Unsuitable for Serious Work

Thus the piano technician described our church instrument, a Steinway Model L built in 1924. “L’s are very rebuildable,” he said, “but this one, as it is, is completely unsuitable for serious work. No one would give you more than maybe $5,000 for it.”

For perspective, a comparable new Steinway retails for $67,200. That would be the Model O, as they discontinued Model L some years ago; both models are about six feet long, intended for a spacious living room or teaching studio. It is perhaps a bit undersized for a church, saved only by the live acoustic in our situation. The Model A (approx. 7 feet long, $77,400) would be better. Model B (8’, around $90,000) is as close to perfection as one can find in a piano, but would likely be too large in sound for chamber music and recitals by instrument or voice, which are important for us. The top-of-the-line Model D nine-foot piano, the staple of major concert stages, is in my opinion not as good of a piano as the Model B -- it is larger and stronger, but at the expense of the Model B’s elegance.

It all began last summer with the chamber music festival. The pianist, a member of our congregation and an outstanding musician, played our Model L intensively for a week and described it as “dead.” The university piano technician, who had just spent a week regulating and voicing the instrument, agreed, and recommended that we should have the instrument rebuilt.

Our Model L is nearly ninety years old. When the church got it some years ago, it was purchased as a “rebuilt” instrument, so I’m told. It appears that the “rebuilder” replaced the hammers and put a cheap open-pore finish on the case, nothing more, and probably over-charged the church for it. The strings are original; the action parts except for the hammers are original.

And I have been perfectly content with the piano. That was what rankled about the visiting technician’s statement on Thursday when he examined the instrument: “unsuitable for serious work.” If I have considered it suitable, it must be that what I do as a musician is not “serious work.” And it is not just this technician; it is the university technician and last summer’s chamber music pianist, both of whom have earned my high esteem for their work. What do they hear that I don’t?

I have never quite believed that I am a Real Musician, an Artist. Such statements feed my insecurity; I lay awake much of the night thinking about it. “Unsuitable for Serious Work.” I have given my all to this work for most of my lifetime, and still not amounted to much. It did not help that it came at the end of a week in which I had indeed not been much of a Musician. Playing a funeral at another church on Monday and one in our own church on Thursday -- in the first week of a new interim priest’s tenure -- threw us all off schedule, my practice time on Tuesday and Wednesday evaporated into meetings and bulletin preparation, I went into the Wednesday evening rehearsals unprepared, and it showed. As John Bertalot says in one of his books on choral conducting, that is inexcusable.

But it is equally inexcusable to wallow in self-pity. Yes, there are better musicians around. There are several in our congregation, including the aforementioned pianist (who is so amazing that I sit slack-jawed when I hear her play). God can call on the Cherubim and Seraphim, and all the company of heaven. But for whatever reasons, he has called on me to do this bit of music-making in this place, this week. “It’s a dumb job, but someone has to do it” comes to mind, but that is off the mark -- it is not a dumb job; it is an important job. The second half is what applies -- someone has to do it. I am unequal to the task, “unsuitable for serious work” -- but He is not, nor is His Spirit working among us. “When I am weak, He is strong.”

Being unequal to the task is part of the nature of being an Organist-Choirmaster: one never has time to do either half of the job properly. Most Organist-Choirmasters gravitate to one side or the other: they might be like the English Cathedral people who direct the choir and let their organ scholars do most of the playing, or they might be splendid organists who devote a minimum of effort to the choral work.



It was, in fact, the Week of the Piano. As I mentioned, I played a funeral at a small sister congregation on Monday; their deacon had called on Saturday and they were desperate; could I help? It was a simple service; three hymns, prelude and postlude music, all on the piano.

They had a small Schimmel grand piano. It was new; the finish shiny and black and luxurious, the keytops white and glistening, a fine solid new artist’s bench (a far cry from the creaky old relic at our church). At first, I liked the instrument very much, playing Bach rather softly as people chatted before the service. But when it came time to play a hymn, it was disappointing; it was as if there were no “bite” to the sound. Well, it was after all a very small grand. And it was not a Steinway.

On Thursday, as mentioned, the piano rebuilder came to evaluate our Model L. He is a fine technician, highly recommended by several people whom I trust, and he clearly understood pianos. He took the measure of this one in the space of about five minutes, and spent the rest of his time attempting to sell me on a total rebuild, to the tune of about $30,000. “You will have the equivalent of a new Steinway.” He wants to replace the soundboard, which has no cracks and no signs of trouble; absolutely not, so far as I am concerned. As my wife (a former violin maker) said later, “You’ve got that hundred-year old piece of wood in there. He is not going to be able to equal that.” He wants to replace the original ivory keytops with modern plastic ones. “Everyone has grown up with plastic keys. That is what artists expect in a piano.” He pointed at the one key that is missing its keytop: “They are starting to break off. It will only get worse. With a refinished piano, these beat-up old keytops will look horrible.” I am probably going to say “no” on that, also. For all that they show their age, ivory has a better feel than plastic, especially when the hands are sweaty.

To his credit, he immediately located the reason the True Musicians find the piano to be “dead” -- a loss of crown. He measured it at the treble bridge: zero. This would account for a loss of brilliance in the sound. It can be addressed by lowering the plate when it is removed during restringing and the installation of a new pinblock.

And it does need restringing; any piano would after eighty-plus years. It should have been done by the previous “rebuilder.” If one is doing that, it makes sense to replace the pinblock as well, and to go ahead and refinish the case.

I am less convinced about the wholesale replacement of action parts. The hammers are slightly worn, and if it were my piano, I would probably re-shape them myself (which I have done as a piano technician, though only once on a top-quality piano -- my piano work has mostly been on spinets and old uprights) and regulate the action, but not replace anything. The university technician, however, recommended the complete action rebuild, as did the visiting rebuilder, and they are probably right; my approach would suffice for the way I play, and for the uses of the church, but would not suffice for, say, a doctoral degree recital or a professional-level chamber music festival.

The technicians would doubtless disagree, but the action rebuild could be done at a later date, for it is not in fact related to the case-pinblock-soundboard work. I can hear them now: “With these old worn hammers, it won’t sound at its best. Why not take care of everything at once?” I can think of some reasons, mostly having to do with stewardship of finances and the existing action parts. Yes, they are old. Yes, they are probably more fragile than new ones would be. But “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Still, I do not trust my judgement in these matters. I am just a church musician; what do I know about pianos, or about musical artistry at the highest levels? Aside from my responsibility as custodian of the church’s musical instruments, I love our old Model L. It has heart, something the newer university Steinway in our choir room does not (it is another Model L, built in 1971). I want, desperately, to do what is best for it.

It is time to visit the Steinway dealer.
(to be continued)