Never, Ever ....

[Piannaman@aol.com]

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Alan,
 
Sounds like an interesting afternoon...
 
I usually add half an hour for each appointment on an unseen piano, and  
firmly plant the possibility of a return trip in the mind of the owner.   That way 
I don't lose out an appointment if it turns out to be a  tuning with perhaps 
just a pitch raise.  It's hard to say what you're gonna  get until you see the 
beast, no matter whose concert-pianist friend tells you  "just a few notes 
are out of tune."
 
No, wacko your are not.  I often find myself completely drained at the  end 
of the day.  I don't want to hear music, or anything loud on the way  home in 
the car.  I never thought I'd appreciate silence so much as I do  after a day 
of 4 tunings, each with a large pitch raise.
 
I think many of us find it hard to take breaks.  We see it as lost  time, and 
therefore, lost money.  But a break between tunings does wonders  for our 
sanity!
 
Thanks for the post,
 
Dave Stahl
 
In a message dated 10/21/2005 10:25:32 P.M. Pacific Standard Time,  
tune4u@earthlink.net writes:

I almost broke my own rule today and, luckily, didn't. (There's a  question 
at the end of the sob story.)
 
The rule is:  WHENEVER POSSIBLE, always schedule  first-time-I'm-seeing-a 
piano appointments in the early afternoon  and NEVER schedule another appointment 
after it. I don't care WHAT they  tell you on the phone!
 
What they told me on the phone: "Oh, it's a fairly new Kimball in  excellent 
condition. It just needs tuning. My mom gave it to us."
 
Piano is a 70's console. Nice furniture. It is 80+ cents flat in tenor  and 
bass, 30-60 cents flat in the bass. 
 
Item learned through a little questioning: It was last tuned at least 20  
years ago. Maybe more.
 
No one suspected it was badly out of tune until a skilled pianist, a  visitor 
to the home, was asked to play it. Well, whadduhyaknow!
 
PR, PR, tune, tune, tune ...
 
As I moved up the scale on the long bridge, the strings became more and  more 
reactive to the slightest touch of the hammer BUT were the very devil to  get 
on pitch and stable.
 
Tune, tune, tune ...
 
Has fairly shallow angles from pin to and over the V-bar (which, nicely,  has 
the old nickle-steel rod insert) and only a thin, narrow strip of felt  under 
the strings ...
 
"That red stuff shore is perty, Ethyl Sue, I wonder what's it for?"
 
"I dunno, Clem, maybe it's that thermalnucliunderwear thingy."
 
Anyway, acts like rusty strings on a steep grand plate with 3 inches of  
felt. I grab my trusty CLP in the syringe bottle. I drown the whole friction  
area. I look more closely at the bottle as I put the lid on. I realize I have  
just washed everything with wallpaper remove solution. I panic. I borrow a  
hairdryer ... but, I digress.
 
Ultimately, tuning is so bad I question the pressure bar. It refuses  to 
answer my questions. I turn each screw about 20 degrees left. (Yeah, yeah,  I 
know. Whatthehell.)
 
I start tuning the tenor and treble all over again--now down 20 cents or  so.
 
PR, tune, tune, tune ...
 
A little easier to find and settle to pitch. Or is it my imagination? Oh,  
look, it's a UFO.
 
Tune, fine-tune, tweak ... play ... cringe, whimper, tune,  tune, tweak ... 
quit.
 
It is as in-tune as this boy can make it on this  particular visit. Strings 
need leveling or hammers need attention, voicing is  icky, tone is whiny, lot's 
of false beats, etc. (And the "etc." was  particularly lousy.)
 
I play for the delightful owners. They think it sounds "Wonderful!" They  do 
not know from pianos, eh, what?
 
I play another merry little tune: Diddely, dinkety, tinkelty, tink ...  
Toink!  (A 6th octave string has passed away; only ghost tones  remain.)
 
I replace the string, tune, tune. I present a bill for regular tuning fee  X 
2 (these are friends of my daughter, I should mention). He says, "Why that  
doesn't seem like enough for all that work you've done (from 2 pm till about  
6:30 pm)."
 
"Well, that's what I'm charging, anything more would be a tip."
 
He rounds up the payment with a $40 tip. This is a good thing.
 
I stumble out the door and head for the nearest fast-food emporium (I am  2 
and a half hours from home).
 
Here's the promised question: 
 
Is this work not sometimes a physical and/or emotional wipeout, or  am I 
crazy? Or all of the above?
 
Thanks. I had to dump this somewhere and my wife has heard it all  before.
 
Alan Barnard
Salem, Missouri



 

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