I mean Paul) transposed various instrument parts into cello parts. It was the ideal orchestra to our minds- all low strings- all the time! We met bi-weekly in the basement of a local church and through cold Vermont winters the lights of that church would blaze out over the snow and the sound of music and chatting would fill that basement.

As word spread of ensemble more people asked if they could join us and before long we were dealing with a small chamber orchestra by adding violins and basses. At one point we had five basses lined up, backs to the windows.

Each session opened with music and closed with cookies. They performed at every recital and could hear as well as feel the results of their new experience. It was exciting to watch students begin in the fourth cello part, mainly half and whole notes, and each successive year move up through the ranks- a shy smile on their face on their first day of being with a new section. One year our oldest student was an eighty-six year old Japanese man and the youngest was an eight-year-old little girl and they sat side by side. Kazuhiko spoke very little English but, fortunately, the language spoken was music and it was enough. 

This year our schedules have not allowed us to run a full-on ensemble and it is a disappointment - both to them and to us. However, Sunday evening we will be holding a Renaissance Night as a collaboration between our two studios and our friend Margaret Gilmore's studio. They are from the Upper Valley so we will meet in the middle at a church in Randolph, Vermont. There will be players of different abilities and each will have their own part. There will be a potluck dinner and pie, always pie. This time the lights will blaze out over colored leaves and retreating snow and there will be the sounds of chatting and of music filling another basement hall. And it will be a chance for us all, teachers included, to remember that an important part of learning music is remembering to “play” together.


Photography & Music

Recently I had a great experience pairing solo cello music with photography and painting. It has been so interesting to put all three art mediums in one space - there is an element of sensory overload that is edgy and exciting. It has certainly made me more appreciative of the visual arts.

Photographers and painters “see” in minute. They pick up interplay between colors and textures and enjoy the world of sight with a magical tilt. Musicians “hear” in minute- we hear the rhythm in the calls of the crows outside the bedroom window each morning. We listen intently to the background music in film and we are never unaware of how sound affects the way we feel - in fact - we rely on that sensory intertwining and understand the need to be able to tap into it.

For our Paul Perley Cellos website we set up a photographic space to take pictures of the cellos and bows for sale. We put it in our basement both due to lack of appropriate space as well as to insulate the blue language involved as we figured out how to best shoot the instruments. In studying luthiering Paul was taught that varnish is holy. Above all else, avoid altering the varnish on an instrument. We respect, understand and appreciate that, but the sheen off that varnish with big lights makes photographing the cellos without big “hot spots” nearly impossible for lay photographers (that's us...)

So we did what all respectable photographic wannabees do- we hired someone!

The team that we hired, John Snell and Rob Spring are fine photographers and they loved working with the instruments- the beautiful shapes of the bouts, some magnificent peg designs and the impressiveness of thirty cellos are hanging shoulder to shoulder -the sense of waiting to be played palpable. They did a fabulous job for us and our web site is testament to their artistry. However, Rob also added extra photos of our shop and instruments to his website  http://www.robspringphoto.com/emily-london/   The web site is well worth exploring in it's entirety- to both appreciate the feminine shape of the cellos against the geometric angles of gray barns in the mist.

He helps us to remember that everything, including what we see and hear each day, is beautiful.




There are many things that happen as time begins to slant toward autumn. The angle of light changes and everything is cast in a faded lemony yellow. Slowly we are losing our long and warm summer evenings. We have to hurry to the garden after dinner to get any weeding done and walks are often in the cool of the twilight. The pulse of the summer pace is quickening.

It feels like yesterday that we finished teaching our school year schedules and eased into the more relaxed summer routines. Recitals and end of year concerts are over and the sigh of relaxing is perceptible.

Interestingly, it seems that when things are at fever pitch is the time when I am most efficient with my practicing. I find pockets of time to tuck practice in between students- I become more focused and diligent about utilizing my free space to work with my own instrument. When I am in summer mode it becomes harder to feel pushed to get to the cello. Aren't there still tomatoes to pick? And this heat makes it a perfect day to take the dog to the river for a swim. I become the practicer that I discourage my students from being, the “leave it to the last minute” practicer.

What this normally means is that I end up working late into the night. Entering the dark studio becomes the challenge, the music is silent on my stand, it seems that where during the daytime hours it is calling me, exciting me with possibilities, in the nighttime it seems very still, as if to say “why not tomorrow?” Sheer stubbornness (and, okay, a performance looming) makes me get to it and I find I pass through degrees of both simply being awake and yawning in tempo, into focus and intensity. Although it sounds like a good teacher to say “so- practicing really does excite me”, there is something about feeling the music move under my fingers and watching struggle morph into success that drives me forward.

Albert Einstein once said that the reason people enjoy chopping wood is because the results are apparent and immediate. In many ways I find that is true of practicing as well. If you use your time efficiently and zero in on problem areas of your studies you will feel, at some point, movement in your progress. It is part of the path to mastery and, while necessary, it is also quite thrilling and addictive.

And so, while I will miss the warm days and the slower pace, I also know what is coming, I feel the rhythms changing and look forward to, perhaps, practicing in the daylight.


Your Special Day

Tis the season- not the season with decorated trees- tis the season for weddings!

Every musician looks toward the spring/summer with a mixture of anticipation, excitement and occasionally dread.

The process begins with a phone call or an email - excited brides or grooms are calling to see if we would be willing to share in their beautiful day.

Most of the time Paul and I perform for weddings, as the cello duo, Soavita.. And the first thing we discuss with them is what they are interested in having us do within their wedding. Almost always we are asked to play pre-wedding music as the guests are seated (standard wedding fare) and, in the last few years, we have been asked to replace “Here Comes the Bride” from an organist, with two cellos playing “Trumpet Voluntary.” I have to say - I play a mean trumpet with strings.

The standard postlude (think “Ode To Joy”) as many times as it takes to empty the church. The challenge is sandwiched somewhere in between pre and post and that is the bride's, groom's or, to be honest, the mother of the bride's, choice of ceremony music.

The choices are usually the fodder for dinner conversation between Paul and I. The question becomes:

“Can Paul, as arranger, make Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven rock with two cellos?”

Or “Can cellos actually twang in a Johnny Cash song”

Or, “Can Melissa somehow fit the Dvorak concerto into 3 minutes?”

There seems to be a gap between what they hear on the radio and what instruments will actually be playing the piece during the wedding.

Once we have the music in place we talk logistics. Where, what, when, certainly how, and more often than not, why?

In New England, outdoor weddings are popular. The ideal is sunshine and roses, the reality is more likely to be blowing rain and black flies.

Long ago we decided it would be a good idea to come up with a contract that would detail the weather conditions under which we could/would play. This contract was borne from weddings (painfully, this is all true) where, even after explaining that wood instruments and water did not mix- we tromped across a soggy yard, heels sinking into soaked earth, to be placed without cover near the bride and groom who are safely nestled together under their canopy. And when the sky began to spit drops on us- we suggested that we, too, needed to be nestled under the safety of a canopy! Only to then be unceremoniously placed under the family porch next to the lawn mower, peering out from behind lattice work for cues to begin playing.

Or, the reverse- we play the ceremony and head to the reception where we will be playing for a cocktail hour. The sun is baking everyone so they all retire to the cool shade of the porch for champagne while we plant our chairs next to the garden and begin to slow roast. Water and wood do not mix and I am here, through experience, to tell you that direct sun and wood are not the best of friends either.

On the car ride home, with another performance looming, my string height and pitch dropping further than I care to remember- and more tears and swearing than Paul cares to remember, is the time when one begins to contemplate purchase of the “wedding cello”.

We have arrived at a wedding to discover that the bride and groom are being married in Star Wars outfits, we have watched many a ceremony from behind the backside of a large attendant and we have ratcheted up the dynamics of the music to cover the sounds of a sobbing bride coming from the bathroom.

Our wedding “kit” contains:



Water, water, water

Bricks to keep our stands from flying into the swimming pool

Clothespins to keep our music from following

and duct tape- because it is duct tape.

So if you are planning a wedding- we might include a few suggestions. If you need it, ask for a bit of help when choosing music- we are happy to do it and would much rather (trust us) offer up some suggestions than default to Pachelbel's Canon....again.

Feed us. Even cookies. because believe me, eating black flies does not constitute a meal.

Pay us when we are finished, we have worked really hard.

There are many details that you will not remember about your beautiful wedding day- but your music may just be one of the things that you can both recall with fondness - hopefully we can as well.


End Of Season

End of season is always challenging for both player and teacher. It is a time for auditions and recitals: end of school. The beginning of the long, untethered days of summer hang, tantalizingly close.

In order to be fully prepared for it all there needs to be repetition and lots of it. Weeks of the same scale and piece mean two very different, yet ironically similar things to the teacher and student.

The student feels repetition as tedious work. The question “why” seems to pop up frequently. The explanations and answers illicit “the look”- eyes glazed and unseeing and ears hearing only the Charlie Brown teacher voice.

To the teacher repetition means surprise. Surprise that the E major scale in four octaves could wander into so many keys over the course of weeks. I often ask the question “Are you sick of this piece yet?” and my students are always interested that the  “yes” response is the good and correct one.

Recitals and auditions bring fear, pride, angst, tears and always, at some point, laughter.

I feel a true compulsion to mother my students, adults, teens, and children alike. To wrap warmth and empathy around them while simultaneously gently, but resolutely, pushing.

There are the students who will triumph in the manner of the tortoise and the hare. They will listen as I instruct and will take suggestions and step over the hurdle of talent.

And then there are the students who will cram for the recital, ignoring the repeated messages penned into their weary notebooks. In the early preparation stage the notes are filled with cheering and encouragement and as time passes slide into the philosophical with a dose of crankiness.

I have to make the difficult decision to let the inevitable happen. The lesson to be learned is bigger than preparing for cello work and it is organic in it's simplicity. The inevitable result of lack of preparation is disappointment in performance. My own children learned more form falling down and getting up than from being carried.

It is now, in the twilight of the season, that I know more fully what it means to teach. For now is the time to bring forth all of my talent, creativity and, if all else fails, the box of Popsicles. At the beginning of the term everything is shiny and new. I am a rock star with stickers. Now it is hard not to feel hurt by my students watching the clock.

But I teach - it is much of what I do and who I am, and if I have to I will fireman-carry each and every student across the finish line of May.


And so we wear mud boots....

Most of the northeast U.S.enjoys four diverse seasons but Vermonters will tell you that we have one more, a fifth called mud season.

If you have the pleasure of living on an unpaved road, it is the coming of both mud and guilt. Our business lives at the end of a dirt road. Customers and students must travel more than 3 miles off pavement to get to us.

Somehow I'm always surprised by our fifth season, until the first time my car bottoms out. Then I remember.


This year had one of the coldest, snowiest winters on record. To give you an idea of how cold, I can tell you that a lot of Vermonters ran out of wood. Enough said.

I, incredibly, did not bump heads with winter this year. Incredibly, because I don't need a lot of encouragement to bump heads with most anything. This winter, however, I just threw more wood in the stove and photographed the five foot snow banks that tucked our home deeper into its surroundings. I decided to follow the rhythm of the season. We repeatedly got snowed in and each time we simply shoveled out.

There is a long, crystaline peace in winter, but then it thaws. It is now early April and the thermometer has finally broken single digits and pushes to fifty five. To celebrate we take our dog to the bike path in Burlington and are amazed to see people walking, running and skateboarding in shorts, t-shirts and even tank tops.

With spring comes the sap and exposed toes. We all feel the “push” with the sunshine, our clothing reflects the fact that we know that the seasonal clock has begun to tick and the time our skin is out from cover is limited.

We gobble up tulips from the store before our own bulbs reveal themselves so that we can convince ourselves that spring is here. To enjoy color after so much white.

The car that we drive in April is our “mud” car. Its only requirements are height and four wheel drive. It is the time when people carry tow chains alongside their groceries in their trunks. I forget what color the car is because it is iced with mud frosting.

Mud is the Everest of seasons, the one time of year when there are places you simply can't get to. At its worst, any morning travel can depend on last night's freezing temperatures to make solid the surface. When I schedule a lesson or an appointment I always preface it with “ what type of car do you drive?”

But one of the many reasons I love living in Vermont is the character and resilience of its people. Someone told me that “soft climates make soft people” and I believe them.

By the time April comes, I am so excited to not be in snow boots that I head out in little spring shoes, tiptoeing around puddles and globs of mud...only to sink, only to fail. And so, inevitably, out come my thick, green, rubber mud boots. No flowers, no polka dots to clash with the dirt,. Utilitarian mud boots. And I notice them all over Vermont. At the grocery store, at restaurants, school plays and music lessons!

But while I may feel guilty when people have to traverse the mud to get to us, I notice a certain pride of success on their faces and in their voices at making it to us. Everest.

The Nile Project

Every year Paul & I like to attend some of the concert series that happens annually in nearby Burlington. This year's events included an interesting-sounding ensemble called The Nile Project and last week on Sunday night Paul and I went.

The Nile River provides the water that is tied to all aspects of life for the eleven countries situated along it. It is the spring that feeds this endeavor.

The Nile Project brings together artists from the eleven Nile countries to make music that combines the region's diverse instruments, languages and traditions.

As these nations face water stress: tensions inevitably rise. The Nile Project is a grassroots effort to create a cross-cultural dialogue and collaboration.

Seeing the cultural diversity in the musicians' clothing and hearing it in their music made me remember that we are all made of water and perhaps that explained why the language of their music was strange to my ears but familiar to my center.

It is continually interesting that, when words fail us, music has the power to bridge.


The Cracks Of Winter

The act of writing this blog is painful....not because of the material but the actual ACT of writing is painful as the pads on the second and third fingers on my left hand (and yes, I am left handed) have split open in this cold, dry weather.

Each day as I practice I can feel the rhythmic pulse of my heart beat in each of those fingers. Sometimes they even bleed while I am demonstrating something for one of my students.That has its advantages as I appear extremely sacrificial to my instrument with blood running down my fingers: if only they practiced a little more, they too could bleed.

It then stands to reason that our living, breathing wood instruments would be reacting to the lack of humidity as well. We are repairing weather cracks left and right in the shop. There is something facinating to me about my cello shrinking and swelling in response to its surroundings. Something that shows it is, indeed, a living thing. I knew it all along but this just proves it.

We are lugging water jugs back and forth to our shop and to the music room in our house. Twice daily we fill the humidifiers. Each time we pass by our instruments I imagine them sighing in relief to see more water being added to the air.

I know that this will pass, it always does. But, as with the extreme winter weather, there is something special in the effort to keep things going. Lugging water jugs to and fro makes me feel a bit pioneer-ish and that without me, where would my instrument be?


A New Look for Paul Perley Cellos

We launched our new Paul Perley Cellos web site this week.

Simply making the decision to change the site was a hurdle. Our website has always been well regarded and we have had good success using it. However, even your favorite clothes begin to look tired after a certain period of time and we decided that, after 10 years, it was time to change things up.

In reality- our daughter in law, Elyse gently coaxed us into modernization. She is a marketing expert and her work includes teaching at a graduate school in North Carolina and she offered her brilliant services.

And so it began- we found a terrific team of photographers to work with, John Snell and Rob Spring. Often John's work involves photographing animals in the heat of Africa and so, given the challenge of shooting individual cellos in the heat of our shop, who better?

Cellos are difficult to photograph. It seems that their individualism extends to their varnish and how it reflects light. However- Rob & John persevered and did some amazing work.

Once we had the inventory (which will be different almost weekly) it was technical time all the way.

Figuring out what to move and where, what policies to keep and which to change, shipping options, etc., etc.  Not to mention the reality of life swirling around all of us. Shop work and practice and teaching and performing leave less than desired amounts of time in a twelve hour day.

But after all that. we did it and it is here. We have changed the clothes but who we are remains. We understand the very personal process of finding a new instrument and with 26 years experience with bowed instruments, we understand strings.

Our goal is the same - to help every musician find the instrument that helps them to make their very best music.

Thanks Elyse!



In thinking about the part that music has played in my life, I realize that it has not been just about listening to music as such.  My earliest memories of experiences have always had musical soundtracks playing behind them. They still do.  Much of this music is comprised of things I've heard although some seem to be original.  

Recently this has prompted me to contact friends: John Snell an amazing photographer, and Hope Burgoyne, a terrific painter, asking them to collaborate with me on a project called Reflections.  Both Hope and John use themes of nature in their work, so Hope painted two large, identical landscapes, the second of which was made up of numerous smaller sized components, each of which stood on their own, and John used a sizable series of photographs of water taken during all four seasons.  While John's slide show (ingeniously projected on a light fabric hung from the ceiling, gently flowing in the breezes created by human movement), I play unaccompanied excerpts from cello pieces, a few of which I wrote for this project, that are my reflections of John's and Hope's work.

It's happening on Montpelier's (VT) winter Art-Walk, and on Valentine's evening in nearby Waterbury. Three performances in each space.

I love the the idea of the cello being a collaborator in a non-traditional way, jointly expressive with the work of other artists.



Cello Lessons Through Skype

I have just finished a weekly Skype lesson with a cello student in California. I have Skyped lessons several times before- mainly in the US but I have also taught a weekly lesson via Skype for a year with a student staying in Spain.

Each time I have hesitated. Concerned with sound production, inability to play together and the lack of intimacy that is born in a studio setting. Each time the student has convinced me to try and it has been successful.

I set aside lesson time each week and we run a lesson in the same manner that I do in the studio. Although complexities and the lovely timbres of the cello are reduced across the internet, there is the advantage of hearing something much closer to pure pitch.

We can't play together and that is a disappointment to both teacher and student and I can't offer a shoulder squeeze or high five-
However, to counter these challenges I keep a notebook during the lesson and then email my student their assignments for the next week as well as comments, suggestions and encouragement.

I'm finding that because of creativity and cooperation music can, and does, bridge divides.



Acquiring a Cello in a Soft Economy

As we have found since the financial downturn beginning in 2008, cellists do not consider their instrument a luxury item: the equivalent of say a new boat or a hot tub or a large flat-screen television.

That said, there is now less money available to most of us and less confidence that, with the 2013 financial picture, government shut-downs and what have you, there will be more any time soon. It doesn't inspire people to begin, or move up in this instrument that we love. So what does one do to acquire a cello, the kind that that makes the sound so important to us.

To begin, please be very careful of the online companies that offer cello outfits that include bow, hard case, instrument stand, possibly a few more things, and free shipping, all for a few hundred dollars. We've seen students and customers with some of these and even the very best of them are very poorly set up with a bad bridges, warped fingerboards, and horrible strings set so high that the cello is almost unplayable. Very few of them are made of wood that is actually dry and they frequently develop cracks within a couple months. Everyone we know who has had one of these has replaced it within year (usually after having a number of expensive repairs and adjustments) and if they were able to sell it at all, ended up not getting much more then $50.00 -75.00.

But this doesn't solve the financial issue. Perhaps this is your, or your child's, first cello and a few hundred is all you have to spend. Good shops will rent quality instruments, maintain them for you and will give you rental equity which will credit a certain percentage of your paid rent toward the cello's purchase. Often those shops will have an even better quality cello to rent with the same equity terms albeit a higher monthly payment. In the case of children who will need less than a full size cello, many shops make the transition in size seamless and with no extra charge.

If you do want to purchase, and most serious cellists do, it is difficult to find the kind of quality you need for much less than $1000.00. Since many cellists, especially at the earlier levels, are not experts at evaluating quality, here are some clues and questions to ask. First, is the cello guaranteed, if so for how long and against what? A good shop will guarantee an instrument against doing something it shouldn't (like the neck coming out, cracks developing in normal humidity levels, fingerboards warping, etc.) for as long as you own it. Second, will the seller of the cello take it back in trade for what you paid for it toward a cello of greater value? At any time? Next week? In ten years? Free shipping is also suspect. No one ships things for free, especially things as big and in need of protection as cellos, so the shipping cost is added to the price of the cello. Which means if you purchase a cello outfit with all the extra goodies for $400.00 including shipping, someone is making a profit selling a $200-300 cello. Just having that cello last for 6 months, let alone actually being able to advance as a player on it, is probably not something you should count on.

If there is such a thing as good news in our present economy, it is that it is a buyers market. In our shop we have more older, under $10,000 (some way under $10,000) lovely, in-great-condition, terrific playing cellos than we've ever had at any one time in the past 25 years. Other shops probably do also. The reason is simple: people who need money and are no longer playing want to turn their cellos into cash. Occasionally we even have nicely made older cellos for as little as $3000. And unlike most boats, hot-tubs and flat screen TVs, older cellos will hold their value and usually increase over time, better than most anything else we can purchase.

It's often difficult in tough times to come up with $1000 or more for a cello that will work for you. It's even more difficult to come up with $400, then 6 months later come up with another $1000 on top of the $400.

If we could find guarantee-able, quality cellos that we could sell for $400, or $700, we would absolutely do it.

The old adage “if it seems to good to be true, it probably is” still applies.