“Contemporary Classics"

The Strad, June 2001 Vol. 112 No. 1334 page 624

Mass production doesn’t mean low standards at William Harris Lee’s Chicago shop, where every instrument is individually handmade. Laurinel Owen pays a visit.

‘We are a traditional workshop – not a factory,’ emphasizes violin maker and dealer William Harris Lee, though his shop’s high rate of production and comparatively low prices have led some to assume otherwise. ‘Every instrument is individually handmade by a master maker with the help of an apprentice,’ he explains. ‘All the great violin makers of the past centuries had apprentices. I can’t think of one who didn’t: Stradivari, Amati, Bergonzi, Vuillaume, Scarampella. Otherwise the maker made so few instruments that they now have become obscure. A busy maker with lots of orders needed apprentices. Here we are very productive and a lot of people want to penalize us for that.’

W. H. Lee began in the violin business at age 13, learning basic instrument repair from Manfred Reinl of William Lewis & Son in Indiana. ‘My parents were very religious and against higher education,’ he explains. ‘They wanted me to be a minister, but that was a non-paying job and I needed to make a living.’ Later, while working with Bein & Fushi, he set up his own business importing parts and accessories. When he couldn’t get the instruments that he wanted to carry he decided to make them himself.

We are touring the workshops and sales area of his business, William Harris Lee & Co., Violin Makers and Dealers, located since 1978 in Chicago’s Fine Arts Building Annex. Occupying six floors, the premises are impressive, but the building itself has a notable if somewhat notorious history. Located almost across the street from one of the world’s great art museums, the Chicago Art Institute, and two blocks south of Orchestra Hall, home of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the building was originally the factory and showroom of the Studebaker Coach Company. When it was constructed in 1885, it was the tallest building in Chicago, but within ten years the carriage maker had outgrown the space, and moved. Since the area was becoming the art center of the growing Mid-West city, the building was refurbished to house theaters for plays and chamber music, sculpture studios and offices for notable persons such as architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Though it is now the height of respectability with musicians’ and artists’ studios, a cinema and Bein & Fushi, Inc., it was not always such a ‘chi-chi’ address. Up until 1985 two widows of the lawyers of mobster Al Capone owned and the building and even now, the old-fashioned hand-operated elevators give a glimpse into the past when they were equipped with a switch that disconnected the power so in the event of a police raid, the clientele of a brothel located on the top floor had a few extra minutes to restore respectability while the police ran up the ten flights of stairs.

We started on the sixth floor, intending to work our way down to the ground floor entrance. The work areas are set up so that each master and apprentice share a bench. ‘We are not a factory with one person making ribs, another the scroll and another cutting out the top and back,’ Lee continues. ‘There is a logical sequence of learning the craft. First comes planning and the rough work, then gluing blocks on the form and making them square, then bending ribs and gluing linings, cutting the outline, rough arching the top and back. These are the basics.’ I am surprised to see that the windows have all been blackened, and though it is a bright day, the men work in darkness using desk lamps with a direct focus instead of natural light. Lee quickly explains: ‘Look here. If I angle the light from the side, all the ridges and imperfections in the arching are immediately evident in the top. When the light comes from above there are no shadows.’ Scattered around the eight work areas are the accoutrements of the luthier trade: calipers, clamps, planes, unfinished backs and tops in all stages of development, a stack of three viola tops ready for purfling, a row of roughed out scrolls. Lee picks up a cello neck: ‘The most difficult job is setting the neck; so many angles and measurements must be exact. String technology is more advanced today. In Strad’s time it didn’t matter if the neck wasn’t perfectly straight because gut strings were so inconsistent.’

He opens a door and I see a small room lined ceiling to floor with stacks of maple wedges neatly arranged so there is space between each piece. Cleverly, the closets are backed up to forced hot air heating ducts for drying the wood. ‘We get our supplies from all over; the Pacific Northwest, Canada, upper Wisconsin, upstate New York, and Europe – the Alpine region of North Italy and Yugoslavia. We buy wood from mills that do the rough cutting - they look out for what we want – then we store it here at least three to four years.’

The next stop is the work area for the set-ups and ‘black work’ – the ebony parts: here pegs, end-buttons, fingerboards and nuts are fitted and adjusted. Here also sound posts and bridges are made – they set up from two to seven instruments a day. Looking around I see a lathe for making sound posts, a jig for the cello form, a machine for rough thicknessing ribs.

Lee’s team of twelve master makers, each with their own apprentice, make 125 violins, an equal number of violas and 75 celli a year. ‘Our philosophy is practice, practice, practice,’ he continues. ‘We make lots of instruments. There is a correlation between violin making and playing: each requires a good education, great skill and lots of practice. I am extremely lucky to have found a core of individuals whose talents have blossomed with us. Most of my makers come to me without training. They could pay to go to school, but here they earn while they learn. Once trained, we try to keep our people. The investment of time and energy is too great to allow them leave. Several of the makers came from Poland with basic training but had never made an instrument after school because of their country’s limited market. We tested their skills and quickly moved them up. There is great incentive to become a master maker - salaries are tied to production with a bonus for completion of each instrument - and because we are proud of their work, all makers have their names in the instruments. Makers stay because here they are paid to build instruments and don’t have to do repairs or get involved with sales. My staff and I take care of the promotion of our products, working with customers, and adjusting and refining the sound and playability of the instruments they’ve chosen. The market is incredibly competitive, especially here in the U.S.’

The next floor is shared with Lee’s brother, bow maker John Norwood Lee. Here three bow makers work on rehairing, recambering and restorations. ‘John is still in China,’ Lee explains. ‘He has been gone three months training bow makers in his workshop there. They send him student bows that we sell wholesale. He has a pretty big operation. This is also the bow shop for Bein & Fushi which serves a prestigious clientele.’ I notice that there is no shortage of pernambuco. Lee laughs: ‘John went to Brazil and brought back 35 tons. He stores it in blocks with sealed ends for five to ten years and then they are cut into bow blanks. Remember there is a very high attrition rate. A lot of wood is cut away, more thrown away, some breaks or is weak.’ Pointing to the corner of the room he remarks: ‘These ebony blanks for frogs come from Africa and India.’

Moving up to the sales’ room I count 19 violins, 48 violas and 15 cellos hanging from racks on the wall. Lee continues: ‘For me the most important aspect of the instrument is its playability – it has to work. The neck pitch, fingerboard shape, amount of scoop, straightness of the neck set and set up must be solid. Next is the instrument’s sound. I like focus and projection. The tone should be dark and rich with depth and without a harsh or metallic quality. In order to achieve this I look at design. Arching interests me in particular. I consider three dimensions, not just the outline. For sound the most critical ingredient is the arching and relationship of the size and spacing of the f-holes. In this sense I find the French and German instruments two-dimensional. If you study what players like, you learn a lot. For violas it is the Brescian makers Zenatto, Gasparo Da Salo and Maggini. For cellos Tecchler, Montagnana, Gofriller and small Strads.’

Lee has firm beliefs on the subject of modern violin making. He feels that the problem with contemporary lutherie is that makers make too many different models: a Guarneri violin, a Strad cello and a Maggini viola, etc. There is no relationship from one to another. He encourages his makers to develop their own models and get away from copying, thus creating a personality of their own. The principle is that each maker has a style that is recognizable whether it is a violin, viola or cello. The craft and art are blended. ‘Like you can identify Heifitz’s ‘voice’, whether he is playing the Brahms or Sibelius Concertos,’ he says, ‘our instruments have a consistent character from one to another. I rarely see that in contemporary making.’

Contemplating the past, Lee explains: ‘Strad’s Amati period lasted from 1665-1690. Then there was the “Long” period from 1690-1699. All through these years he was completing a violin every few weeks. Next came the “Golden” period from 1700-1725 and so on. Still working in his nineties he finally made over a thousand instruments. That’s already impressive until you realize that he also made all the parts, the tailpieces, fingerboards, pegs and even the bows. Over decades he continued to refine his models. So in my shop I encourage the makers to incorporate only small changes, take minute steps and gain experience. I can judge the results, acting as a filter, as it were, because I meet so many players and make notes on what they say.’

Lee feels that he has created a market for players who couldn’t find or afford an old instrument yet do not want a German “factory” or Chinese violin. His products have gained an outspoken group of admirers. Laszlo Varga, former principal cellist with the New York Philharmonic and cellist of the Borodin Trio, owns two Lee cellos. One is by the Polish maker Stanley Kiernoziak; the other is a 5-string violoncello piccolo made by Thanh Kim. ‘This is my favorite instrument,’ he enthuses. ‘I have a ¾ size Castagneri 5-string. Bill studied it and together with Mr. Kim made a 7/8 model. I call it my “committee” cello, but it really sounds. I even used it to play my transcription of the Beethoven Violin Concerto with orchestra!’

Peter Rosato, principal violist with the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra, agrees: ‘I met Bill in 1994 when I got a call from the String Shop of Arizona. Frankly, I had a great viola and had no intention of buying an instrument that I considered “hot off the press.” But when I played a matching pair of violas by Vanna So they both blew my socks off and I bought one of them. Now 30% of our viola section plays on instruments from Lee’s workshop.’

Never satisfied, Lee has big expansion plans: building up a line of strings and accessories, starting an educational department as a resource for teachers needing rentals and high quality student instruments, and opening a workshop in China. Looking further ahead he dreams of the day he can stay put in Chicago: ‘I spend so much time on the road promoting our instruments working with players and educators, attending conventions, trade shows and visiting dealers that I can’t wait for the day that I can get back to the bench; making violins is very therapeutic.’