In the summer following my third year attending Kenyon College, ah, it must have been 1971, I found myself in a large old house in North Salem, in Westchester county of New York State.  In this house with me was the band, Sweet Hannah. For a few seasons we struggled to get a record deal; this was before the time of YouTube.

Sweet Hannah managed to acquire a beat-up baby grand piano, which became usable as I borrowed/improvised various tools with which I learned by experimenting. This piano actually travelled with us to a few performances, and after the band ran out of fantasy-hope for a record deal, I remember having it in a small apartment, while I started attending SUNY Purchase, majoring in piano.

As luck would have it, I developed a friendship with Rick Prokop, who had taken a piano-technician course, given by one of this world’s double-handful of Piano Technician Gurus, Bill Garlic. Rick was earning spending-cash by piano tuning!   And he introduced me to the ear-trainging practice necessary to hear the correct intervals between notes, in the ‘source’ octave(s) in the middle, ‘high-traffic’ area of the keyboard. Tiny, little extra sounds in each strand of wire (piano-string is made from steel wire) can be distinguished by an ear that has been trained to filter out other sounds. A perceptual self-discipline.

If the practice-room pianos at school weren’t so raucous-sounding so often,  I might not have developed such an eagerness to tune. To be fair, these pianos were all of them brand-new Steinways, therefore not totally stabilized in those rooms, wildly dry and hot from time to time.   All facilities were newly constructed at Purchase, and we were among the first students there.

Since then, the place has blossomed and is gaining stature steadily, and my memory is of a good, formative experience which continues to help me.

In 1977 I finally acquired by degree: B.M. (umm, Bachelor in Music). Very soon after that, I was studying various places to live, and wondering who in the world would hire a music major.   I called Rick, and he pointed me to tools, and to various books explaining the lore of piano doctoring…and after a fair time of improving badly out-of-tune instruments, even gluing broken bits of action parts, and making small amounts of money, I gave a call to a piano shop in Hawthorne. Brodbeck pianos sold new little pianos, and rebuilt all sizes of pianos in their shop. Rick (who had worked there), smoothed my path here a bit, for which I remain thankful, these 37 years after.

Since I had tested well in tuning, right from the start, I was sent out to tune many Brodbeck customers, as well as helping the rebuilding in the downstairs workshop. I was the dismantler, removing and organizing all parts, big and small. Older pianos required large bolts around the “plate,” the cast-iron frame. Each bolt must return to its same hole, when it was time to re-assemble the instrument. Otherwise, structural stability was compromised enough to make precise tuning very frustrating.

The level of sustained concentration necessary for good piano work borders on obsession. But working with one’s hands is healthier, at least for me, than sitting at a desk pushing papers around.

During all this piano-adventuring, I was also adventuring into music gigs, all sorts. Fun! I am a rhythm section monster in band-mode, a composer, and a music enabler, whether teaching or sharing or jamming.

I was also getting calls for helping some of the shops in NYC: NY Piano Center (Leopold Holder), Faust Harrison (Michael Harrison), and Maximilian’s House of Grand Pianos (Max Rutten).

At Max’s I waded into the interesting world of hugely expensive European grand pianos. I dealt with the actual music instrument, while customers and their frowny little designers in black turtlenecks pondered the looks and prestige possibilities of the outsides of pianos. It was in that setting that I composed my perpetual-motion piano piece entitled “The Well-Tempered Cowboy.”

Both Leopold Holder and Michael Harrison were rebuilding vintage American and European pianos, and I would go to their customers, fine-tune the instrument, and pay real attention to any questions or requests, making sure that customer was happy with piano.

As a pianist myself, I have nothing but sympathy for those who care about the sound. I have never told a customer “I don’t hear any problem.” Even if I cannot distinguish the complaint with my hearing, I go to every length to make the piano display whatever is distracting the customer’s practise. I am not afraid to spend whatever time necessary to get to the bottom of some defect. AND, if I cannot find or deal with something, I do not charge customer for what amounts to my own ‘learning curve,’ even if it means suggesting having a colleague examine/confer.

Many times I have called other technicians for advice, and their experience has paid off for me over the years.

Once is a while, when the piano problem (in older pianos mostly) is very hard to hear, I gently suggest to my customer that perhaps it is time to listen to the composer, instead of the piano. After all, who’s making music here?   I never tell them they’re “not hearing anything.”

After a good decade of leading music in churches, I now have more time to compose and help others make music. Including tuning lots of pianos,

I’m in Jersey City, the 6^th borough of NYC, and eager to hear your piano, see what your piano needs.

And I drive.