Lina Tur Bonet is busy. When we speak, early on a Sunday morning, her energy is electric. I have caught her in a moment between two musical worlds: the first, playing with and leading Le Concert des Nations, Jordi Savall’s acclaimed period instrument orchestra, at the Salzburg Festspiele; the second, making a new recording in Toulouse. It is, perhaps, an obvious question but, still wiping the sleep from my eyes, I ask her what the secret is to working at such a pace. Laughing, she tells me, ‘the only secret is to work, and to love it, really love it.’  

Unlike me, Lina has been up for hours. 

‘I began today by speaking with an expert in romantic music, working through a new manuscript.

I love it, truly, I enjoy the time, I enjoy the projects: if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t do it!’ 

For a violinist working at the level Lina operates at her path is perhaps unusual. She did not start learning the violin at an early age, as many of her contemporaries do. Instead, her understanding of music and rhythm developed away from any instrument. 

‘I began to dance at 3, and at the same time, started taking lessons in reading music and singing with my father.’ The instrument came later, with formal violin lessons starting as Lina became a teenager but, once the violin arrived, she left everything else behind. The connection is obvious: watching Lina perform is to observe the invisible string connecting her with her violin, whether it be a period instrument or a modern one.  

‘My temperament is—and has always been—very right for the violin,’ she explains. ‘It is very alive, and very adaptable. It allows you to do so much.’ 

I’m curious about the two instruments she plays—the historic and the modern—and the connection she finds between the two. It is a rare instrumentalist that can move so deftly between both modalities of playing, considering the stark differences between the instruments (even though, to the naked eye, they appear so similar). But to Lina, the difficulties have nothing on the joy of the challenge, of creating something so dynamic and new for an audience, who become, as the instrument is an extension of her, an extension of the performance. 

‘My professors in Vienna [Lina studied at the prestigious Musikhochschule Wien] were initially surprised when I expressed an interest in historical performance, but I love the challenge of learning new things: I like being in uncomfortable situations that push me further.’ 

The transition was truly uncomfortable: ‘I went from playing the Tchaikovsky concerto to not being able to play a long note!’ She chuckles: ‘How do I do it? I had no clue. That was exciting.’ 

While diving headfirst into the world of historical performance practice, Lina did not put down her modern violin, still doing exams, still playing Brahms and Ravel. She knew she wanted both, and wasn’t willing to give up either, in spite of the fact there were no models of people doing the same to look to for encouragement. 

‘Then, I could find very few people playing both instruments at a high level. It’s completely different now, which is great, and I encourage my students to do both if they want to, but when I was studying, my Baroque teacher wanted me to give up modern, and vice versa.’ 

When I ask about how playing one instrument influences and impacts playing the other, Lina draws a comparison between musicians and actors. 

‘You do, of course, direct things you learn from one to the other, but they are two very different instruments. The way of thinking and playing are so different. You approach them as you would characters, roles:

we are actors in the music world; we don’t write the music, but we interpret it.’

Perfection? To be honest, I think that’s incredible in live performance, but also sort of boring. I believe one of the great attractions of concerts is to witness something with inherent risk, to experience being in a place with other people, listening and watching and somehow being part of something. 

When she moves from her period instrument to her modern violin, she adopts a new persona, as a player would in a Shakespearean drama. You see her intrinsic self shine through, but there is a different edge depending on what she is playing, and how she is playing it.  

Like an actor, Lina also knows that as a performer, you must stay fluid to the way that the musicians around you move and change from concert to concert. Musica Alchemica is her hand-picked group made up of some of Europe’s finest Baroque musicians including baroque cellist Marco Testori, archlutist Giangiacomo Pinardi, and harpsichordist Kenneth Weiss. The joy, she tells me, of playing with this ensemble is that they can encounter the same music again and again, and it never feels staid or overdone.  

‘This ensemble is my dream come true. Each player is my favourite musician! With these people, you can improvise: our way of playing together is one that keeps things free. Of course, the music itself gives us the opportunity to stay creative, but you do have to find the right colleagues to make it truly come alive.’ 

One of the great joys of this repertoire, which in Linas Australian tour will include works by Biber, Corelli and Telemann, amongst others, is that not everything is spelled out on the score.  

‘It's like jazz. I love the way jazz musicians play.’  

Initially, she tells me, she thought jazz was completely improvised, and began speaking to musicians to find out more about the way they created their sound.  

‘There is so much technique and virtuosity, but the magic is when you keep things open, when you listen to one another.’  

That is what is so special about Lina, what keeps her so active despite the long days, the punishing travel schedule, the constant switching between modern and Baroque violin: the listening. We could speak for many more hours, but we say goodbye as Lina prepares herself for the train to Toulouse.  

‘The listening,’ she tells me as we sign off, ‘keeps everything alive.’