Suicide bomb in Nigeria

Link

As the people of St. Rita's Roman Catholic Church in Kaduna, Nigeria celebrated Holy Mass this morning, a suicide bomber drove his vehicle right through the church wall, where it exploded and killed at least seven people, injuring many more.

The corner of the church where this happened was the Choir; it appears that most of those injured and killed were choir singers and their children.

May these holy martyrs, our fellow choristers, be granted a place in the holy City, New Jerusalem.
May their Lord, who washed the feet of his disciples, wipe away all their tears and bind up their wounds.

May all who persevere in the worship of the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy and Undivided Trinity in the face of Islamic persecution be strengthened, and especially all choristers and church musicians.

May the prayer of Our Lord apply to those who do such things, as well as to those Christians who strike out in reprisal: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

In paradisum

Alfred the Great

In honor of Alfred the Great, King of the West Saxons: born in the Year of Our Lord 849, died October 26, 899, buried at Winchester.

I will not attempt to write of this man, who alone of British kings bears the title "Great." But I will direct you to an extended poem by G. K. Chesterton:

The Ballad of the White Horse

Collect of the Day:

O Sovereign Lord, who didst bring thy servant Alfred to a troubled throne that he might establish peace in a ravaged land and revive learning and the arts among the people: Awake in us also, we beseech thee, a keen desire to increase our understanding while we are in this world, and an eager longing to reach that endless life where all will be made clear; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

piano update

The university technician tuned the Steinway L up in the church this week, and it sounds splendid. He likewise re-glued the missing ivory keytop. Also, we received the written proposal from the piano rebuilder, outlining three options ranging from $15,500 to $26,500.

It occurred to me that, since we happen to have a newer Model L in the choir room, I should do some comparative study. I spent about an hour going back and forth between the two Model L's, plucking strings, checking downbearing and soundboard crown, playing and listening. Yes, I can indeed hear the difference in a plucked string in the mid-treble, as the rebuilder demonstrated: “Hear this? There is no bloom to the sound. The tone is dead. Probably the soundboard is dead.” (At the time, the string sounded fine to me, no matter what he said.) He followed that up by demonstrating that, with his dial-type downbearing gauge, there was zero downbearing on the treble bridge, as I mentioned previously. That got my attention; I know from my studies and experience that downbearing is necessary. A piano does not need much, and too much is as bad as too little, but there must be a little bit, or the tone does not transmit from the string through the bridge to the soundboard.

But today, with my old-fashioned mechanical downbearing gauge – a brass device that you place over the strings at the bridge; if it rocks back and forth there is downbearing; if not, there isn't – I found sufficient downbearing at every point on the piano – I checked every note that is accessible without removing the bass strings. I do not know what was going on with the rebuilder's measurement; one of us is wrong, and he is the expert. But this is a very simple measurement, one I have done many times.

Further, I plucked a lot of strings. The one he demonstrated is the only one that is genuinely “dead.” Its neighbors do indeed have some “bloom” to their sound, though not as much as on the 1971 piano in the choir room. This is an excellent sign; one dead string (when said string is 88 years old) is simply a dead string. If they are all dead in a range of an octave or so, one would have to suspect serious problems with the soundboard. The more general (and, in reality, very slight) difference in tone between the upstairs strings and those on downstairs piano is most likely attributable to the age of the strings.

Granted, there is less downbearing upstairs than on the Model L in the choir room, and that could account for part of why I do not like that piano. Excessive downbearing causes the tone to be harsh, and in my opinion Steinway was not doing their best work in the 1970's [see footnote].

Three lessons for going forward:

-- It is likely that the only things our 1924 Model L needs in terms of tone are new strings and new hammers, or at the least re-shaping and voicing of the existing hammers. No new soundboard. But, as the university technician said, if one is getting new strings, it only adds about $1,000 to install a new pinblock, and it would be a good idea on an 88-year old piano. And if one is doing all that, this would be the time to refinish the case. “But,” as he said, “One has to question whether this piano is worth a complete rebuild-and-refinish.” (Am I the only person who likes this piano?)

-- Secondly, I must be cautious about our rebuilder, whom I am glad that I have not named. As I mentioned, I was impressed with the examples of his work that I played at the Steinway dealer, and he comes with the highest recommendations from people whom I trust. But he strikes me as unduly anxious to “pad the bill” with marginally useful work. I do not think him dishonest – though I want to have a talk with him about those downbearing measurements – I simply think that we must be prepared to firmly and repeatedly say “No” to work that we do not consider necessary, and have a contract that explicitly outlines what work is to be performed.

-- Thirdly, I should not have doubted myself so much based on his comment about fitness for “serious work.” I took the time to look more closely at the piano, based in part on his derogatory comment, and found that yes, it IS suitable, even in its current condition, for “serious work.” As am I.

---------

[Footnote: “In 1972, after a long-running financial struggle, legal expenses, and a lack of business interest among some of the Steinway family members, the firm was sold to CBS. At that time CBS owned many enterprises in the entertainment industry, including guitar maker Fender, electro-mechanical piano maker Rhodes, and the baseball team New York Yankees. CBS had plans to form a musical conglomerate that made and sold music in all forms and through all outlets, including records, radio, television, and musical instruments. This new conglomerate was evidently not as successful as CBS had expected, and Steinway was sold in 1985, along with classical and church organ maker Rodgers and flute and piccolo maker Gemeinhardt, to a group of Boston-area investors." (From Wikipedia, s.v. “Steinway and Sons,” accessed 10/21/2012)

Like much of American industry in that period, Steinway was facing intense competition from Japan, specifically the piano builders Yamaha and Kawai, who were making excellent instruments at very much lower cost. More recent Steinways (since they escaped from CBS in 1985) are much better, and as I noted the other day, the brand-new ones I played in the lobby of the Fine Arts Center are outstanding pianos. Modern Yamahas and Kawais are too, though the prices are now about the same as comparable Steinways. These days, the competition for both the American and Japanese builders increasingly comes from China.

Also of interest: The Making of a Steinway Grand (Lenehan, Michael, in the Atlantic Monthly, August 1982). This is a good description of how a quality grand piano is built. About three-quarters through the article, in the section titled “The Man in the Middle,” one can read about the period where “Steinway change[d] from a family operation to a corporate one, as men like Henry and John Steinway and John Bogyos yield[ed] gradually to the executives at CBS headquarters.” Some reading between the lines is recommended. This part of the article also describes the Teflon bushing episode which would have been impolite of me to mention to the Steinway salesman a couple of weeks ago.]

Couperin, and a visit to Saint-Gervais

I have become obsessive about the writing in of fingerings as a first step in learning a new piece on the organ. There are, however, exceptions, and this Sunday's music by François Couperin (1668-1733) exemplifies one of them: music of the French Classical period. I love this repertoire; all it takes is a four-measure phrase to transport one back into the Ancien Régime. There is an elegance, a grace, at times a grandeur, to this music that one finds nowhere else in the history of music.

But this music cannot be pinned down. It is filled with ornamentation, with notes inégales, with a fluidity of rhythm, and always an improvisatory spirit. I am unwilling to commit to playing the ornaments in specific places; with this music I try different things each time I play through a piece in a practice session. When it comes time to play it in public, the ornaments will likely be drawn from the variety of them that have been tried in rehearsal, but I leave it to the subconscious to make the decisions, hopefully in good taste.

Written fingerings remain helpful in places, especially in passages where there is less ornamentation. But on the whole, I leave much more to the moment of performance than I would with any other part of the organ repertoire.

Aside from fingerings, one learns the music as one would learn any keyboard score: slow play-throughs a phrase at a time, rhythmic variants, work in larger and larger segments – but with continuing variety of ornamentation, constant experimentation with tempo on the small scale – hold back a little here, push ahead a little there.

It so happens that Couperin's church, Saint-Gervais in Paris, has survived to this day. The instrument is very precious, one of only four organs in Paris to survive the Revolution and all that followed in more or less original condition. Here is a link to the Saint-Gervais page from the excellent website "Organs of Paris" describing the church and the instrument, and here is a sampling of music by Couperin played on the instrument, with video of the church. I especially love the passage at about 3:30 in the video where one sees the console.

R. E. Lee

[reposted from my old LiveJournal page, 10/12/09]

September 28, 1870 was a chill and rainy afternoon in Lexington, Virginia. Mr. Lee was not feeling well, and his wife thought he should stay home instead of going to the vestry meeting at the church. But it was an important meeting, and he was the senior warden. He put on his old military cloak and walked through the rain to the church. There was no heat in the building; he presided over the long meeting, wrapped in his cloak. The issue at hand was an attempt to supplement the rector’s income; the vestry determined to subscribe a fund for the purpose. The clerk totalled the figures, and they were $55 short of what they needed. “I will give that sum,” Lee said quietly.

He walked home in the rain, hung up his cloak, and joined his family at the dining room table, where the evening meal was ready. He stood at the chair to say grace, as always. But no words would come. He had suffered a stroke, and died on the morning of October 12.

(the above is adapted from Douglas Freeman’s biography of Lee: Book IV, chapter 27)

Robert E. Lee will never be on the Episcopal calendar as a saint. I consider him one, so I will say a few words here in his honor. He was faithful with daily Morning and Evening Prayer throughout his adult life. From his days at Christ Church, Alexandria to his connections with St. Paul’s Church, Richmond and his final years in Lexington at what is now the Robert E. Lee Memorial Episcopal Church, he was unfailingly faithful in his support of the church as layman, vestryman, and warden; the above sketch of the events of September 28 is entirely in character in this regard. He was a man of prayer and Christian virtues. He did all within his power to see to the welfare, both spiritual and physical, of those under his care as soldiers or as students.

There is in the Museum of the Confederacy in Richmond the cooking set that Lee used during the war: a soldier’s little tin pot and plate and cup, much like the Boy Scout set that I use when camping. Although he was the commanding general, Lee lived simply during the war, eating the same fare as his soldiers, fare that grew increasingly scanty as the war progressed. From time to time, admirers would send General Lee a fine Virginia ham, or some wine, or a blackberry pie. He would express his sincere thanks for the gifts, and quietly send them to the hospitals.

It is unpopular in the circles of Liberal Religion in which I find myself to contemplate the idea of a Christian soldier; this is one of several reasons that I suppose Lee would never be considered for the sanctoral calendar, even in the recent large expansion thereof. Christians are supposed to be opposed to war, so the Liberals would say. Indeed, most of them always have been, Lee among them -- but there have been those, like Mr. Lee, who have answered the call when it could not with integrity be avoided. Like everything else he undertook, Lee discharged his duties as soldier and commander to the best of his ability. After the war he commented that he never fought the Northerners with any bitterness or rancor, and prayed for them every day. Armchair generals can second-guess one or two of his decisions, and in the end his cause failed. But none of that dims the glory of his achievements, a glory that has little to do with victory or defeat.

As much as I admire his role as commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, I equally admire his work as an educator and administrator before and after the war: Commandant of the Military Academy at West Point, president of Washington College. I wish I could do half as well with the young people in my care, and the matters which fall under my administration.

Mr. Lee stands as an example of how a Christian layman ought to live in the world: constant in prayer, devoted to family, doing the work that is before him with care, dispatch, and integrity, and always entrusting it to Divine Providence, in good times and bad.

From Lee’s papers: “There is a true glory and a true honor; the glory of duty done -- the honor of integrity of principle.”

----
From time to time, I make pilgrimage to the Lee Chapel on the campus of what is now Washington and Lee University. It is a holy place, one I enter with awe. Beside the statue of Lee in the front, reclining in uniform as if sleeping on the battleground, is an important portrait of George Washington, the only American public figure whom I would consider Lee's equal. After the completion of the chapel in 1868, Mr. Lee sat in the front pew for every chapel service. His office in the basement has been preserved as it was when he left it that rainy afternoon in September; he is buried just a few steps away.

Outside the door is the final resting place of Traveller. I always pay my respects to him, too. He was foaled not many miles away from my farm back in the Appalachians, a fact which pleases me. Lee had other horses, notably Lucy Long and Brown-Roan. But Traveller was his favorite, and the one with whom Lee is remembered. He did not long survive his master; he stepped on a nail, developed lockjaw, and had to be put down in 1871.

Stephen Vincent Benet, from his poem John Brown’s Body, with the first part of the description taken from one of Lee’s letters:

And now at last,
Comes Traveller and his master. Look at them well.
The horse is an iron-grey, sixteen hands high,
Short back, deep chest, strong haunch, flat legs, small head,
Delicate ear, quick eye, black mane and tail,
Wise brain, obedient mouth.
Such horses are
The jewels of the horseman's hands and thighs,
They go by the word and hardly need the rein.
They bred such horses in Virginia then,
Horses that were remembered after death
And buried not so far from Christian ground
That if their sleeping riders should arise
They could not witch them from the earth again
And ride a printless course along the grass
With the old manage and light ease of hand. . . .

Erik Routley (1917-82)

Dr. Routley passed from this life thirty years ago yesterday, October 8, 1982, while on the road for a church music workshop at Westminster Presbyterian Church, Nashville, Tennessee. Perhaps more than any other single person, he was central to my spiritual formation.

I had the privilege of attending Westminster Choir College during his tenure as Chaplain and Professor. His graduate courses in Liturgy and Hymnody are my only formal training in those subjects. His weekly sermons in the College Chapel taught me what it means to undertake this work of Church Music and memories of those Tuesday mornings have often sustained me through the dry places when the work of music has seemed meaningless, a lost cause. I had the further privileges of serving on the Chapel Committee, and, as graduate assistant for the church music department, of preparing the weekly service bulletins for those Tuesday liturgies.

When word reached me of his death, I felt lost, even though by that time I was serving in a parish far away. It seemed to me that there was no one to carry forward his work, in a time of liturgical and musical upheaval when his wisdom was needed more than ever. At the distance of thirty years, others have arisen to supply theological underpinning to the work of church music, but I still think that I was correct in that judgment for that critical moment in the early 1980's. I must trust the Lord of Hosts that Dr. Routley's work on this earth was done, no matter how it might appear.

I miss him.

Hymns are delightful and dangerous things. They are regarded, in the late twentieth century, as inseparable from the worship of all but a very few Christian groups. They are as familiar an activity as reading a newspaper: in worship they are for many people the most intelligible and agreeable of all the activities they are invited to join in or to witness; they are the most easily memorized of all Christian statements, and one who has not been in a church for most of a lifetime, but who was brought in church when young, remembers some hymns, though everything else may be forgotten. [Routley, Erik: Christian Hymns Observed (Princeton, NJ: Prestige Publications, 1982): p. 1]

… Singing goes with whatever means most to people. But hymnody introduces into the life of the church a creative tension between the passing and the timeless, between the spatially universal and the local, which without them the church would disregard to its lasting detriment.... It is perhaps surprising... how much abuse they survive: but, if we may ignore for a moment the present age's impatience with history, we may judge that what meant so much to Ambrose, St. Francis and St. Thomas Aquinas, to J. S. Bach and Isaac Watts and John Wesley, to Vaughan Williams, Benjamin Britten and your own Christian neighbour, is worth treasuring, preserving and nourishing. Even if our heathen children don't want them, we will not hide them from them: another generation will be grateful if we don't. [Ibid., p. 107]

Cassi goes shopping

As it happened, this weekend was the Steinway Extravaganza at the dealer -- a number of new and used Steinways were on hand for this special sales event, including two that had been rebuilt by our visiting technician. There were concerts, demonstrations, special events all weekend. I was at the door on the stroke of 10 am when the store opened on Friday.

My first task: play the two rebuilds and evaluate the technician’s work. He had suggested that I do so, and told me which pianos were his. My second task: play as many pianos as they would allow, and see if I could tell the difference between a good piano and a bad one.

I began in the main grand piano showroom with the mixed brands, all of them small, mostly baby grands. Both of the rebuilds were here, one of them a Model O dating from 1917. I noted that it still had its original soundboard. The work was first-rate, and both pianos were indeed as good as new -- “but not quite,” as I was later told by the salesman: “there have been subtle improvements in the design over the years.” I resisted the urge to mention the Teflon bushings that appeared – briefly – in Steinways back in the 1970's; such matters are best left unspoken in polite company.

It soon became apparent to S., who appeared to assist me, that she should call K. from across the street. He led me over to the Fine Arts Center, where the big pianos were displayed in the lobby, all Steinways and Bostons (Steinway’s “budget” brand). This was a different world: no more of the upright pianos for eight-year-olds taking their first lessons, no more of the baby grands built for appearance more than sound, no more choice of color or finish. Here, all the pianos were black, sleek, powerful. The salesmen were all in white shirt, black suit and tie, the atmosphere was the quiet elegance of Serious Money. It is a seductive and dangerous environment. One can easily begin to think that $70,000 or $80,000 is but a trifle for such excellence. As a representative of Holy Mother Church, I had to keep at the forefront of my mind: Widows and orphans putting their pennies in the collection plate. Swaziland. The Crisis Center. Starving street people. For them, $70,000 or $80,000 is not a trifling matter.

I played another Model O, this one brand-new. They had already sold their Model A, the next size up, so I played a Model B; what a fine piano! I improvised on it for almost half an hour with three or four hymn tunes, mostly St. Patrick's Breastplate and St. Columba. I tried one of the Boston grands, right next to the Model O and the same size, about six feet long -- but half the price. “Designed by Steinway,” it said at the corner of the fallboard. It was a good piano, and at its Special Sale Price, only $28,995. I played on it for about ten minutes, improvising on “God of the Sparrow,” thereby sneaking in a bit of practice for Sunday. Very nice!

But then I moved back to the Model O and played the same music, as closely as I could by memory. The $35,000 difference in these pianos does indeed get you something; an indescribable richness and velvety tone that the Boston could not match.

Still, I remain attached to our old Model L, even in preference to that splendid Model B. I played it the next morning at the church to see whether I was delusional; no, even with its old age and faults and need for repair, it is a fine piano, or potentially so. It did seem a bit like an elderly dowager with its old discolored ivories, scratched-up case needing veneer repairs, and ninety-year old strings – but it spoke with integrity. I was tempted to scrap the whole project and just leave it precisely as it is, but I suspect that would not be for the best.

Some of our piano’s charm is probably the acoustic; our church is a better space aurally than the lobby of the Fine Arts Center. Or it might just be my tin ear, unable to discern what is Suitable for Serious Work, combined with sentiment for the old piano. It is good that the decisions will be made by committee, and not by me; I will seek the assistance of our chamber music pianist and others, as well as the members of the committee. But they are likely to give at least a little weight to my suggestions, so I must be careful and try to give good advice.

I thoroughly enjoyed the day at the Steinway dealer; I have never had such an experience. And I think that on top of all the rest, I played fairly well. Ten years ago, even five years ago, I could not have improvised for an hour and a quarter and made good music. I have, without intending to do so, developed my own Style at the piano, both in improvisation and in the playing of hymns (which is largely improvisation as well). And whether or not it pleases anyone else, it pleases me; it is precisely the music that I would like to hear (though I would like to play it better and more accurately). For this, I thank the Lord who has called me to this work and taught me day by day to do it better, for his great glory and praise and (hopefully) the benefit of his people.


Today (Sunday) was a Good Day. We admitted five new choristers to the youth choir. Never in my thirty-plus years of choral work have I been honored by such a large entering class of singers. It was a delight to see them, even (perhaps especially) some of the unanticipated aspects – little R. ended up with an adult-sized surplice which on her reached almost to the floor; second-year chorister T. assisted with the project and having too many of the white surplices in hand, so he dropped the extras on the floor in proper little-boy fashion (his mother was probably back in the pews rolling her eyes); K. with her hair thoroughly mussed from putting on the surplice, and a huge smile of delight on her face.

I did not improvise for the morning services as well as I had done at the music store, but the evensong prelude went well – again, music for piano. I played the Aria and Twenty-Fifth Variation from the Goldberg Variations. Lest I begin to be proud of my creativity, Bach reminds me how little progress I have made and how much work remains.

The choir sang well, especially the Ayleward Responses (with which we have struggled), and the new priest, Fr. W., conducted all of the day's services with dignity and grace. Blessings be with him.

The Twenty-Fifth Variation is amazing, even by the standards of Bach. By that time in a full performance of the Goldberg, one has heard almost an hour of music, taking the beautiful little aria through what seems to be every possibility – and then this. It is as if time stops.

A performance by Glenn Gould

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)