voices of pianos
by Zero
I just read that my dear friend just had a piano delivered to his door. I picture rain and pads, clouds and ramps, a big truck and scratching of heads about where to put such a thing, how to maneuver it, what else to move. There’s discussion and energy, and all the while the strings of the large wooden box would tend to vibrate, sympathetic both in physics and spirit.
The main chord this struck with me, though, is not the moving of the piano or the newfound social distinction that such ownership affords. Rather, it was my fondness for the sound of an old piano. No, I guess it’s my fondness for the sound of any piano, as well as its feel under fingers. The sound can be sharp and bright, or subtle and muted. It can clang or it can settle in a room like a fog. The keys can bounce or they can sink. Seeing a piano is to me the immediate equivalent of wanting to play it, not just to make a loud sound like a four-year-old might as he walks by, but to get to know another set of keys and strings. For me, the first few notes tell me what the piano wants to play, and we get to know each other.
I don’t mean to be hyperbolic about this, overly anthropomorphic, or even sappy. Let’s be clear: I know that the piano is a box with strings, tightened with wrenches and pounded with mechanical wooden hammers.
But it’s not.
My friend who’s recently picked up her oboe and started playing again probably doesn’t get to grab other people’s oboes and start playing on them. (Or maybe you do? I confess ignorance; I just couldn’t imagine it.) Oboes aren’t just sitting there in the parlor or living room, waiting to be picked up and blown into by any passerby. And thank God that it isn’t. I imagine, though, that if that woodwind were such a public instrument, one would get to experience the differences in sound and feel of each one. On Friday, Anna will get upgraded to a full size violin for her full size person, and in the process she gets to play all the violins on the shelf, to both hear and feel them. Remarkably, they all have a different feel and sound — each their own unique voice. But, again, you only get to here these differences on those rare occasions when there are half a dozen violins sitting on a table in front of you, another dozen on the shelf behind.
Pianos all over the world are waiting, in public, open to be played, strings undamped. I’m happy to hear of one more in New England, and I wonder what it has to say. And now, since I’ve procrastinated a few extra minutes to reflect on this, I think I’ll spare a few more moments to move from this keyboard to another, and converse with the piano sitting here.
I have played other people’s oboes, but it’s usually something prearranged and discussed, and for some reason. Or it’s just a quick “Oh, hey, can I try your horn?” while on break during rehearsal. Like pianos, all oboes have a unique feel and tone, with some predictability between makers/brands, but a lot of variation between individual instruments.
One thing that oboe players almost never share: REEDS.
I hope you can come try out our new(ish), old piano someday. I’d love to get your take on its personality.