Blogs

A call to "re-brand" our profession in a new era.

The following is an article that I have thought long and hard about. I feel that I have at least succeeded in putting my thoughts to paper (OK, electronic paper) in a way that will hopefully stimulate some reflection and discussion among the many talented people involved in our part of the piano industry, and the larger world of music beyond.  I believe there are challenges that will need to be addressed as having serious consequences for the long term well being of our profession. The options are clear; develop the resolve to determine the future direction of our field, or continue to be swayed by the external forces that have come to bear in a piano market that is steadily shrinking.

It was my intention and aspiration to have this article published in the the Piano Technicians Journal -- ranking as a lifetime achievement for me. Unfortunately, there was disagreement among the editorial staff as to the appropriateness of its content - in that it was thought by some that the subject matter did not fall strictly within the categories deemed suitable for publication. Ultimately, the decision was made to reject my article, with some regret expressed to me by the Editor.

Needless to say, I respectfully disagree with that decision. In the general scheme of things our community of piano technicians is small. I believe that as the publication of record, the Piano Technicians Journal has a special responsibility to be as inclusive as possible; providing a lively forum to express the disparate experiences, views, and ideas of those within our profession -- as well as fulfilling its traditional role as a technical journal.

All that aside, I hope you will find my article enjoyable. I believe deeply in the opinions expressed herein, and I hope to provoke some interesting discussion about how we see ourselves; and our role in the world of music.  Thanks to all for hearing me out.  

* * * 

A Day in the Life – by Paul Rattigan

A dark and empty auditorium will be an unusual place to be hearing such lovely music, and the company I will be keeping (a famous pianist and an even more famous cellist) is beyond my normal range of experience as well. We’re 50 miles north of Boston in the gritty post-industrial town of Methuen. It’s a church-like brick and stone structure built in the nineteenth century by a successful mill owner. Its sole purpose at the time was to house a magnificent German organ and its massive pipes; so as to bring culture to the city's residents. It’s plain to see this once majestic “Cathedral to Music” has seen better days. 

I am the piano technician engaged for today’s project; a Sony Classical recording of the Brahms Violin Concerto (That’s right, the violin score is being played by the cellist!). The musicians and I will be removed from the rest of the recording team for most of the day, so you might say I qualify as a one-person audience -- the only eyewitness to a yeoman-like struggle to make beautiful music on an hour-by-hour basis. This is pretty heady stuff, and I'm feeling a little anxious, but with years of experience I’m confident my skills will serve me well. The sheer pleasure of observing these two masters will be equaled only by the sense of pride I feel for being part of the process.

Selected last week for the session, the piano arrived only yesterday from Steinway Hall in New York. The Hall is also regarded as a hallowed sanctum of music. It's Steinway & Sons flagship retail location and home to the famous "stable of thoroughbred" concert instruments. The producer has expressed a concern (shared by me) as to whether the piano can be put in proper tune and voice in time for the session. So with the bar set high I have arrived early with a well-planned strategy to accomplish as much as possible; knowing that the time afforded is barely in keeping with the requirements of the day.

With the lid open, the bronzed interior and polished satin finish are glowing in the reflected warmth of a light that hangs from above. It's a beautiful piano to look at. After playing a few measures, I am struck by the thought that its rich and full sound is a faithful reflection of that beauty. The spell is quickly broken when I consider all that needs to be accomplished between now and the start of the session. With no time to waste, I remove the music desk and get down to the business of bringing some order and harmony to the chaos before me. 

                                     **********************************

It’s a few hours later. I’m in the final stretch of preparing the piano; returning one last time to attend to a few errant octaves and unisons that are reluctant to settle in. From the corner of my eye I detect a slow, lumbering figure approaching from a door at the side of the dimly lit hall. A full 30 minutes earlier than expected, the pianist has arrived for his warm-up! I mask my alarm with a well-practiced calm. It's a concert tuner’s survivor skill I’ve refined to an art form. I learned long ago that my end of the business is not only about preparing the piano to the best of my ability. Care must be taken to not undermine the confidence of the pianist in the instrument.

He strikes me as being a pleasant gentleman with a calm demeanor. After exchanging greetings, I am quick to assure him that the piano is ready. Considering the circumstances, this small white lie is forgivable. I attempt to buy cover by suggesting to him that some small adjustments will likely be needed before the session begins. Turning away to collect my tools from the piano, I place the artist bench at an appropriate distance and precisely on center with the pedals; then replace the music desk with dispatch. At this critical moment I want to demonstrate once again my confidence in the work already completed; while making a proper display of deference toward the artist and the primacy of his role in today’s effort. (A modest measure of ego-stroking is never wasted!)

Sitting down at the piano, he seems to meld with it as if they are one. Taking my cue, I busy myself at my tool case; wishing to appear unconcerned. I will in fact be listening closely to every note of the musical conversation that is about to unfold. I can see he shares my sense of anxious anticipation as he probes the keys tentatively with a few exploratory chords, and then pauses -- rising for a moment to adjust the height and placement of the heavy artist bench; then slowly resumes his position.

I am observing closely from one side, ready to take my own measure of all those decisions made earlier that cannot now be altered.  I wonder if the aural chemistry between pianist and piano, as shaped and colored by the unique acoustical qualities of the space that envelops them will meet with the expectations of what these two musicians have envisioned for the recording. The prospects for the success of this session are being weighed in the balance. I will have my answer soon enough.

Suddenly he becomes quiet, and straightens his shoulders while resting his hands heavily on his knees. He is still and focused; staring into the distance -- marking a transition toward the more serious work that lies ahead. At last he breaks the silence by playing quietly and deliberately (even for veteran technicians a most anxious moment). His playing quickly evolves into a more easy and confident interaction with the object of his attention. Emboldened by what he hears, the volume of his playing begins to build steadily toward a crescendo. Under the guidance of his strong and skillful hands the Steinway responds instantly to the crack of his whip with spirited flashes of its storied pedigree in a fireworks display of beautiful notes and a full range of expression -- all there for the asking!  Moments later he pauses, smiling as he turns and nods approvingly. He asks if I’ve been brought in from “out of town” (translation, New York) for the session. I answer "No", and feel flattered. 

Despite a promise to give me additional time to work on the piano, experience tells me this will not happen as the start of the session approaches. But it’s clear he is pleased with the piano, and in all honesty it's the rare occasion on which I feel my job is ever really done. So if he’s happy, then I’m happy. And now I can breathe easier knowing the most critical part of my day is behind me. Barring unforeseen problems, my duties from here on out will involve staying on top of tuning and voicing issues as the opportunity arises. But then, who needs lunch anyway!

                                      ****************************************

Late in the day, and nearing the end of a long and exhausting session, a photographer enters from the side room where the producer and engineers have been holed up since morning. With a series of candid shots he will do his best to create a visual record of the day.  Oblivious to his presence, the musicians painstakingly attend to re-recording a few final measures, and at last their work is done. To  put a cap on the day’s effort, the recording team is called in from their makeshift control room to join with the musicians; standing at the piano for a few final pictures.

As the group gathers, arms are slung around shoulders and backs are slapped in the kind of loose camaraderie that often breaks out after a team prevails by virtue of its collective talent and hard work. The cameraman asks the gang to gather close. Calling them to attention with one last shot, the session is officially over. It’s time for this weary band to pack up their gear and head their separate ways.

But what is wrong with this picture?

One person has remained seated and away from the action. Feeling more than a little self conscious, I work my way through the middle of the crowd to perform my final chore by closing the lid. Both the cellist and the pianist take notice of my presence and make a pointed effort to extend a handshake of genuine appreciation. I'm gratified they are acknowledging the value of my contribution, even as they remain unaware of the unease that the moment holds for me. I return their handshakes firmly before moving toward the door, and I’m on my way. 

While driving home I settle in to the notion that on balance, and in spite the slight, it's been a good day. I think about awaiting the release of the recording, anxious to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I think about soaking up the magic of the Brahms and feeling proud of my work; relishing the images of the day that are still fresh and with me. Some time later, and reluctantly, I will leaf through the pamphlet that comes packed so neatly in the front cover of the CD case to confirm what I half-already know – that I am the only one involved with the session not included in the credits.

Reflections on that Day.

I hope the reader can resist the temptation of seeing this story as a self-serving exercise in sour grapes. And neither should it be seen as a gratuitous play for sympathy. It’s important to understand I have accepted the terms of my employment from the very beginning of my career, and feel fortunate for having done well in the field of my choice. I find our work to be often challenging, and always fulfilling in the deepest sense of the word. My purpose in recounting the events of that day is in part to explore the nature and extent of our involvement in the making of piano music: a degree of participation in the creative process which I believe is too often minimized or overlooked. More importantly, I want to put forth the proposition that we should be expecting more: to the betterment of our profession, and in turn, to the betterment of music as well.

So let me explain.

When I participate in a musical event, what I seek to achieve is nothing short of making the piano a seamless conveyer for the artistic intent of the pianist (not withstanding the many things that can work against that) -- with both of us laboring shoulder to shoulder in service to the music. (For the record, I think of what we do as being creative, though never rising to the level of art.) We each had a role that day in what I call the performance success model, as applied to any concert or recording, whereby the preeminence of the artist(s) is duly acknowledged. That said, I strongly believe that given a quality instrument to work with, and by virtue of the skills we possess, the best of those who practice the craft of piano technology do in fact elevate the performance of any pianist to a higher level. 

This is no small thing: and it goes to the heart of the sometimes uneasy relationship between pianists and their technicians.

Since performing on one's own instrument is hardly practical, concert pianists are subject to insecurities and frustrations that other performing musicians will never know. Because of the extraordinary complexity of the modern piano, and hence a dependence on others for its preparation, could it be that the skill of the piano technician figures more prominently in the success of concertizing and recording than pianists (and curiously, many technicians) are comfortable with, or willing to acknowledge? Certainly piano tuners are not the first to bring technical virtuosity to the netherworld where art and craft journey together on the long road to high artistic achievement. Consider, for example, the incomparable Jascha Heifetz playing a Stradivarius. It's not my intention to draw a direct comparison here, but rather to make a simple point: the symbiotic relationship between pianists and technicians is as real and substantial as it is unique.

And while we’re asking, if our skills are indeed deserving of mention in the liner notes of a recording (or for that matter a concert program), what is behind the seeming reluctance to extend this small measure of recognition? Or does the fault lie with us for failing to clearly define our role; even among ourselves? Regardless, we will need to consider how education and outreach might help to redefine this outdated perception of just who we are, and how might we go about achieving this goal.

In my nearly 40 years as a technician I have watched in amazement as the shared body of technical knowledge and understanding of pianos has grown exponentially; thanks largely to the effort and dedication of the Piano Technicians Guild, its Journal, and the membership. But the estimation of our profession by the world has not kept pace with the advance of our field, and therein lies much of the problem. You can be sure there is a direct benefit or cost, for good or ill, attending to how well we are regarded as professionals by our colleagues in music; and by all of whom we serve. And as we go forward, it will become ever more important to attract talented young people in sufficient numbers to maintain and enhance this higher level of professionalism. There really is a lot at stake here.

For more than two centuries the acoustic piano has been a vital and enduring aspect of our shared cultural heritage; a sublime expression of collective human ingenuity and achievement. In the distractions presented by social media and video games, and the proliferation of electronic keyboards, we are bearing witness to a period of decline in appreciation for some of the real things of life.  But when we consider the cyclical nature of history we can take heart that the fine arts, as a repository for many of society's most essential values, will once again ascend to their rightful place as a source for inspiration and an anchor of stability in an increasingly fragmented world.

The performance piano and the technicians who maintain them provide what the gifted artist and accomplished amateur alike require for the making of truly beautiful piano music -- a truly beautiful piano. We can play a meaningful role in assuring that it survives these difficult times, and flourishes. But first there are questions that will need to be addressed, ideas explored, and effective strategies developed in order to foster further growth and economic prosperity in this profession that we love. One thing I know for sure is we can’t expect the status quo to change without a long overdue push from our side. In this new era it is our responsibility to get the ball rolling; with the certain understanding that all we might hope to achieve can only be realized by the enlightened support and leadership of the Piano Technicians Guild. If you lead, we will follow. 

At the very least it would be nice to know that some day I can count on seeing my name in the credits.   

(Paul Rattigan is the former Manger of Piano Services at the New England Conservatory of Music. He is currently employed at Harvard University as the Senior Concert Technician in Piano Technical Services.)