Julian Lloyd Webber: Constant companion adds challenges to life

In his first column for the Herald, international musician JULIAN LLOYD WEBBER writes about being a fellow with a cello.

I first set foot on New Zealand's two magical islands during April 1983. I had arrived to give the Southern Hemisphere premiere of the concerto Joaquin Rodrigo had composed for me the previous year.

The other soloist on the NZSO tour was also called Julian (Bream, the guitarist) and also happened to be playing Rodrigo (Concierto d'Aranjuez). Rarely can the sentence "Julian, be ready to rehearse the Rodrigo at 10am" have caused such confusion.

Nevertheless, assisted by way too many bottles from your fabled vineyards, the two British Julians formed a long-lasting friendship. And I have made so many friends in New Zealand that my frequent return visits feel more like homecomings.

Twenty years on, I am delighted to be sharing news and views on the classical music scene with New Zealand Herald readers. And, given the global nature of classical music, where better place to start than outlining the problems of travelling with a cello ...

I blame my mother. When I was 4 and asked her if I could play a cello, she should have mentioned the many attributes of the piccolo.

It was left to my teacher, Pierre Fournier - who had spent a lifetime on the road with his cello - to warn me of the perils in store. But by then it was too late, for my adventures with the wretchedly bulky instrument were underway.

Thirty years later, perhaps you might forgive my amusement at this news item from the Cincinnati Enquirer: "Mr Won Bin-Yin, a professor of violin at Cincinnati University, was distressed when he was refused boarding on a Delta Airlines flight to New York because his violin was too big."

Without wishing to cause female readers too much disturbance, apparently: "Mr Bin-Yin was accustomed to sliding his invaluable 30-inch instrument into Delta's size-wise receptacles on all his flights."

Lucky man! For no cellist of my acquaintance has ever managed to slide their "jumbos" into any airline's receptacles - "size-wise" or otherwise.

Travelling with a cello is a nightmare. Apart from being surrounded by remarks like, "Give us a tune mate", "Bet you can't get that under your chin", and "Do you know you've got a machinegun"? (answer: "You hum it and I'll play it") there is always the problem of the airlines. If a cellist wants to take their cello into the cabin they must pay an additional passenger fare. It doesn't matter how empty a plane is, without a paid seat the cello must be put with the other baggage, regardless of its value.

Of course, once the instrument is in the hold the airlines accept no responsibility if it gets smashed to pieces - for the obvious reason that this is extremely likely.

But at least all those extra cello seats must be eligible for air miles? Forget it. I tried filling in the form once:

Name: (no problem) Barjansky Stradivarius

Sex: (um, all right) Female

Place of birth: (looking good) Cremona, Italy

Date of birth: (games up) 1690.

Of course I sympathise with Mr Bin-Yin and his fiddle, really I do. For American security staff are a law unto themselves. Once, after purchasing a seat for my cello on a flight from JFK to Heathrow, I was stopped at the gate by "security".

"You're not going past here with that," the official insisted, pointing rudely at my cello.

"But I paid for a seat for it."

"That's got nothing to do with me. I'm Security. Either check it in as baggage or stay behind. NEXT PASSENGER," he bawled, and everyone started pushing past me.

Incensed, I started down the ramp. Evidently unused to such blatant disregard of his authority, Mr Security made a grab for my cello. I jerked free and rushed towards the plane.

"Freeze!" he yelled, giving a passable impression of Dirty Harry. Still walking, I glanced over my shoulder and was alarmed to see him waving a gun at me. Rashly calculating he wouldn't dare shoot, I continued my increasingly shaky descent towards the (for once) welcome sight of the cabin crew. Explaining that I was a bit worried about getting a bullet in my back, the captain reassured me: "Oh, that's just Mike - you don't want to worry about him, he often gets a bit touchy."