Will the EU finally let the music on board?
It must have been about 20 years ago. Dresden Airport, Lufthansa. A small Canadair jet to Frankfurt. Early morning. The orchestra in that familiar post-concert limbo: half-asleep, half-hungover and entirely unprepared for reality. Gidon Kremer and I arrive at the gate. He is carrying his Stradivari – the kind of object that has survived wars, revolutions and questionable tuning systems, but is about to be defeated by a regional carrier. The gate agent, in a broad Saxon accent, looks at the violin and announces: “You can’t take that on board.”
Kremer is momentarily stunned, as if she has just informed him that, regrettably, Bach is now cancelled.
Before the absurdity can fully register, the rather draconian agent has already produced a luggage tag and is reaching for the violin. I intercept. I protest. I explain that this is not a souvenir from the museum shop, but a Stradivari. Trying to avoid a shouting match, I opt for diplomacy and ask her, as a last resort, to call the pilot and request an exception. First, she refuses. Then, perhaps sensing an opportunity to transfer responsibility down the food chain, she reluctantly calls the aircraft on the tarmac.
A few minutes later, the pilot appears. I brace myself for the grand confrontation, armed with arguments about cultural heritage, insurance values and European civilisation. Instead, he simply walks up, stretches out his hand with a warm smile and says: “Good morning, Mr Kremer!” And that was that. The Strad went on board, as it always should have. I am not particularly a fan of Lufthansa, but that music-loving pilot changed everything – for that flight, at least.
There are countless such stories. As a cellist, I had my own education very early. On my first-ever flight, armed with a Stevenson flight case, British Airways managed to misplace my entire luggage. I arrived in Chicago, but my cello chose a different itinerary, and it took three days to reunite us. Three very long days of imagining cracks, temperature changes and my entire career dissolving at Heathrow Terminal 3.
Later, as an orchestra manager, the pattern continued, just with more instruments and a larger chaos radius. There was the gate agent who ceremoniously produced a measuring tape to prove that a violin case was five centimetres too long for the cabin allowance. The subtext: Stradivaris may be priceless, but they are not above the ruler.
Cellos, of course, live in a parallel universe. They usually travel under the mysterious code “CBBG” on a separate seat. Booking these seats is a highly specialised art, somewhere between astrophysics and medieval theology. And yes, there were times when cellos could earn air miles and you could legitimately ask the cabin crew for a second drink “for my musical companion”. Those were the golden years before somebody in revenue management discovered that loyalty schemes were not originally designed for spruce and maple.
Double basses, however, are where both romance and regulation go to die. A Stevenson double bass flight case weighs roughly 30 kg, the instrument another 8 to 11 kg. This does not include the tailcoats, shirts, shoes, scores and assorted contraband (bottles, primarily) that musicians tend to smuggle in “to save space”.
I will never forget the face of an Air France agent at Sheremetyevo, announcing triumphantly that our double bass weighed 65 kg and 40 kg was the absolute maximum. The bass looked innocent. The agent did not. In the end, I bribed a baggage handler with $200 in cash so they would actually load the instrument. I doubt this is mentioned in any best-practice mobility guidelines, but sometimes ethics and physics must briefly step aside so that Mozart can happen in Paris.
And now, we are told, all this will soon be a thing of the past.
After nearly 15 years of lobbying by the International Federation of Musicians (FIM) and Pearle Live Performance Europe, the European Parliament and the Council have produced a provisional agreement revising the rules for transporting musical instruments by aircraft. Websites will have to show baggage dimensions clearly. Conditions for transporting fragile items, including instruments, must be communicated. Instruments are, in principle, allowed in the cabin if they can be safely stowed; if too large, a second seat may be purchased; and holds should be heated when possible.
In other words: we have regulations. What they actually mean, of course, remains to be seen. The language is encouraging, even if it has that familiar Brussels flavour – a delicate blend of “subject to applicable security and safety rules” and “technical specifications of the aircraft concerned”.
Still, the symbolism matters. After years of musicians sobbing at gates, managers negotiating with the determination of arms dealers at check-in, and priceless instruments being treated like oversize sports equipment, the European institutions have finally acknowledged that musical instruments are not just “items”.
If the new rules help tip the balance away from arbitrary obstruction and towards that kind of quiet, humane common sense, then they will have been worth the 15 years, the position papers and even the footnotes. Until then, we will keep travelling, keep lobbying and keep telling these stories. After all, for musicians, mobility is not a luxury. It is the only way the music gets there.
Florian Riem
