andave's place

This is Ray Orrock pt. 3, for Rich, and I have an idea that GrayfoxDown would like it too. It's a more serious column this time; one that I cut out of the newspaper before he retired.

"Pianos have withstood the test of time" by Ray Orrock

Pianist Peter Nero, some time ago, was quoted as saying that his instrument may be on the way out. Nero said he's just finished reading a symposium on the piano, "and eight out of twelve pianists expect it to go the way of the harpsichord. Part of it is economic. Synthesizers are a lot less expensive. But no synthesizer is ever going to make the kind of sounds a piano does. I was bothered by those comments. I don't want to see pianos disappear -- particularly to be replaced by something as unromantic as a synthesizer. I could never have imagined Irving Berlin writing a song titled "I Love a Sythesizer" or some New Orleans honky-tonk man sounding out "Thos Old Sythesizer-Roll Blues." And it's a good thing Harry Truman didn't play the synthesizer, because Lauren Bacall wouldn't have been able to sit on top of it, cross her silken legs, and give us one of the best news photographs of all time.

If a fairy godmother were to come along and grant me the ability to play any musical instrument in the world I'd pick the piano -- and i have a hunch that about 90 percent of other people in the world who wish they could play an instrument would make the same choice. A piano is not just a musical instrument; it's a mini-orchestra. And there's a certain majesty to it. Nothing well lend a more elegant tone to a room that a baby grand piano, sitting quietly but regally in corner. The geometric excellence, the aesthetic rightness of a piano is reflected in the fact that its basic design has hardly changed in centuries. The baby grand of today looks pretty much the same as the harpsichord Mozart played back in the 18th century. And today's upright piano looks pretty much like the one you see the saloon player pounding on in all those movies about the Old West.

Some of the most pleasant memories of my life are associated with the piano. The first time I saw the girl with the green eyes, she and her sisters were standing around a piano being played by their brother, Milt. Milt went on to become a priest. The girl with the green eyes went on to become my wife. I can remember my mother sitting at the old upright in our living room, banging out a lively piece called "The Roman Races," or playing and singing "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." I can recall a number of parties I attended that ended up with a bunch of us leaning on the piano, singing one song after another until the small hours of the morning. And one of my fondest memories is of the time I visited an ex-editor friend and his wife, Betty, in Kansas City, and every night, just vefore going to bed, Betty would sit down at the baby grand and play "Over the Rainbow" for me.

There is more to a piano than just the sound, too.
You can lean on a piano.
You can put family pictures on a piano.
And when there's an earthquake, who'd feel comfortable taking shelter under a synthesizer?