Miranda Wilson's Blog
November 5, 2025
String Players of the Enlightenment: 3 Remarkable Musicians Who Deserve More Attention
Most books about music during the Enlightenment era focus on the “big three”— Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. But there were, of course, a lot more musicians around at the time! Here are a few books that look at some other musicians who helped shape musical culture at a very interesting time in history.
George Kennaway’s John Gunn: Musician Scholar in Enlightenment Britain is one of the most fascinating. Gunn was a Scottish cellist, writer, and thinker who was the first to codify a lot of what we know about how to play the cello. Kennaway paints a portrait of a man who was both performer and scholar in the lively intellectual circles of Edinburgh and London. Kennaway also documents the life and work of Gunn’s wife Anne, an important creator and thinker in her own right.
Gabriel Banat’s The Chevalier de Saint-Georges: Virtuoso of the Sword and the Bow tells the story of Joseph Bologne (known also by his noble title, the Chevalier de Saint-Georges), a composer, violinist, and champion fencer of African descent who became a celebrity in pre-Revolutionary France. For many decades, Bologne was relegated to the footnotes of music history. Thanks in part to Banat’s book (first published in 2006), he’s been restored to his rightful place in the textbooks and on the concert stage.
Then there’s Clifford D. Panton’s George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower, Violin Virtuoso And Composer Of Color In Late 18th Century Europe Bridgetower is often remembered only for his connection with Beethoven, but this biography reveals Panton’s research into every existing source that can tell us more about this important musician.
These books tell the story of musicians who helped shape the Enlightenment but never became household names. They offer us a glimpse into a time when music and society were closely interrelated, and when both were more diverse than we might have imagined.
George Kennaway’s John Gunn: Musician Scholar in Enlightenment Britain is one of the most fascinating. Gunn was a Scottish cellist, writer, and thinker who was the first to codify a lot of what we know about how to play the cello. Kennaway paints a portrait of a man who was both performer and scholar in the lively intellectual circles of Edinburgh and London. Kennaway also documents the life and work of Gunn’s wife Anne, an important creator and thinker in her own right.
Gabriel Banat’s The Chevalier de Saint-Georges: Virtuoso of the Sword and the Bow tells the story of Joseph Bologne (known also by his noble title, the Chevalier de Saint-Georges), a composer, violinist, and champion fencer of African descent who became a celebrity in pre-Revolutionary France. For many decades, Bologne was relegated to the footnotes of music history. Thanks in part to Banat’s book (first published in 2006), he’s been restored to his rightful place in the textbooks and on the concert stage.Then there’s Clifford D. Panton’s George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower, Violin Virtuoso And Composer Of Color In Late 18th Century Europe Bridgetower is often remembered only for his connection with Beethoven, but this biography reveals Panton’s research into every existing source that can tell us more about this important musician.
These books tell the story of musicians who helped shape the Enlightenment but never became household names. They offer us a glimpse into a time when music and society were closely interrelated, and when both were more diverse than we might have imagined.
August 28, 2025
The Challenge of Writing About Sound: Putting Music Into Words
As both a cellist and a writer, I experience a particular challenge every time I sit down to describe a piece of music: how do you use words for something that's written in notes? The interpretation of music is so ephemeral that it's hard to find words for it sometimes. It's like trying to explain a color to someone who hasn't seen it before. You can compare blue to the sky (sometimes!) but can you really describe the experience of seeing it?
Music writing walks a fine line between technical jargon and subjective interpretation. Go too far toward the analytical—"the dominant seventh resolves to the tonic in measure 47"—and you might as well be hitting the off switch with readers who haven't studied music theory. Rely too heavily on flowery metaphors—"the melody danced like butterflies in a summer garden"—and you risk sounding cringe-making.
The best music writers solve this problem not by avoiding it, but by finding the words for it. They understand that their job isn't to replicate the listening experience in words, but to make listeners want to open up their streaming services.
Some books manage to do this so successfully that they send you straight to your music library. John Eliot Gardiner's Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven makes Bach's cantatas feel like living, breathing experiences rather than something out of a stuffy concert hall. Gardiner places the reader in the composer's mindset, bring in theology and culture and literature that might have been in Bach's mind as he worked on his music. Gardiner's verbal depictions of Bach's cantatas aren't the waffling of some dilettante, but the heartfelt impressions of a scholar-performer who knows them inside out.
Edward Dusinberre takes a different approach in Beethoven for a Later Age: The Journey of a String Quartet As the first violinist of the Takács Quartet, he writes from inside the music-making process, giving us a window into how chamber music becomes a conversation between four individuals who must also be as musically unified as it's possible to be. His description of working through Beethoven's quartets shows the reader the (sometimes painful) human negotiations, the moments of frustration, and the sense of history and importance that keep quartets coming back again and again to Beethoven. Even if you've listened to them before, this book makes you listen as with new ears.
Leonard Bernstein's Young People's Concerts proves that classical music isn't just for old people. Based on a series of televised lessons Bernstein gave in 1958, this book fills even the most jaded reader with a new sense of joy and excitement about music. I particularly love the chapter on music with a sense of humor.
What these writers share is an understanding that writing about music is, in a strange way, an act of translation. We don't always understand music on first hearing, but really good descriptive writing about music prepares us for it by pointing out what to listen for. The best writing about music makes you want to grab your phone and start listening before you've even finished the book!
As I continue working on my own music writing, I try to keep these models in mind. Every time I try to verbalize the shape of a phrase in a lesson with one of my college students, or demonstrate how we use specific techniques as brushstrokes of a great work of art, I ask myself what one of these great authors would have to say about it. If ever we were in any doubt about the importance of classical music, books like these ones remind us of the excitement and joy it's possible to feel.
Music writing walks a fine line between technical jargon and subjective interpretation. Go too far toward the analytical—"the dominant seventh resolves to the tonic in measure 47"—and you might as well be hitting the off switch with readers who haven't studied music theory. Rely too heavily on flowery metaphors—"the melody danced like butterflies in a summer garden"—and you risk sounding cringe-making.
The best music writers solve this problem not by avoiding it, but by finding the words for it. They understand that their job isn't to replicate the listening experience in words, but to make listeners want to open up their streaming services.
Some books manage to do this so successfully that they send you straight to your music library. John Eliot Gardiner's Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven makes Bach's cantatas feel like living, breathing experiences rather than something out of a stuffy concert hall. Gardiner places the reader in the composer's mindset, bring in theology and culture and literature that might have been in Bach's mind as he worked on his music. Gardiner's verbal depictions of Bach's cantatas aren't the waffling of some dilettante, but the heartfelt impressions of a scholar-performer who knows them inside out.
Edward Dusinberre takes a different approach in Beethoven for a Later Age: The Journey of a String Quartet As the first violinist of the Takács Quartet, he writes from inside the music-making process, giving us a window into how chamber music becomes a conversation between four individuals who must also be as musically unified as it's possible to be. His description of working through Beethoven's quartets shows the reader the (sometimes painful) human negotiations, the moments of frustration, and the sense of history and importance that keep quartets coming back again and again to Beethoven. Even if you've listened to them before, this book makes you listen as with new ears.
Leonard Bernstein's Young People's Concerts proves that classical music isn't just for old people. Based on a series of televised lessons Bernstein gave in 1958, this book fills even the most jaded reader with a new sense of joy and excitement about music. I particularly love the chapter on music with a sense of humor.What these writers share is an understanding that writing about music is, in a strange way, an act of translation. We don't always understand music on first hearing, but really good descriptive writing about music prepares us for it by pointing out what to listen for. The best writing about music makes you want to grab your phone and start listening before you've even finished the book!
As I continue working on my own music writing, I try to keep these models in mind. Every time I try to verbalize the shape of a phrase in a lesson with one of my college students, or demonstrate how we use specific techniques as brushstrokes of a great work of art, I ask myself what one of these great authors would have to say about it. If ever we were in any doubt about the importance of classical music, books like these ones remind us of the excitement and joy it's possible to feel.
August 6, 2025
Five Classic Books Every Cello Lover Should Know
These days it's incredibly easy to find out information about the cello (because obviously it's the best instrument!). There are YouTube tutorials, online masterclasses, TikToks... you name it. But before this there was some truly impressive detective work by cellist-authors of the past who were curious about where our instrument came from. They wanted to know everything: who invented cellos, who played cellos, who composed pieces for cello...and did their research in a time when it was a lot harder to find out information. These five classic books not only lay the groundwork for how understand the instrument today, but are also fascinating to read.
The Violoncello and Its History
Wilhelm Joseph von Wasielewski - "The Violoncello and Its History" (1889)
The original. Wasielewski got there first, and his pioneering work opened the door for everyone who followed.
History of the Violoncello, the Viol Da Gamba, Their Precursors and Collateral Instruments, with Biographies of All the Most Eminent Players in Every ... the 1915 Edition, Two Volumes in One Book .
Edmund van der Straeten - "History of the Violoncello, the Viol da Gamba, Their Precursors and Collateral Instruments" (1914)
Don't let the unwieldy title fool you—this book is surprisingly bingeworthy! Van der Straeten wasn't just writing about the most famous cellists of his time; he knew a lot of them and had actually heard them play. His firsthand accounts of nineteenth-century virtuosi, most of whom never got to enter a recording studio, at least give us some idea of their artistry.
The Cello
Elizabeth Cowling - "The Cello" (1975)
This book is the most comprehensive cello biography of the mid-twentieth century. Cowling traces the instrument from its sometimes obscure origins to the concert halls and recording studios of the twentieth century.
History of the Violoncello
Lev Ginsburg - "History of the Violoncello" (1983)
This fantastic book is hard to find—it's not that easy to get your hands on a copy, but it's worth the search. Ginsburg packed his book with a treasure trove of stories and images.
Cello Story Dimitry Markevitch - "Cello Story" (1986)
This fun, gossipy book is a masterpiece of storytelling. Markevitch understood that the cello's history isn't just about times and places—it's about the people too. Full of anecdotes (some of which are first-hand), it's just a ton of fun to read.
Of course, modern research has superseded some of the errors in the classic works, and filled in a few gaps in the knowledge. But to anyone writing about cello today, they're the foundation of what we know. These authors did the original detective work, and the rest of us stand on their shoulders. I used all of them when I was writing my own books (especially "Teaching Violin, Viola, Cello, and Double Bass," co-authored with Dijana Ihas and Gaelen McCormick) and I regularly pick them up for a re-read. Highly recommended!
The Violoncello and Its History Wilhelm Joseph von Wasielewski - "The Violoncello and Its History" (1889)
The original. Wasielewski got there first, and his pioneering work opened the door for everyone who followed.
History of the Violoncello, the Viol Da Gamba, Their Precursors and Collateral Instruments, with Biographies of All the Most Eminent Players in Every ... the 1915 Edition, Two Volumes in One Book .Edmund van der Straeten - "History of the Violoncello, the Viol da Gamba, Their Precursors and Collateral Instruments" (1914)
Don't let the unwieldy title fool you—this book is surprisingly bingeworthy! Van der Straeten wasn't just writing about the most famous cellists of his time; he knew a lot of them and had actually heard them play. His firsthand accounts of nineteenth-century virtuosi, most of whom never got to enter a recording studio, at least give us some idea of their artistry.
The CelloElizabeth Cowling - "The Cello" (1975)
This book is the most comprehensive cello biography of the mid-twentieth century. Cowling traces the instrument from its sometimes obscure origins to the concert halls and recording studios of the twentieth century.
History of the VioloncelloLev Ginsburg - "History of the Violoncello" (1983)
This fantastic book is hard to find—it's not that easy to get your hands on a copy, but it's worth the search. Ginsburg packed his book with a treasure trove of stories and images.
Cello Story Dimitry Markevitch - "Cello Story" (1986)This fun, gossipy book is a masterpiece of storytelling. Markevitch understood that the cello's history isn't just about times and places—it's about the people too. Full of anecdotes (some of which are first-hand), it's just a ton of fun to read.
Of course, modern research has superseded some of the errors in the classic works, and filled in a few gaps in the knowledge. But to anyone writing about cello today, they're the foundation of what we know. These authors did the original detective work, and the rest of us stand on their shoulders. I used all of them when I was writing my own books (especially "Teaching Violin, Viola, Cello, and Double Bass," co-authored with Dijana Ihas and Gaelen McCormick) and I regularly pick them up for a re-read. Highly recommended!
July 4, 2025
Four Books That Celebrate Pioneering Women in Music
As I've written my own books about cello practice, pedagogy, repertoire, and performance, I've become increasingly aware of the pioneering women who made their way to the top of the music profession—often against tremendous odds. These four books illuminate the stories of remarkable women who made towering contributions to classical music.
Quartet: How Four Women Changed the Musical World brings together the stories of four British composers: Ethel Smyth, Rebecca Clarke, Doreen Carwithen, and Dorothy Howell. Broad juxtaposes their individual life stories into a moving portrait of how they navigated musical creativity within a male-dominated landscape.
Women and the Piano: A History in 50 Lives offers a sweeping survey of women pianists. Some, like Clara Schumann, are justly famous. Others, like Marie Jaëll, are unjustly less so, but Tomes's work does a lot to rectify their omission from the history books. Tomes shows us how the piano was both a way for women to express themselves creatively, and a symbol that there is much more to be done. I particularly liked that she included women pianists in the jazz world, which can be even harder to break into than the classical one.
Maud Powell, Pioneer American Violinist: New, Revised Edition, Volume Two tells the amazing story of a nineteenth-century violinist who broke a lot of barriers. Powell not only challenged the received notion that playing the violin was "unladylike," and also proved that American musicians could hold their own on the international stage.
Guilhermina Suggia: Cellist is particularly special to me, since playing the cello is my principal occupation. Anita Mercier chronicles the remarkable Portuguese cellist who wouldn't let anything—including the privilege afforded to male cellists, including her sometime partner Pablo Casals—stop her from pursuing a career as a cellist, which at the time was an even more unusual choice for a woman than violinist. That wasn't all: Mercier's painstaking research shows that Suggia, unlike male musicians who relied on the support of a helpmeet spouse or a team of employees, took full administrative charge of her career and finances. This might be the reason she made significantly fewer recordings than male cellists of her generation, but enough survive for us to understand her awe-inspiring artistry.
Reading these books has been deeply motivating for my own work. While I didn't set out with explicitly feminist goals when writing Teaching Violin, Viola, Cello, and Double Bass, I was struck by how most books by women cello pedagogues focused on teaching children and beginners. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I felt proud to have been one of relatively few women to have written specifically for advanced players in my first book, Cello Practice, Cello Performance.
Similarly, when writing The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, I found myself thinking often about Anna Magdalena Bach and how our understanding of Bach would be fundamentally different without her careful copying and preservation of his scores. As I navigated my own journey into motherhood, I was moved by her dual role as musician and mother.
These pioneering women directly influenced my latest book, Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire, where I made a conscious effort to include compositions by women composers from Fanny Hensel to Dorothy Rudd Moore to the indomitable Ethel Smyth herself.
Behind every present-day woman musician are the women who fought to be heard, to be taken seriously, and to create lasting art. Their stories deserve to be celebrated. I'm conscious that I stand on their shoulders, and I hope that emerging generations of women musicians will stand on mine.
Quartet: How Four Women Changed the Musical World brings together the stories of four British composers: Ethel Smyth, Rebecca Clarke, Doreen Carwithen, and Dorothy Howell. Broad juxtaposes their individual life stories into a moving portrait of how they navigated musical creativity within a male-dominated landscape.
Women and the Piano: A History in 50 Lives offers a sweeping survey of women pianists. Some, like Clara Schumann, are justly famous. Others, like Marie Jaëll, are unjustly less so, but Tomes's work does a lot to rectify their omission from the history books. Tomes shows us how the piano was both a way for women to express themselves creatively, and a symbol that there is much more to be done. I particularly liked that she included women pianists in the jazz world, which can be even harder to break into than the classical one.
Maud Powell, Pioneer American Violinist: New, Revised Edition, Volume Two tells the amazing story of a nineteenth-century violinist who broke a lot of barriers. Powell not only challenged the received notion that playing the violin was "unladylike," and also proved that American musicians could hold their own on the international stage.
Guilhermina Suggia: Cellist is particularly special to me, since playing the cello is my principal occupation. Anita Mercier chronicles the remarkable Portuguese cellist who wouldn't let anything—including the privilege afforded to male cellists, including her sometime partner Pablo Casals—stop her from pursuing a career as a cellist, which at the time was an even more unusual choice for a woman than violinist. That wasn't all: Mercier's painstaking research shows that Suggia, unlike male musicians who relied on the support of a helpmeet spouse or a team of employees, took full administrative charge of her career and finances. This might be the reason she made significantly fewer recordings than male cellists of her generation, but enough survive for us to understand her awe-inspiring artistry.
Reading these books has been deeply motivating for my own work. While I didn't set out with explicitly feminist goals when writing Teaching Violin, Viola, Cello, and Double Bass, I was struck by how most books by women cello pedagogues focused on teaching children and beginners. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I felt proud to have been one of relatively few women to have written specifically for advanced players in my first book, Cello Practice, Cello Performance.
Similarly, when writing The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, I found myself thinking often about Anna Magdalena Bach and how our understanding of Bach would be fundamentally different without her careful copying and preservation of his scores. As I navigated my own journey into motherhood, I was moved by her dual role as musician and mother.
These pioneering women directly influenced my latest book, Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire, where I made a conscious effort to include compositions by women composers from Fanny Hensel to Dorothy Rudd Moore to the indomitable Ethel Smyth herself.Behind every present-day woman musician are the women who fought to be heard, to be taken seriously, and to create lasting art. Their stories deserve to be celebrated. I'm conscious that I stand on their shoulders, and I hope that emerging generations of women musicians will stand on mine.
June 29, 2025
Summer Reads for Cello Lovers
Looking for the perfect cello-related summer read? These four books will be right at home on your deck chair this summer—they're intensely readable and full of fascinating stories about emotional connection between cellists and their instruments. Best of all, they steer clear of technical jargon, so even if you don't play cello (or any instrument at all) there's a lot here to draw you into the sound-world of the best instrument. Yes, I know I'm biased :)
The Cello Still Sings: A Generational Story of the Holocaust and of the Transformative Power of Music
In her cathartic memoir, Horvath unravels five decades of family secrets, uncovering the amazing story of her Holocaust survivor parents. It's also an unflinching portrait of a contentious father-daughter relationship and a love letter to the cello that both Horvath and her father both played.
Cello: A Journey Through Silence to Sound
This luminous group biography weaves together the stories of four cellists—Lise Cristiani, Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, Pál Hermann, and Amedeo Baldovino—with the poignant story of Kennedy's own career-ending injury. The power of music and the cello to surmount the insurmountable jumps off every page. I couldn't put it down.
A Cello Named Pablo
This charming book is fun for children and adults alike. It tells the story of a cello that belonged to the great Pablo Casals, now in the hands of star cellist Amit Peled. Whimsically illustrated by Avi Katz, this book is a sweet, relatable feel-good read.
The Adventures of a Cello
Carlos Prieto recounts the adventurous life of his Stradivarius cello, tracing its history through previous owners dating back to 1720. If this cello could talk, what tales it would have to tell! Best of all, there are fun cameos from cello superstars, including Yo Yo Ma.
What I love about all these books is how they completely draw you into their stories without getting lost in technical detail. They're the kind of accessible yet substantial writing I was hoping to achieve in my own recent book, Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire —books that welcome everyone into the conversation about why this instrument matters so much to so many of us. So whether you're an amateur, a professional, a teacher, or just a lover of the cello, consider adding these to your summer reading list.
The Cello Still Sings: A Generational Story of the Holocaust and of the Transformative Power of MusicIn her cathartic memoir, Horvath unravels five decades of family secrets, uncovering the amazing story of her Holocaust survivor parents. It's also an unflinching portrait of a contentious father-daughter relationship and a love letter to the cello that both Horvath and her father both played.
Cello: A Journey Through Silence to SoundThis luminous group biography weaves together the stories of four cellists—Lise Cristiani, Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, Pál Hermann, and Amedeo Baldovino—with the poignant story of Kennedy's own career-ending injury. The power of music and the cello to surmount the insurmountable jumps off every page. I couldn't put it down.
A Cello Named PabloThis charming book is fun for children and adults alike. It tells the story of a cello that belonged to the great Pablo Casals, now in the hands of star cellist Amit Peled. Whimsically illustrated by Avi Katz, this book is a sweet, relatable feel-good read.
The Adventures of a CelloCarlos Prieto recounts the adventurous life of his Stradivarius cello, tracing its history through previous owners dating back to 1720. If this cello could talk, what tales it would have to tell! Best of all, there are fun cameos from cello superstars, including Yo Yo Ma.
What I love about all these books is how they completely draw you into their stories without getting lost in technical detail. They're the kind of accessible yet substantial writing I was hoping to achieve in my own recent book, Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire —books that welcome everyone into the conversation about why this instrument matters so much to so many of us. So whether you're an amateur, a professional, a teacher, or just a lover of the cello, consider adding these to your summer reading list.
June 20, 2025
Five Essential Books on Bach's Cello Suites
Johann Sebastian Bach's Cello Suites are probably the music closest to my heart. They're perennially popular, and they're both the most profound and the most challenging repertoire for cello. In fact, I'd go out on a limb and say that Bach's Cello Suites have defined what it means to be a cellist for the past 200 years. (Well, 201: they were first published in 1824). For cellists and lovers of the cello who'd like to know more about these masterworks, here are five essential books on Bach's contribution to the cello.
Bach's Cello Suites, Volumes 1 and 2: Analyses and Explorations
This is the book I referred to the most often when I was writing my own book, The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites. Winold, a theorist, provides a scholarly but still accessible analysis of the structure, harmony, and style of Bach's suites. The academic approach of this two-volume book helps us understand the dramatic architecture of Bach's preludes and dance movements. This book is especially useful for professionals and advanced students who want to integrate theory and expressive interpretation.
The Bach Cello Suites: A Companion
Written by one of the top international soloists of today, Isserlis's book doesn't get caught up in overly academic language. Instead, his insight comes from the perspective of a performer. (For maximum enjoyment, you should also listen to Isserlis's 2007 recording of the Suites by Hyperion Records.) Some of his interpretations are deeply personal, for example the idea that the final five chords of the Prelude to the Second Suite reflect the anguish of "the five wounds of Christ."
Unaccompanied Bach: Performing the Solo Works
Ledbetter's book covers all of Bach's unaccompanied works, including those for violin, lute, and flute, but it's still a hugely insightful resource for the Cello Suites. His exploration of Baroque dance forms, ornaments, and stylistic conventions includes possible precedents and influences over the Cello Suites, such as Marin Marais's compositions for the viola da gamba. Ledbetter shows us that far from being an unprecedented invention, the Cello Suites represent a much longer tradition of unaccompanied string music. Ledbetter addresses practical questions that every performer faces: How should we approach Bach's notation? What can we learn from period instruments and playing techniques? This scholarly yet intensely readable book really enriched my understanding of how to play Bach.
The Cello Suites: J.S. Bach, Pablo Casals, and the Search for a Baroque Masterpiece
Siblin's award-winning book jumps back and forth between three narratives: the mysterious disappearance of Bach's original manuscript, Pablo Casals's legendary championing of the music in the twentieth century, and the author's own contemporary journey of discovery with the Suites. As an amateur musician, Siblin makes Bach's Cello Suites accessible to general readers who don't necessarily play an instrument or know anything about classical music. It's just a really great book full of engaging storytelling that will make readers fall in love with the Suites all over again.
The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites
After years of performing and teaching Bach's Cello Suites, I found myself facing the ultimate challenge: performing all six suites from memory in a single marathon concert. This daunting goal became the jumping-off point for The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, where I chronicle not just the technical and musical demands of preparing for such a performance, but the personal journey of rediscovering music that had been the soundtrack to my life.
What sets this book apart is how it weaves together Bach's story with my own experience as a performer. Following the suites' natural 36-part structure (six suites, each with six movements), I explore everything from the historical mysteries surrounding these works to the moments of breakthrough and struggle that every cellist knows. Whether you're grappling with the pyrotechnic arpeggios of the Sixth Suite's Prelude or finding the heart of the Sarabandes, this book reflects on what it means to live with Bach's music.
For cellists at any level—from students encountering these pieces for the first time to seasoned professionals seeking fresh perspectives—The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites serves as both a listener's guide and a meditation on how great music shapes our lives. It's the book I wish I'd had during my own decades-long journey with these extraordinary works.
Why These Books Matter
Each of these books offers a different lens through which to view Bach's Cello Suites. Winold provides the analytical framework, Isserlis the performer's intimate knowledge, Ledbetter the historical context, and Siblin the storytelling that makes these works accessible to everyone. My own contribution focuses on the lived experience of a cellist's relationship with Bach—the daily practice, the moments of discovery, the way these suites become part of who we are as musicians and human beings.
Whether you're looking for history, analysis, interpretation, or a personal exploration of what it means to dedicate your life to Bach's music, these five books take us right into the heart of the Cello Suites. Bach's music speaks to each generation of performers and audiences in new ways. We keep listening to Bach, but in a strange way, does Bach also seem to listen to us?
Have you found other books about Bach's Cello Suites particularly helpful in your musical journey? I'd love to hear about resources that have shaped your understanding—and if you've read The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, I'd be thrilled to know how it resonated with your own Bach journey.
Bach's Cello Suites, Volumes 1 and 2: Analyses and ExplorationsThis is the book I referred to the most often when I was writing my own book, The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites. Winold, a theorist, provides a scholarly but still accessible analysis of the structure, harmony, and style of Bach's suites. The academic approach of this two-volume book helps us understand the dramatic architecture of Bach's preludes and dance movements. This book is especially useful for professionals and advanced students who want to integrate theory and expressive interpretation.
The Bach Cello Suites: A CompanionWritten by one of the top international soloists of today, Isserlis's book doesn't get caught up in overly academic language. Instead, his insight comes from the perspective of a performer. (For maximum enjoyment, you should also listen to Isserlis's 2007 recording of the Suites by Hyperion Records.) Some of his interpretations are deeply personal, for example the idea that the final five chords of the Prelude to the Second Suite reflect the anguish of "the five wounds of Christ."
Unaccompanied Bach: Performing the Solo WorksLedbetter's book covers all of Bach's unaccompanied works, including those for violin, lute, and flute, but it's still a hugely insightful resource for the Cello Suites. His exploration of Baroque dance forms, ornaments, and stylistic conventions includes possible precedents and influences over the Cello Suites, such as Marin Marais's compositions for the viola da gamba. Ledbetter shows us that far from being an unprecedented invention, the Cello Suites represent a much longer tradition of unaccompanied string music. Ledbetter addresses practical questions that every performer faces: How should we approach Bach's notation? What can we learn from period instruments and playing techniques? This scholarly yet intensely readable book really enriched my understanding of how to play Bach.
The Cello Suites: J.S. Bach, Pablo Casals, and the Search for a Baroque MasterpieceSiblin's award-winning book jumps back and forth between three narratives: the mysterious disappearance of Bach's original manuscript, Pablo Casals's legendary championing of the music in the twentieth century, and the author's own contemporary journey of discovery with the Suites. As an amateur musician, Siblin makes Bach's Cello Suites accessible to general readers who don't necessarily play an instrument or know anything about classical music. It's just a really great book full of engaging storytelling that will make readers fall in love with the Suites all over again.
The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello SuitesAfter years of performing and teaching Bach's Cello Suites, I found myself facing the ultimate challenge: performing all six suites from memory in a single marathon concert. This daunting goal became the jumping-off point for The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, where I chronicle not just the technical and musical demands of preparing for such a performance, but the personal journey of rediscovering music that had been the soundtrack to my life.
What sets this book apart is how it weaves together Bach's story with my own experience as a performer. Following the suites' natural 36-part structure (six suites, each with six movements), I explore everything from the historical mysteries surrounding these works to the moments of breakthrough and struggle that every cellist knows. Whether you're grappling with the pyrotechnic arpeggios of the Sixth Suite's Prelude or finding the heart of the Sarabandes, this book reflects on what it means to live with Bach's music.
For cellists at any level—from students encountering these pieces for the first time to seasoned professionals seeking fresh perspectives—The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites serves as both a listener's guide and a meditation on how great music shapes our lives. It's the book I wish I'd had during my own decades-long journey with these extraordinary works.
Why These Books Matter
Each of these books offers a different lens through which to view Bach's Cello Suites. Winold provides the analytical framework, Isserlis the performer's intimate knowledge, Ledbetter the historical context, and Siblin the storytelling that makes these works accessible to everyone. My own contribution focuses on the lived experience of a cellist's relationship with Bach—the daily practice, the moments of discovery, the way these suites become part of who we are as musicians and human beings.
Whether you're looking for history, analysis, interpretation, or a personal exploration of what it means to dedicate your life to Bach's music, these five books take us right into the heart of the Cello Suites. Bach's music speaks to each generation of performers and audiences in new ways. We keep listening to Bach, but in a strange way, does Bach also seem to listen to us?
Have you found other books about Bach's Cello Suites particularly helpful in your musical journey? I'd love to hear about resources that have shaped your understanding—and if you've read The Well-Tempered Cello: Life With Bach's Cello Suites, I'd be thrilled to know how it resonated with your own Bach journey.
June 18, 2025
Cello Thought for the Day
Welcome to my Goodreads blog!
As The Strad's review of my book Notes for Cellists
pointed out, "Music history and theory are often taught independently of learning an instrument, granting general understanding but only vague application to the cello." This observation gets to the heart of something I've noticed throughout my teaching career.
Back when I was a student, I was puzzled and disappointed when university music classes made what seemed like an artificial distinction between performance and the "academic" sides of music study such as history and theory. Wouldn't we all be better musicians, I thought, if we found a way to integrate them?
These days I'm a cello professor at the University of Idaho, and I notice that when my own students learn about, say, sonata form in theory class, they don't necessarily know how to apply it to the Bach suite or Haydn concerto they're working on in the practice room. The abstract becomes concrete only when we find a connection between what we know intellectually and what we feel under our fingers.
This is why I encourage cellists to ask questions like: "How does understanding the structure of this movement change the way I shape this phrase?" or "What does knowing about Dvořák's nationalism tell me about how to approach this folk-like melody in his famous cello concerto?"
The magic (or bliss, or joy, or flow, or whatever you want to call it) happens when theory stops being separate from practice and becomes a tool that deepens our musical expression. Your next practice session might be the perfect time to ask: "What do I know about this piece that I haven't yet applied to my playing?"
For more takes on connecting musical knowledge with cello technique, check out Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire and my other books on cello music, cello practice, cello pedagogy, and cello performance.
As The Strad's review of my book Notes for Cellistspointed out, "Music history and theory are often taught independently of learning an instrument, granting general understanding but only vague application to the cello." This observation gets to the heart of something I've noticed throughout my teaching career.
Back when I was a student, I was puzzled and disappointed when university music classes made what seemed like an artificial distinction between performance and the "academic" sides of music study such as history and theory. Wouldn't we all be better musicians, I thought, if we found a way to integrate them?
These days I'm a cello professor at the University of Idaho, and I notice that when my own students learn about, say, sonata form in theory class, they don't necessarily know how to apply it to the Bach suite or Haydn concerto they're working on in the practice room. The abstract becomes concrete only when we find a connection between what we know intellectually and what we feel under our fingers.
This is why I encourage cellists to ask questions like: "How does understanding the structure of this movement change the way I shape this phrase?" or "What does knowing about Dvořák's nationalism tell me about how to approach this folk-like melody in his famous cello concerto?"
The magic (or bliss, or joy, or flow, or whatever you want to call it) happens when theory stops being separate from practice and becomes a tool that deepens our musical expression. Your next practice session might be the perfect time to ask: "What do I know about this piece that I haven't yet applied to my playing?"
For more takes on connecting musical knowledge with cello technique, check out Notes for Cellists: A Guide to the Repertoire and my other books on cello music, cello practice, cello pedagogy, and cello performance.
