Nigel Kennedy Sells a Viola He Plainly Despises at Auction

By Tom Whitfield

Nigel Kennedy is selling his viola at an Amati auction with an estimate of £3,000 to £5,000 — and he has attached a letter to the lot that makes clear how little he will mourn it.

The British violinist opens his note to the buyer with mock affection: "Dear Musical Comrade. On a recent country walk, stepping in a cow pat reminded me how much I am going to miss my viola."

What does the new owner actually get?

According to Kennedy's own specification sheet, the instrument delivers:

• "an array of farmyard noises"
• "brutal grunting attack"
• "perfect intonation between the 12 semitones normally afforded to Europeans"
• "an infallible 2 second vibrato cycle"

He adds one further warning. "This instrument also has the capacity to ruin any & all chamber music sessions after which the pub becomes a more attractive proposition."

Take the claims as you will. A seller's letter is an advertisement, and this one advertises contempt. The estimate of £3,000-£5,000 sits well below the prices his violins would command, which tells its own story about what the market expects from the lot.

What does the auctioneer say?

The Amati auctioneer concedes the obvious: "I think it would be fair to say that Kennedy isn't the greatest fan of this viola, but at least he has some feelings towards it. Far better than mere indifference."

That is a candid admission from the house selling the instrument. It also frames the sale's odd appeal: the letter, not the wood, is the provenance.

What does this change for buyers?

In practical terms, not much. One viola changes hands. But Kennedy's letter turns a mid-range instrument sale into a documented piece of the violinist's persona — the punk-classical irreverence that has defined his public image since his 1989 recording of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Whoever wins the lot buys the insult along with the instrument, and the letter is likely to outlive both in resale value.

Whether the estimate holds is another matter; celebrity letters attached to lots have a habit of inflating final prices beyond what the instrument alone would fetch.