I can’t remember where I got this soundpost. It speaks for itself. I’m sure there was an idea–perhaps something to do with resonance in the antennae. There have been a few ideas over the last 100 years of putting resonating objects inside of violins to amplify the tone, to resonate and fatten the sound, or just to indefinably “help” something, and this is one of those
My French doesn’t really exist: does this label offer a “bar of logical harmony”, while implying perfection? Of course after seeing this label under the (wrong side) f-hole, I pulled the end pin and took a look into the violin through the hole.
Apparently it’s logical to support the area under the bridge, then skip some for a while. Notice how there’s an area at the top left of the picture where the bar has been cut away from contact with the top (and the same towards the back, in the dark–you can see just a bit of that).
You are probably slightly aware of something moving around inside your violin, but here’s how it starts, as a mess in some deep corner.
Then next some of it gets loose, and starts moving around, and the rolling motion forms that shapeless bunch of stuff into balls. Sometimes they are just dust, or some hair, or maybe case lining (the green one up in the corner, in the photo below). As they roll around, they not only get larger, they get tighter and tighter–little felt balls sweeping the inside of your violin, keeping it relatively clean. Eventually, these end up in a drawer in some violin shop
The folk folks have a different problem than dust, and that’s bad vibes. However, rattlesnake rattles can chase those away. Really.
In Cremona, the early makers glued the saddle onto the surface of the rib, extending it directly upwards through the top. These saddles are all gone, but once in a while, as on this beautiful Carlo Bergonzi violin, one gets to see the shadow of what originally was there, in the form of the cut-line arc coming down from under the left end of the present saddle. There’s also a faint trace of the mirroring line on the other side, not too easy to see.
Here’s another strange one. I didn’t open this violin, so it’s still there. As always, I have no idea what the person who did this thought he was going to accomplish. Posts and bars, perhaps because they’re not usually visible, seem to be common targets for violin vandals with ideas.
It’s nice to have music in the shop. This device was made to turn a wall into a speaker, by fastening it behind a wall to the wallboard. The round pads on the ends of the legs are glued to the wall, and the middle section is like the middle of a speaker, minus the cone, and presses against the wallboard, vibrating it.
This is the way sound is invisibly produced for museum displays. Violins will work instead of walls, but as with speakers, if you need some bass, you need a larger thing to vibrate. A cello will add that to the mix. Supposedly this kind of artificial playing is supposed to help break in a new instrument, but I haven’t noticed any improvement from this particular method, which is one of several things I’ve tried for aging tone without the musician’s input.
Understandably, violin makers like to be credited. The usual strategy is to put in a label under the left f-hole, and this violin has that. Just to be safe, Mr. Carletti also signed the top.
Then, to be sure, he put another label on the upper block, visible only through the end pin hole. He didn’t put brands all over the inside of his violin, but that’s commonly done by some makers.
Here’s a repair! I guess someone felt that a shim was needed under the board. I’m not even sure what the fix was supposed to be fixing. From this view, outside, I couldn’t see what I was looking at. Removing the board, I found a spruce shim of sorts.
I still don’t know what the mess on the edges was or was supposed to look like, but it sort of resembled a strip of purfling made with black layers of unbelievably filthy glue on either side of the spruce core. It’s all gone now!