As the tag line says, “Nothing moves the needle on evolution like the arts.”, and I am hoping this edition of The Other Side of the Keyboard helps demonstrate that.
My wife is a watercolor artist. Her mentor and friend is the remarkable Alice Meyer-Wallace, artist extraordinaire.
Through my wife I met Ms. Alice and many of her students at the Community Arts Center in Wallingford, PA and at the historically famous Plastic Club in center city Philadelphia. If you aren’t familiar with the Plastic Club, treat yourself: https://www.plasticclub.org/
Soon, Gretchen, my wife, honored to say, will have her own web site. I shall keep you updated.
But that is not what this submission is all about. It is about a message from the heart.
Alice’s talented older brother, Richard Meyer, a talented artist and architect was married to Alice’s best friend Lesley Hopwood Meyer. Imagine being best friends with your brother’s best friend. How does that happen?
I was not gifted with knowing Lesley but I depend on the stories told by Richard and Alice. However, Lesley had to have been a special and storied woman of great empathy and love. Lesley would, every year, compose a special Christmas Carol set in olden times, and they were recorded in her honor by Richard with the help of some extremely talented people. I’ll explain later.
As the story goes, well, let me stop here and use some of Lesley’s own words from the jacket to help with the explanation.
“I live in a lovely rural suburb of Philadelphia called Rose Valley, in a carriage house among the trees. In March, the migrating birds wake you up at 5:30 or so every morning. One morning, being rudely awakened, I decided to get up and write down the birds’ songs – the rhythm and pitch. I did this for three or four hours. Later that day, I used the song to write Bird Warmup #1, Morning (really me waking up – no bird song there) and Bird Warmup #2. I had already written the chilly middle movement, Antarctica, and it needed to be warmed up!
Real ornithologists have listened to my piece and not recognized my interpretation of the robins, cardinals, and house finches, but that’s what is nice about being a composer rather than a naturalist – you can make things up!”
This turned out to be “Six Short Works for Piano and String”
Think about this: This is evolution at its very best! What love a body must have to hear, feal, and set to music the highest levels of nature itself.
The CD is no small effort as the mission, which was executed by the following, some of whom you may recognize. This is best offered in Richard’s, aka Dick’s, own words:
“I am grateful for the significant contributions of Liz Cochran, Bill Hayward, Carol Briselli, Charlie Abramovic, Vivian Barton, Barbara Jaffe, and Igor Szwec to the beauty and character of Lesley’s music. I appreciate being able to use the ballroom at the Wallingford Art Center to make the five original recordings. The CD cover art was created by Sarah Moody.”
It didn’t stop there, and as promised, back to the carols. Each year, for 26 years. Lesley would write a Christmas Carol in the style or the “olden days.” This collection was held for posterity on a CD created by her husband Richard in her honor and set to disc by some very, very talented local artists.
The CD was titled “Mr. and Mrs. O.L.D. Fezziwig requests the honour of your presence at a domestic Ball.”
Fezziwig -wig, Fezziwig-wig, Fezziwig’s Ball
In came a fiddler and tuned like fifty stomachaches,
In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile,
In they all came:
Some shyly, some boldly;
Some gracefully, some awkwardly;
Some pushing, some pulling;
In they all came!
In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable,
In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke,
In came the house maid with her cousin, the baker,
In came the cook, with her brother’s friend, the milkman.
This is from the famous: A Christmas Carol by Dickens.
John Richardson: The Fiddler
Veronica Chapman-Smith: Mrs. Fezziwig
Karen Wapner The Three Miss Fezziwigs
Kent Schauble: The Six Young Followers
Paulo Faustini: The Housemaid
Wallace Umberger: The Cook
Choir:
St. Luke’s Chamber Singers
Jonathan Bowen, Organist and Choirmaster
Again, in Richard’s own words:
This is the complete collection of 26 Christmas Carols composed each December from 1976 to 2001 by Lesley Hopwood Meyer, and recorded between November 14, 2001 and November 15, 2007.
All the carols have been arranged for four voices from the original Christmas cards by Jonathan Bowen, Choirmaster of the Church of St. Lukes and the Epiphany in Philadelphia, and recorded under his direction in seven sessions between 2001 and 2007. Janathan’s work is distinguished by its wonderful musicianship and his exceptional faithfulness to the spirit of each individual song.
I am grateful to The Church of St. Luke and the Epiphany for graciously allowing the repeated use of its warm and evocative space for rehearsal and performance.
Uncompromised engineering and editing is by Bill Hayward of Hayward Productions, Swarthmore. For the final eleven recordings he was assisted by Chris Gately. Mastering for this recording was done by Bill and John Senior at Elm Street Studios in Conshohocken, incorporating 15 songs that were produced by Bill and George Blood Audio in Chestnut Hill between 2001 and 2005. Ed McCann helped to develop the playlist through endless variations. CD duplication was provided by Syndicate Pictures, Media PA. The booklet insert was provided by Disc Hounds, West Chester Pennsylvania.
The original group was assembled by Elizabeth Cochrane, a friend of Lesley, Jonathan, and Bill, who did not know each other. Without the help of Liz, it is doubtful that any of these songs would ever have been performed or heard.
Many beautiful versions of the carols have been passed over in this effort, including the Robert Ross setting of Nunc Gaudet Maria that was published through the Woman’s Sacred Music Project by Oxford University Press in 2005, and Alice McIntyre’s Latin translations that were performed by the Goffredo Petrassi Chamber Ensemble, presented by Fondazione Atkins Chiti in Rome for Christmas, 2005. All of these will be included in a forthcoming collection of the Complete Works of Lesley Hopwood Meyer.
Finally, a word about the words: Lesley was drawn into the project because the 13th Century sentiment “Kick and beat the grumblers out” appealed to her. Whether “The prunes so lovely” (15th C) “Squadrons of spirits” (16th C) or the autobiographical “A babe is born all of a may, in the salvation of us..”, there was always a bite of charmed language that set the music in motion. In some cases, the preservation of these old texts in Lesley’s settings may be their salvation.
Music by Lesley Hopwood Meyer.
The songs:
1. Proface (1993)
2. Fezziwig’s Ball (1989)
3. A Hymn on the Nativity (1992)
4. Hymn to Joy (1997)
5. All That Believe in Christmas Lay (1994)
6. All You that in the House Here (1982)
7. A,a,a,a Nunc Gaudet Maria (1991)
8. Get Ivy and Hull, Woman (1990)
9. Furry Day Carol (1984)
10. From: In Memoriam XXVIII The time draws near (1998)
11. Carol For Austrian Hunting Horm (1983)
12. For Christmas Day (2000)
13. So, Brother Fesans, Reijouissance (1986)
14. Christ is Come Well (1980)
15. Now is Christmas Ycome (1979)
16. Sun of Righteousness (1988)
17. Out of Your Sleep Arise and Wake (1977)
18. Minuet (1978)
19. Now Christmas Draweth Near (2001)
20. Now All is Well That Ever Was Woe (1983)
21. Christmas Day 1995)
22. Anglo-Norman Carol (1976)
23. A Christmas Carol In the Blead Mid-Winter (1996)
24. Good Day, Good Day (1999)
25. The Star Song (1981)
26. Song of the Nuns of Chester (1987)
The glorious part of this effort is the love of one for nature and the ultimate love of one for another. The sad part of this is I can not share this CD as it is not, I believe, available for sale, only gifting, and that is how I received this gift.
At Richard’s house last evening, I attempted a tuning on the 1939 Lester Spinet that Richard and Alice grew up with. In response to that offering, Richard gifted me the two CD’s. I remarked at the picture of Lesley on the front of one of them, and how utterly beautiful she was which brought Richard to a pause…he misses her so. That was my queue to stop talking and just take the CD’s with gratitude.
Tonight, we celebrate the holiday season at Richard’s. Gretchen baked a Christmas Tree cake, and I bring the Ouzo…Alice’s favorite.
With this I wish all of you the kind of love Richard, Lesley and Alice experienced and continue to this day.
As coincidence would have it, the two CDs were produced by a great many of my family. The singers, players, directors, and engineers are many of whom I have worked with as a concert/studio piano technician. I was so elated to see them on this, a most joyous collaboration.
Happy Christmas to all and to the rest who may celebrate other occasions, just as solemn and important, may the holidays bring you all that you require to be happy, healthy and surrounded by love.
Remember Ye this: Santa is secular. He doesn’t disappear when one reaches the age of 10 or 12, he is simply passed on to a generation of new, eager parents!
Voicing: How do we change the tone of a piano?
1. Hammers are made of a piece of wood called the molding.
2. The wool overcoat is in the shape of a triangle and is bent BACKWARDS over the molding and glued and stapled into place.
3. The hammers are then sliced into individual pieces.
4. Remember the overtone series? 1-1-5-1-3-5 Flat7-1? Well, from the bottom of the piano to the tenor section, this is what we aim for. That happens when the strike point of the hammer hits the 7th node of the string. This creates 8 partials or one fundamental and 7 partials…it’s the same. As an example, it would be C-C-G-C-E-G Bflat-C. Basically, a pretty minor seventh. After that it gets dicey.
5. In order to change the voice of a piano, we subtract the upper dicey partials or add to the lower in order to sustain those 8 partials. Again, the technician can only achieve what the piano will allow.
6. There are considerations like hammer shape, contact time, density of the wool, and scale design, etc. A technician can change the density in either direction, hard or soft by needling or ironing. Needling softens and subtracts; ironing hardens and increases.
7. Voicing is done after regulation and tuning to be performed with efficiency.
8. The upper sections of the piano have the strike point at the 15th node which creates 16 partials. Although the upper partials are not “pretty” They do create volume which comes at a premium. The good news is the “ugly” upper partials go away so quickly as to be almost indiscernible leaving volume.
9. The process goes something like this: The technician has an idea, his idea, of what a piano should sound like…this is quite subjective. The good technician will find out what the pianist wants, use his idea as a baseline, and pivot on that baseline to give the pianist what they want. Again, unlike the academics of regulation, this is VERY subjective.
10. There are things that change the voicing of a piano:
a. Age of the wool
b. Regulation….movement efficiency
c. Humidity: remember the hammer is wool…it moves from day to day.
d. Hammer velocity: more velocity more overtones.
e. Shape of the hammer. Is it the correct shape to hit the node and no more? It is more difficult in the upper section where the nodes are smaller to get it right.
You may have noticed I left out the soundboard. A good soundboard is nervous. It picks up, through the bridge assembly, the early sine waves, they are more well defined, and translates that into larger air movement. The soundboard should not, like a good audio amplifier, get in the way of the sound producer: the strings, hammers, and scale design. The least total harmonic distortion is what we shoot for here!
Lecture: The Other Side of the Keyboard is now available again.
610-833-1657
ralphonesti@verizon.net
www.onestipiano.com
http://www.theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
www.theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
The Energy Chain: What we taught at Temple University and in my Lecture: The Other Side of the Keyboard.
1. It starts in your conscientiousness.
2. From there it moves to your core. All movement starts in your core muscles.
3. From there to your upper back.
4. Then on to your shoulder, upper arm, elbow, forearm, hand, and fingers.
5. From the fingers to the piano key which pivots on the balance rail. Front goes down, back goes up.
6. The back of the key rises and the capstan, residing on the back of the key pushes up on the bottom of the whippen.
7. The whippen pivots on its flange and the attached jack pushes up on the barrel of the hammer shank.
8. The shank, with the hammer attached pivots toward the string.
9. Sometime thereafter, the jack hits the let-off button, pivots forward, and the chain is broken BEFORE the hammer hits the string.
10. It is momentum that carries the hammer to the string.
11. Between the time let-off occurs and momentum kicks in, the pianist loses control.
So, everything you do between steps 1 and 9 is in the control of the pianist. It is in that time, the pianist has the opportunity to create velocity, dynamics, and yes, tone.
As soon as let-off occurs, the pianist is quite literally, out of control.
The greatest pianists in the world do NOT interfere with this by dancing around on the piano bench. It takes away from steps 1-9.
The efficiency of the above is increased through the process of regulation. And remember, the technician can only get out of the piano what the piano will allow.
Lecture: The Other Side of the Keyboard is now available again.
610-833-1657
ralphonesti@verizon.net
www.onestipiano.com
http://www.theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
Next we talk about “voicing”.
theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
www.theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
PERSONAL BACKGROUND: Ralph Joseph Onesti, RPT
(Registered/Qualified/Certified Member of the Piano Technicians Guild an international association of qualified, certified piano technicians)
Registration Number: 6898
Federal Number: 23-2491388
Having several decades invested in the piano industry, the necessary background, skills, and expertise were drawn from many critical areas. Now recognized, both regionally, nationally, and internationally, RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS is responsible for setting, and keeping, the standard for the highest quality instrument restorations, as well as efficient and timely service in the home or on the concert stage.
The following is a chronological outline and brief biography of the education, training, development and related experiences leading to the aforementioned credentials:
• Temple University, Drexel University, Community College of Philadelphia - Engineering
• Temple University, Philadelphia Musical Academy - Music Education
• Violin manufacturing, 3 years
• Acoustic classical guitar manufacturing
• Studied With:
John Scheer; tuning, repairs, concert preparation.
• Instructor for:
Temple University/Main Campus, two-semester, four credit course in Piano Technology.
Piano Technicians Guild: Local, Regional, National, and international levels.
Master Piano Technicians of America: Local, Regional, National levels.
• Subject Expert:
Appraisal expert in the field or Piano Technology for high level insurance companies, auction houses, attorneys, piano owners for sales and insurance, Internal Revenue Service for non-cash donations for over 4 decades.
Listed with the Technical Advisory Service for Attorneys. (TASA)
Experience in; deposition, mediation, arbitration, and court.
Top expert in the New York Times owned web site: Allexperts.com
• Chapter President: Philadelphia Chapter, Piano Technicians Guild (past/2 years continuous)
• Member: Rebuilding Standards Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Member: Testing Standards Review Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Chairperson: Regional Testing Center Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Chairperson: Northeast Regional Advertising Committee. (past)
• Recipient of Distinguished Service Award - Rose Tree/Media School District 1994
• Published in the International Piano Technicians Journal
TECHNICAL BIOGRAPHY: Ralph Joseph Onesti, RPT
1964 to Present:
Early on, it was quite evident to family and friends that Ralph Onesti had an uncanny talent for understanding and memorizing, not only the mechanics, but also the physics, of many things. Soon after, he began his studies in the field of Piano Technology in 1962, with his uncle, a longtime Piano Craftsman. After showing great accomplishment and determining that he could do no more for Ralph, his uncle sent him to become an apprentice to one, John L. Scheer, a nationally recognized technician. Once under Mr. Scheer’s tutelage, he became proficient in various, essential, field techniques. This was to become the start of RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS.
In addition to running a piano service business, with a growing passion for acoustical instruments, Ralph then studied violin making and classical guitar building with a local luthier. Through this experience, coupled with his own perceptive and acute awareness, the need to be further educated was acknowledged.
It became very clear to Ralph that for him, working with the piano would not be limited simply to tuning and repairs. As always, he would not be satisfied until he fully understood every aspect of the job he was to undertake. Therefore, he enrolled in studies in the field of engineering, specifically the areas of Acoustics and Physics.
Having acquired the book knowledge, he then set out to further familiarize himself through training with several recognized leaders in the piano industry. In every case, as recognized by these masters, the student quickly surpassed the mentor. In addition, he felt it imperative that he not only become somewhat proficient at playing the instrument, but also that he completed courses in Music Education.
It is therefore, evident that a full background, including engineering, music education, piano studies, and studies in the field of stringed instruments, has laid the foundation for Ralph Onesti becoming one of the most recognized piano remanufacturers in the country and the finest service facility in the Delaware Valley.
Onesti, realizing that perfection in any field is impossible, continues to strive for improvement in his day-to-day work. As a result of this attitude, and his desire to give back to the field of Piano Technology, some of those benefits that he has derived, he set out to instruct those less knowledgeable than he. His teaching has taken him from private lessons in his shop, to teaching a full Piano Technology Course at the university level, as well as teaching regionally, nationally, and internationally for The Piano Technicians Guild and the Master Piano Technicians of America. Add to this, a combination of his desire to help and his engineering background, and you have the development of several innovative, rebuilding tools, created by Onesti and used nationwide by piano remanufacturers today.
In conclusion, all instruments rebuilt or serviced by RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS, are, in their completion, the consummate result of one person’s commitment to provide the very finest restoration and service facility available.
When the dog bites, when the bee stings…
No, these are not a few of my favorite things, but recently a few clients asked what my pick of the best piano might be.
There isn’t one anymore!
At one time there were over 100 manufacturers in New York alone. Now, only one. If fact, in the United States, there are three: Charles Walter, Steinway, and Mason & Hamlin.
What happened? Nothing. You must remember that we have about 300 million people here. But, we have been making and selling pianos since the mid 1800’s. Virtually every household has a piano. We burned out our market…that’s all. “Even our piano in the parlor, daddy bought for ten cents on the dollar!” Are you old enough to remember that?
So, the piano, invented in Europe, was developed largely in the Philadelphia area and bubbled to the top in New York.
Where do I see them? And remember, this is just one man’s opinion, not the law. And I hope I didn’t, but I may have missed one or two in any of the levels.
The creme de la creme: Which is the best? The one you like the most. They are all way up there in quality. Some have more or less name recognition depending on your station in life. If you are a pro, you probably know all of them. If not some of them you may have never heard of, but then how many of us is familiar with the Lamborghini?
Bechstein
Bluthner
Fazioli
Schimmel
Seiler
Bosendorfer
Steinway & Sons
Kawai – Shigeru
Yamaha – S class
Honorable mentions: Schulze Pollmann Pianoforte, Kawai GX and the Yamaha CX, these are really strong instruments.
The Middle class:
Charles Walter
Kawai mid-level
Yamaha mid-level
Estonia
Boston
Young Chang
Petroff
Mason & Hamlin
Some of the upper-class manufacturers do have a mid-level brand to compete in that market, so you have to be cautious, not every Kawai is an upper-level instrument. However, in both Kawai and Yamaha, their X series are pianos to be taken seriously!
The rest fall to the bottom. These are generally Chinese or Korean made pianos with German or American names. Not to worry, some of these names will climb in stature and quality as the markets change as Yamaha and Kawai did.
Then there is the used market - a mine field. Don’t go without protection: a Registered Member of the Piano Technicians Guild. They can run interference for you. There are some great buys out there and some terrible traps.
The last market is the rebuilt one. When I closed my shop, unfortunately, many of the top rebuilders followed suit, sad! One in particular, David Hughes closed, and I cried. He started following me and quickly surpassed me. There is Lindeblad in Pine Brook, NJ. I see their work when they come my way. You have to be pretty sure of yourself to send someone like I out to do warranty work on your rebuilt piano, LOL. However, Lindeblad is doing a stellar job from what I can see. The retailers send their work out, many times to Mexico, again, careful! I am not one of those technicians that beats down everyone else’s work. If it’s good, it’s good. But if it’s bad…oooopps.
One final word: WARRANY!
Some have 5 years some 10. Some are transferrable, some not. Do your homework!
Ciao,
Ralphie
https://phillymemories.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-philadelphia-naval-hospital.html
That slick site you now see west of Broad Street on Pattison Avenue wasn’t always a practice facility for the Philadelphia Eagles. What’s now known as the “Novacare Complex” (corporations get to buy their way into naming just about everything sports-related these days) was once the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Younger area residents will remember it as an old building that seemed to stand vacant, gathering cobwebs and dust. But for us who have a few years behind us, we know that it was a premier facility for treating troops of every military service, especially during the Vietnam War. This hospital had one of the top programs for prosthetic limbs nationwide, and some of the top surgeons in that field. Today, it’s just a memory.
How do you spell PTSD
Testa Durra…Part Two:
Out of boot camp and off to casual company. That is where you wait for your orders to be cut.
I was there for a couple of weeks and then off to school in 29 Palms California. Average temp-too hot if you’re not a marine.
I was in Air Traffic Controllers and Weapons Tactical Management School. That is where we sat in a radar hut and watched for friendlies or bogies. “Friendlies” were ours and we managed if they could make it to a target given their fuel and weapons payload. “Bogies” just never made it home. We learned weather and communications also.
I was heading for the top in my class when the instructor came to me reminding me that a Major was in the class. Apparently it was not courteous to outdo an officer. The Major overheard the instructor and came over. He said, “Marines do the best they can, go for it.” As a result, I was at the top of my class.
I wanted to go to Nam, but the numbers said no. So, I was stationed at Willow Grove Naval Air Station.
One day, I was summoned to duty. A 707 out of Philly was on a direct path in line with an F4 Marine aircraft out of Johnstown. The captain said, “Onesti, do something!” I had equipment at my control that was 40 years ahead of its time. Bear in mind the speed of an F4 is around 1600 miles per hour. The cruising speed of the normal 707 was 500-600 miles per hour. So, the F4 could get in trouble 4 times faster and was more maneuverable.
I told the Marine pilot to take his hands off the controls and stuff them down his trousers. A little brash on my part (heedless of the consequences) mixed in with a bit of nervous, scared, and trust your training. This was a new data link system that allowed digital connection and communication between ground control and the auto-pilot system. In reality, the Marine pilot was not rendered useless of course, but I, like the fourth seat in the Blue Angels, could see everything and help with the decision. I told the captain of the 707 to hold fast asking for hie altitude. Dropping the F4 in altitude and taking it to port, we; the equipment, the F4 pilot and the training, quickly and efficiently avoided a collision, (details omitted). This allowed the 707 to continue to climb normally and on course, and the passengers never spilled a drop of their respective drinks. The captain of the 707 told me he was impressed with my fast thinking and actions and to give him my name as he would put me in for a commendation to the FAA and the Marine Corps. He never mentioned the Pilot of the jet…oops. I told him that I just told a Marine pilot to stuff his hands down his pants and I respectfully declined to mention my name. He understood. My CO, a smart guy, told me to get the hell out, go to the mess hall, put on my cover and grab a mop. Strategy…you do NOT wear your hat (cover) indoors unless you are armed. He knew that Major would be hot for me as soon as the wheels hit the tarmac. After all, I stole his thunder. He was right. The Major finally came storming in the mess hall, saw me with my cover on, screamed to take it off indoors, called me a few choice and familiar names, and stormed out…SAFE!
After a short while I went to my commanding officer and asked to be transferred to the regular Marine’s division and sent to Nam. My destination was Monkey Mountain. He thought I was nuts. He said radar operators were the first to be targeted. I said, my skill was such that I could save Marine lives. He said “No.” I was his top Air Traffic Controller and his best teacher. I was unimpressed. I told him I was going AWOL, Absent Without Leave. He said, “Where will you go.” I said, “Saigon!”
“OK, OK,” he said, “How about if I give you a duty where you can help your fellow Marines and still stay state side.” He let me go to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital where I helped parents reunite with their incoming Marine and Navy children. That sounded OK for now, except that he didn’t tell me I would help reunite parents with parts of their children.
I took moms and dads aside and schooled them gently that what they saw go off to war, was not what they were going to see now. I told them that their son, there were no daughters at the time, was injured, some very seriously both physically and mentally. I told them that a positive front, no matter how hard, was best.
In we would go to the hospital room, and invariably, parents would lose it. Fathers would weep, mothers would faint. I would stay to stabilize the situation as long as I had to.
If you want to see something difficult, watch the face of a mom look at her once whole son with no legs, or arms, or parts of their faces. I still lose sleep over this; my PTSD is intractable.
Then one day, my Commanding Officer said, “Onesti, you are walking like an old man, what’s going on?” I didn’t know. I went into the radar hut, 50 degrees to keep the equipment running, and my body was going stiff.
He sent me to my doctor who said I had arthritis, especially from the waist down and he never saw this in a young man.
My Commanding Officer sent me to the Naval Hospital, this time for an evaluation. The Navy doctor agreed with the finding of my doctor and deemed me unfit for duty. I thought I would retire or die as a Marine and they evicted me! Yet another dream demolished!
What to do with the rest of my life. A good friend suggested that Pennsylvania had a Vocational Rehabilitation Department, and I should go see them and I did. After much testing, they gave me a full scholarship to the Philadelphia Musical Academy. I was to be a music educator carrying on the tradition of my Uncle Frank. However, you don’t just get in to PMA just like that. You have to audition. My Uncle Frank had a good friend, Florenza Decimo Levengood, a piano professor at PMA. We met, I played for her. She was kind but reminded me that most people that get into conservatories at that level start playing seriously when they are five! She said that perhaps in five years or so I would have a shot. OK! I started lessons with her and practiced some 6-8 hours a day. My advancement was nothing short of miraculous. At the end of the year, she said that because I was going for Music Ed and not performance, I might have a shot, and a shot I took. I got in!
My body and pain worsened. PMA was a 5-year program. I transferred to Temple as it was a 4-year program in an effort to reduce my sentence. I just could not finish. All the while, I continued to do piano tuning and repair to make a living…things didn’t go well for me.
I continued to have trouble walking. I went to the Rothman Institute where Dr. Vaccaro told me I had severe scoliosis at the base of my spine, specifically L1 through S5, and the amount of arthritis suggested an injury when I was a young man. I never put the two together; falling from the rope climb in boot camp and trauma induced scoliosis. I didn’t pass the MCATS!
I had L3, L4, and L5 fused to straighten my spine and relieve the nerve pressure.
I now live with a pain level of an 8 on a good day and off the charts on a bad one. BUT I’m a Marine. I still work a full week at 76 and I probably should be retired, but I can’t afford it.
So, some time ago, I got a letter from the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. They said, “I think you might be a veteran.” I laughed. They gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out-I did.
I received a follow up that said, “We think you are trying for Veteran’s Benefits. If so, please fill out this paperwork.” Same paperwork! I did.
So, one day I was working at the Proclamation Church in Bryn Mawr. A young man from Congresswoman Mary Gay Scanlon’s office called to say “I see where you are trying to get your veteran’s records. I would like to cancel that and help you do it correctly.” I went on line, filled out a form, and gave them permission to get my military records.
A few days later, he called again and said he had half a ream of paper on me. He didn’t know if what I needed was in there would help but sent them over to me immediately.
In the first few pages were the reports from my personal physician and the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, both in agreement. I had a body full of arthritis and probably trauma induced scoliosis.
In steps Dave Delloso State Representative. His office kicked into gear and set me with the American Legion who is running point on my problem.
So now I am in the middle of going through the process of trying to get the VA to understand what happened. I was marked fit for duty when I went in the Corps and thrown out shortly thereafter.
The rest is history. I worked hard as I pointed out in an earlier blog, became rather competent at what I did and built a small but sustaining business built on work ethic and pain.
Welcome to Ralph Joseph Onesti Piano Restorations…not my choice!
OK…back to the top. Am I uninteresting and useless? I’ve thought so all my life. I wanted to be a Marine…I was handed the road not taken. Did I like that? NO. But, I did manage to find a way to be useful after all and I must blame it on my Marine training; NO MAN LEFT BEHIND!
I have taken up a career in helping others. Like my platoon buddies said, “Onesti is the guy you want to have your back in a fight.” And sometimes, the fight is life. In the course of my working I have aided kids in finding the right school or helped them find the right career path, assisted volunteer organizations become more useful and efficient, helped people get through unthinkable tragedy, supported people through brake ups, helped people come out and to have the courage to be themselves, helped musicians get on the right career path and also to get through recording sessions and performance anxiety, supported folks through times of loss, helped folks find the right doctor or psychologist, helped people find the right pet, helped people appreciate themselves for who and what they are, and yes, I have even babysat for some of my clients. The only person I have yet to appreciate, or help is me! I must fix that.
With the help of my beautiful and wise partner (wife, boss, supporter) I will fix that.
As my psychologist said, some people who are abused learn to pass on the abuse and others learn to stay abused. I chose the path of the latter. I will fix that too. If it weren’t for Gretchen, my wife, and my Psychologist Dr. Vincent Morello…long process…I kept from pointing the gun in the wrong direction.
Vincent taught me what PTSD was, how to meditate, do controlled breathing and even tapping therapy…all working. And as irony would have it, I found him through Dr. Mark Tennenbaum a client for whom I built a Mason & Hamlin A (which he still loves to this day…hey…I’m good) who ran the Wayne Counseling Center…Thank you Vincent and Mark and Gretchen, I love you all.
OK….sorry, got to get back to work. Someone may need help!
Testa Dura (Hard Head!)
So, this is what an Italian speaking customer called me not too long ago.
For decades, clients have been urging me to write a book about my stories, and so I did re-start my blog. However, one of my clients who knows me well said, “You need to tell your personal story.” I asked why they thought that was important and they responded, “Because you and what you do are important.” I’m not entirely sure that is true, but I do know this customer would not steer me in a bad direction, so here goes:
Now I don’t necessarily think I’m that important…but you may take a different view.
I started out life in 1948 as an infant, pretty much the way most people do. I was born in the heart of South Philadelphia on Mole and Dickinson. Mole Street is between 15th and 16th, and Dickinson is about 1600 south. That’s 16 blocks south of Market Street. On one corner of Mole was Strolli’s bar, the usual South Philly tappy with food and directly across the street was the Pellicano Bakery, run by my mother’s father Salvatore Pellicano. Turiddu is a nickname for Salvatore. It means, “man of god.” My Grandfather was hardly that! Sometimes they shorten it further to Todo. Todo came from Palermo directly to Philadelphia; no Ellis Island for him. In Sicily he was in the army, then a lineman for the electric company. Of course, there was no job for him here in Philly. So, Grandpop started by buying pasta by the pound for a penny and re-selling it for two cents. That went just so far, so he ventured into pastries; buy for a nickel, selling for a dime. It wasn’t long before he got the idea to cut out the middle man and bake himself, but the problem was he was a lineman not a baker. He put an ad in the newspaper and somehow that ad reached Chicago. He had at least one child by now, Agnese, Sicilian for Agnes. The ad that made it to Chicago was answered by one Thomas Miceli, a Master Pastry Chef from Sicily. What was to become my Uncle Tom, as he fell in love with the boss’s daughter and became famous in South Philly in that he literally taught all of the bakers here how it was really done.
The first Pellicano bakery I remember was again, on Mole and Dickinson. As with most businesses then, it was in the street level part of the house and the rest was for family. Grandpop set up shop in the adjoining garage; mixers, ovens, tables, everything one needed to make pastry from scratch. I remember Uncle Tom teaching me to make phyllo dough to make all sorts of things, but the specialty was sfogliatelle, a light, multi layered dough filled with an egg/cheese custard type filling. Uncle Tom was famous for his butter cream icing. It was never out done even to this day. His wedding cakes, many layers high, required a ladder to finish off.
As time went on and Tom married Agnes, more children came along and things got harder and harder. There were 5 children in all: Agnes, Michael, Francis, Rose, and Peter. Grandpop lost or threw away the brochure on being a loving father. Instead, he was an abusive, authoritarian animal. All the children suffered for it as did their offspring. Throw organized crime into the mix, there was no mafia, which was just a contrivance of Mario Puzo, and the problems mounted. So as the Pellicano family grew, so did abuse. In truth, each sibling requires their own book as does my grandfather and grandmother. Each has their own horror story. Maybe one day Stephen King will pick up on it.
Let’s take a break from that mess and visit my father’s side of the family, the Onesti’s. Onesti in Italian literally translates to ‘honest’ and did they ever take that seriously. So seriously in fact that one day my father took me into the kitchen to teach me a new card game, solitaire. After a few times through I got the gist of the game at which point my father collected the cards, replaced them in the box, looked at me and said the following, “Whenever you play this game, you always play by yourself with a loaded gun on your lap.” Holy crap, now you have a 12-year-old looking for a deck of cards and a 38 special. Years later, I asked Dad what the hell that was all about. “Oh” he said,” You mean cards and the gun!” He continued, “That is what my father taught me. Solitaire is the easiest game in which one can cheat. You are alone with no supervision. If you ever lie, cheat, steal, or are unethical, blow your brains out as you are of no use to anyone including yourself!” I carry that with me today. I couldn’t lie to you if you put a gun to my head, but if you pull the trigger…don’t miss, it will be a sad day for you.
My Dad’s family lived a half block from my mother’s family. In those days, no one had an automobile, so you dated withing walking distance. “Where does your girlfriend live?,” you might be asked, “Over there.”, as you pointed to a nearby house, and that’s the way it was.
The Onesti’s were on 16th and Dickinson…you know…over there. Grandpop was from the Campania region of Italy, Naples. He came here as a master barber. His barber shop was in front of the house, while the rest of the house was for the family. There were 7 children, and I’ll try to do this in order. First was Frank who became a school teacher and was literally responsible for building the Philadelphia School System, the high school curricula and the libraries, then Theresa, who worked as a seamstress, Bill, a butcher in the old original Reading Terminal, Vito, my Father, a factory worker, Elsie, a seamstress and afterwards worked in the Leonetti Flower shop, Antoinette, a seamstress and nun wannabe but Grandpop would not allow it, and Henry, a barber in the Union League. My Dad was a brilliant man and the army wanted to put him through school, but after the depression, a job was more important. Mathematics and memory were his specialty. You did not want to play pinochle with dad. He was a card counter.
Unlike the unruly Pellicano family, the Onesti’s were the opposite, nice. The aunts were bat shit crazy but loving and nice. The boys were worker bees and even nicer. I like to think I took after my Pop.
That is the family in the short term. A long-winded account of the Pellicano’s would just curl your toes. Fasten your seatbelt if you decide to read on.
In 1952, we moved to the new section of South Philadelphia which was down at the end of South Broad Street. There was a small section of new houses that were new. Aunt Rose was married to Uncle Bill Rotella by then, a lovely man, and my mother, dad, and I were a half block away. At that time there was nothing except Christopher’s Diner, think “Happy Days”, a bowling alley, Park Lanes, and the South Side Drive-In. After that was the Municipal Stadium, the site of the Army/Navy Games, then the Philadelphia Naval Yard. That was the East side of Broad. On the West was the Southern Home for Boys which my mother often threatened me with, and the A&P market and that was it. There was a farm, game over. By the way, there was no Walt Whitman Bridge, which came later. Instead, there was a ditch with a railroad track that went from the Delaware River to the refinery with crude oil to be made in to gasoline. To get from North on Broad to South on Broad, to go over the ditch, was a wooden bridge.
At that time, at four, my childhood was pretty normal. We had to go to church on Snyder and Broad in the Plaza, a skating rink. Soon there was a new school, a rather large chapel, the rectory for the priests and the convent for the nuns. Before that, the priests lived in our neighborhood as did the nuns.
As for me, I was an avid reader, I had math skills like my dad, and when the new school, Stella Maris was finished in my first year, I was moved from Epiphany to the Star of the Sea. That by the way is when everything went the wrong way. The nuns were animals. They were angry and mean. On one occasion, my younger brother Jim, in first grade escaped school and the nuns came to get me to retrieve him. I ran after him as fast as I could to protect him and walked him home. I think if he had a gun he would have done them in. I learned later that the nuns were borrowed from another duty as they had no teaching nuns for us. They came from a women’s prison hospital. The girls didn’t stand a chance! Most of the priests were nice except for Father Neilon, a certifiable mean son of a bitch.
My Mother got a job at the Naval Ship Yard. Things became more important than family, and nothing less than perfection was tolerated. I can remember her making me erase pages of homework and making me do it over and over. School became a place of fear. Home was the other place of anxiety. She became the animal her father was. In fact, she made it my fault whenever my brother did something wrong. He got in trouble, and I was beaten for it. Can you possibly imagine biting your own child? She was responsible for my almost hating him and for that, I hate her. I love my brother, but it’s too late now. She ruined us. The only regret I have about my mother’s death was that I didn’t cause it. And she was an out and out liar.
All she did was fight with her siblings over her father. She would send my father and me to Grandpop’s to smooth things over. I should not have been a part of that. Again, I was put in the middle to fix things; the kids called me Henry Kissinger. She fought with her sister Rose continuously. She and her sisters died far from being loving sisters. In fact, when my father died, she made me stand guard at the funeral parlor door to make sure her older sister Agnes did not gain access. To top that, they accidentally buried him on top of Uncle Tom. Remember that Italian families by funeral plots by the dozen. That was a huge mistake. That festered in my mother’s sick mind for two years until she made my brother Jim and I go to St’s Peter and Paul cemetery, have him dug up, put him on a flatbed truck, and then back in the ground in Holy Cross Cemetery. Is that the sickest family story you have ever heard?
My Dad and I were friends and would, on occasion, he’d come to visit me. We would sit at the dining room table and have scotch. One day he told me that every once in a while, the “boys” would come to the barber shop, give my grandfather an envelope and ‘borrow’ my father. In a huge Hudson, together they drove to somewhere upstate New York or Connecticut. Stopping at a farm house and honking the horn, the farmer would appear with two giant tins of pure grain alcohol…prohibition days. The hootch was loaded into the trunk and they drove back. At the end of the run, the guy gave my father five bucks. It was like a million dollars back then. My father explained that police, noticing an older man and a child would suspect only a family situation.
After that my father got quiet and said, “You know, every once in a while they would come for the two-year-old.” It was the same scenario, envelope, take the kid. This time the kid was offered ice cream to go for a walk, any kind of ice cream you wanted. What two-year-old would say no? What father would, or could refuse? So off for a walk and when they got to a certain address, the two-year-old was instructed to sit on the “stoop” and wait until ‘Uncle Joe’ came out. Uncle Joe went in, and no one in the house lived through the visit. Uncle Joe would emerge, take the two-year-old and get any kind of ice cream and as much as they wanted. I quietly asked my father if I had ever gone for one of those walks. He said, “Pour me another scotch.”, and never said an additional word on the matter.
Okay, back to school. Through all of that, I did more than well in grade school, fear and all, so much so that at graduation, Central High School wanted me to go there. Did you hear me, Central High School, that was a huge, huge deal. However, I was not allowed to go. Why? It was in North Philadelphia and there were black people there, and I promise I just cleaned that up. My mother was an ignorant, bigoted woman. Instead, I went to the worst high school in the city, Bishop Neumann High school. There you learned what priest not to be alone with. One day, I was called into the Dean of Discipline’s office, big mistake. I went there and he locked the door and asked me to sit, and he put his hand on my shoulder explaining that we were to become good friends. It was there he met Jesus. Jesus was the ceramic statue on his desk which found a new home on his head. Down he went. I quietly got to the door, unlocked it, and returned to class. I thought I had killed him, but I didn’t. Some days later I was approached by a guy in a fancy car. He said, “Raphie, I hear you clunked a priest on the head and almost killed him.” I nodded in the affirmative. He asked me if that bothered me, and I told him it did not. He then told me he may have some work for me, and he meant exactly what you think it meant. I will end that story right there, any more is not important.
Bishop Neumann High School ruined me. Between high school and my sick mother, I developed learning disabilities. I knew I was not ready for college, mentally, physically, or socially. I knew myself enough to know I would fail in college, but the Viet Nam war was on and unless I was in college with a 2S deferment, I would surely be drafted. So, I was accepted to Temple University Technical Institute. That did not go as planned. The Dean called me to his office. He said that my professors in my technical classes thought I was a genius, but the professors in the liberal arts classes, the easy ones, thought I was a moron. I had no explanation.
I was sent to the testing center at Temple U and there I spent a week going through a lot of mental poking and prodding. The idea was that perhaps I was in an area that was not suited for me and perhaps a change was in order. I went back after a week; they were shaking their heads. They said I was most suited for engineering, or psychology. We were all at a loss. No one realized I had learning disabilities and a great deal of PTSD.
At that point I had to take control. I joined the United States Marine Corps. They were the only ones that would take me; I was fat. I joined the regular Marines, but they felt the numbers said they needed me more in the Reserves. I could switch over at a later date. I thought I was going to Paris Island, but they were full, so I went to San Diego instead. They tested me to see where I would fit in. When I took the English and Math test the Sergeant said, and I quote, “You are the dumbest white man alive.” He said I got only a few questions correct. When I looked down at the tests, I noticed he had the Math template on the English exam and the English template on the Math exam. He said he was wrong and that, as it turned out, he was the dumbest white man alive and then said I could have any position in the Corps I wanted. I wanted electronics. Again, they were filled up and that Air Traffic Control and Weapons Tactical Management would serve the Corps best.
Off to San Diego, I went. I was really overweight, and the normal chain of events was to send me to the “fat boy” platoon to lose weight and get in shape then to boot camp. Instead, my drill instructor, (and I’m not sure you are aware, but every Marine Drill Instructor has a doctorate in Dietitian Sciences,(sarcasm)), said they couldn’t do anything for me that he couldn’t do. So, I was put in a regular platoon. I was instructed that I could eat only raw carrots, raw celery, and black coffee. Doing everything everyone else did I had no nutrition to survive. I grew weak. There is the rule of “3’s”; a human can live three minutes without air, 3 days without water, and 3 weeks without food. I did 12 weeks with no appreciable nutrition. I was sent to the doctor, and he said if I continued in this vein I would die. I just did what I was told. We would have to do a rope climb, maybe 30 feet, and half way up I would literally black out and of course hit the deck at the speed of gravity. We would go on 3 mile runs and when they looked back, there was Private Ralphie out cold on the road. Well, guess what? I did make it up that rope and made it on the runs, how, I couldn’t tell you. And while in boot camp, having to learn things about the Corps, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I made sure every one of my fellow platoon buddies made it through. At the end, I was voted the marine you would want to have your back in a fight. My marine buddies became my charge; NO MAN LEFT BEHIND! I was a MARINE!
Toward the end of boot camp, we were gathered to sit on the deck for one more lecture on Viet Nam. There was a chair and a table. On that table was a semi-automatic weapon, a hand gun. They dragged in what appeared to be a female-not sure as the head was covered in a sack. “This”, the DI said, “Is the woman who would roll her baby carriage into your marine buddies and in that carriage would be a bomb. Who of you are going to stop this murderous bitch?” While he was talking, I quietly got up, walked to the table, picked up the side arm, put it to her head and squeezed the trigger. It was unloaded of course, but the DI said, “You are nuts…PERFECT!” Everyone clapped and that’s when I realized that I was a murderer, and I liked it. I was a MARINE!
At the end of boot camp, after, in a tent, assembling and re-assembling our M-14’s blindfolded, a full bird colonel took me outside and said I had what it took to be an officer and that they were going to send me to OCS, Officer Candidate School. I declined. I wanted to be with my brothers in arms. After all, I was the trained murderer that would protect them. The Colonel thought I was nuts and he was right!
Father’s Day in the Language of the arts!
So, you hear, “Happy Father’s Day”, and think, “I have no children”.
Well, you couldn’t be more wrong.
I don’t know of a person in the arts who hasn’t owned a pet, a plant, mentored a young student, or taught.
We forget that when we hover over someone to help them achieve their goals, we are indeed fathers, and mothers for that matter, and I apologize for missing Mother’s Day. I’ll try not to make that omission again in the future.
Over the Sixty years I have been a piano technician, I have stretched a lot of wire. But that doesn’t compare to helping someone find the right teacher, or the right school, or the right career path.
So, Happy Father’s Day to me, and to all of you who do the same. You know who you are.
Remember, our goal as teachers and mentors is to move forward the path of humanism through the arts, and to make our students better than we are, the sign of a great teacher.
Continue knowing you are evolution, as nothing moves the needle on evolution as does the arts, NOTHING!
I received a call from a parent this morning. Her son wants to be a concert pianist…OK
Some things to consider:
I happen to know this young man has the talent and the drive…that’s a start.
HOWEVER: it’s a question of balance.
I have seen many young students burn out without the right guidance. Remember, the world is not as accepting of a concert pianist as it once was, making the competition frightening. The proverbial stage parent can ruin a life!
First…don’t give up your youth so quickly. Do well in elementary and high school. Practice your instrument…sure…but there are other things in life.
My old piano professor used to complain about other musicians. She would say, “they don’t know the sun rises in the East”. What she meant by that was there is a lot of world out there and just because you are great at your instrument, you should not give up the rest of life.
OK…in high school…spread yourself around but not to thinly. There are dances, sports, clubs. I know, I know…there is orchestra, jazz, chorus…but there is also the chess club, photography, languages…don’t box yourself in too soon.
So, the life of a pianist is much different from that of other instruments. There are jobs for violinists…there are NO jobs for pianists in an orchestra, so you fight for a place in the concerto or recital world. Today, it’s about 80% concerto and 20% recital…that makes it political.
Now for an anecdote. Years ago, I was working with Andre Watts. We were working Tanglewood auditions. He was there to audition, I was there to babysit the piano and him.
We spent an entire day together talking between auditions. At the end, he handed me two tickets to that afternoon’s performance for which I thanked him profusely. When I asked what he was going to play, this is what he said, “I was supposed to play Pictures at an Exhibition, but I can’t even read the damn things!”.
I said, “excuse me but the performance is in a few hours” He said, “I know, and I will have to change the list at the last minute.”
He reminded me that his record label, and I think it was capital at the time, had him doing a hundred concerts a year. That’s one every three days!!!!! So, he continued, practice time comes at a premium.
Off to the concert I went and before everyone was settled, out came the Hall Manager explaining that Mr. Watts would be changing his schedule of pieces and instead of Pictures, he would be playing a Chopin Sonata, some excerpts from Candide among others. He walked out on stage to thunderous applause, knowing where I was, winked at me, and started to play Beethoven’s Fur Elise at a painfully slow pace after which he continues with his performance.
When it was all over, I went backstage for a final hug and asked what that was all about. He said, “oh, you mean Fur Elise?!” “I was warming up…no time for anything else!
So, the point here is the concert stage owns you. Make sure that is what you want. The road becomes your home, make sure that is what you want. The better you are, the more you travel and think about what that might do to family life. These are big choices.
So, the young man said he wanted to go to Curtis. I have clients who graduated from Curtis…it is nothing less than grueling NOT romantic. The general rule is, high school, music college for that Bachelor’s degree, then and only then you can think Curtis.
So as an example, two of my favorite clients and friends were Michael Stairs and Michael Korn. They both went off to Westminster Choir college, graduated, THEN wound up in Curtis. But I promise you, their family was the rehearsal studio, the concert hall and the audiences. At least before Curtis, they had some life under their belts…matruity to see them through.
This is what we call, “the life”.
It is most rewarding or most cruel, it all comes down to balance!
A final word, and it is my Run, Walk, Crawl method to a music career.
1. RUN to that Bachelor of Arts in your instrument.
2. Walk to your Master’s degree…maybe in music education.
3. Crawl to your DMA in your instrument.
You should have that DMA in your bag of tools because someday, you may want to be that professor…No DMA…no professor.
By the way…remember my story about Albert Franz, one of the top concert pianists in Europe…he is also an Iron Man Tri-athlete.
Ciao,
RJ
Long day today…
But what made it shorter was visiting with a young client who has a passion for music. In fact, the violin is the path.
I have followed his movements, he is now all of 13, and that’s when they start showing or not, for several years now.
We had a lovely conversation. He is about 4 or 5 years passed his chronological age.
I think he has it and I think he is Curtis material. I can help him with that!
He just won a spot in “violin camp” where he will have several lessons with none other than Itzhak Perlman…WOW.
If Maestro is smart, he will snag this person for a student!!!!!
I have been at this for years, and I have developed the “ear”. In the future, if he continues down this road, one day, I will have to pay to hear him play.
We will leave his name out as he is a minor and anonimity is prudent. But not too far down the road…anonimity will not be a choice.
I just love running into young folks who have the “passion”.
Ciao,
RJ
So Gretchen’s best buddy JoAnn came to visit for the weekend from State College.
They spent Saturday in the Chestnut Hill/Mt. Airy section of Philly and the Woodmere Art Gallery, then off to the hunt to visit Cogslea the home of the Red Rose Girls.
I wanted to make this a special weekend for both, so on Mother’s Day, I treated both to a musical event not to be forgotten any time soon at Victor Cafe.
JaAnn was unaware.
If you know Victor, you know you will be treated to great food and opera and broadway arias from the area’s best.
The first suprano hit the bell, the music started and for JaAnn…so did the tears.
It was truly a memorable Mother’s day!
OH…the food was over the top!
ciao
I’m here hoping that all the moms, or those who act like moms, like mentors, teachers, etc. have a wonderful day!
My wife Gretchen, without whom I would be homeless, is hosting her best friend from State College area and I am determined to make this a musical day.
I am taking both to the Victor Cafe at 4:30…This will be special for JoAnn especially as she has no idea where we are going or what she is in for.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY,
Ciao,
RJ, Ralph, Ralphie…your call!
I am excited…
The blog is up and running, and I am on the cusp of starting the Poscast.
I am being mentored by a world class recording engineer and he is helping my with the blog; equipment, advertising, in person and over the phone visits…old dog, new tricks.
Since I put it out there, I have literally scores of artist willing to be guests from all over the world…I am excited.
We will be showcasing music perfoemance, artists lives, music educators, students, etc.
This is going to be nothing less than fun and informative.
We will talk about how the movie “Quartet” came to be, fruited from a true story. And that storing now only starts in Milan with Giuseppe Verdi, but right here in Philadelphia with Theodore Presser.
Also, we will be most happpy to answer questions about pianos…all pianos. If you have a burning question about your insturment, what it can do, what it can be made to do…shout our. I and my 60 yeats (I can’t believe I just said that) experience are here to help. And if I don’t know the answer to your question, highly unlikely, I will endeavor to find the answer for you.
Please feel free to use the comment section. I just learned how to make it work!
Ciao,
RJ
So today I was at Penncrest High School.
What can I say.
first off. Craig Snyder happens to be the best high school band director since Vince DeMarro.
Every time I am there and the upper band is playing, it sounds like Texas A&M.
The word it Tight!
Today, they did the National Anthem. As a Marine, I stopped what I was doing.
Nave version…to the note…on the money.
Thank you Penncrest!
So I have the mose interesting clients.
This morning started with Elizabeth Shamash…wonerful singer and human.
She, of course, like most of my clients wasn’t home…leave the key…let myself in…take care of the baby…a Mason & Hamlin 50, a real singer’s instrument. She is a cantor at a big Temple, I believe in Elkins Park. If I’m wrong…forgive me Lizzie! You can correct me in the comment section.
Then, off to the Sataloff’s.
This is Dr. Sataloff who is a world class Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor. He has taken care of the world’s leading singers. His wife Dhalia is at Jefferson. She is an oncologist.
Both have their DMA’s in music as if doctoring didn’t keep them busy enough.
Robert is a conductor and Dhalia a pianist…together they keep me busy!
OK…
More tomorrow,
Ciao
Ralphie
I have nothing to say but watch!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuUDr-bzRVQ
So I promised myself I would write “something” every day. So let’s see if I can keep my promise.
This blog will be a bunch of missives about me, my journey through life, my journey through my working career and my experiences with clients at every piece of the spectrum.
I have worked with folks who own pianos for personal pleasure, all the way up the the original “Maria” from West Side Story. Does anyone out there know who that is? And, I mean the original stage play, not the movie.
Since I am a newbie at this…it may be a bit jumbled…you know, the way my mind works! Please bear with me.
Hostway is my site manager for my website: www.onestipiano.com, and this blog. The other day when I tried to get this going again, they said they don’t do blogs anymore. Yet, here I am. Perhaps I am grandfathered in.
There seems to be a way to leave comments and I encourage you to do so. In that way, we journey together…what fun. If you have questions on any level about anything…do not hesitate to ask!
Since I closed my shop some years ago…my arthritis graciously given to my by the United States Marine Corps, I am, at 76, still doing field work. Why? you might ask…two reasons; I can’t afford to stop, and I’m not sure I want to, at least on a limited basis!
Ciao,
RJ
Welcome to your new blog! This is the first post. Edit
or
delete it, then start blogging!
It’s called reverse engineering…
Since I had work and no one to help me…I had to use my deductive powers to figure out exactly what the designer of the piano wanted. Many times the design of anything doesn’t quite make it out the other side of production intact.
I read and read and read on the design and construction of pianos. I tried to assimilate what the mechanical and acoustical design wisdom was. And it was collective. There weren’t too many difference from one piano to another and from one designer to another. Now, that is a generality. Of course what makes one piano feel and sound differently from another is design difference, but the differences aren’t major. One will find how one manufacturer feels about the scale design and how another feels about the action geometry and trigonometry. But I promise, the differences are more nuances than departures.
OK…here’s a pet peeve: there are those who like to hear themselves talk about “action geometry” to impress the class. Geometry is that branch of mathematics that deals with size, shape and position of two dimensional shapes and three dimensional figures. Trigonometry on the other hand depends on angle measurement and quantities determined by the measure of an angle. Of course, all of geometry depends on treating angles as quantities, but in the rest of geometry, angles aren’t measured, they’re just compared or added or subtracted.
I read the letterhead of a fellow rebuilder which stated that they made a certain type of soundboard and used a word to describe it that I had never heard before used in soundboards of pianos or anywhere in the study of acoustics. I won’t repeat the word here because I think it is still in use and it is an embarrassment. I had to ask what that meant. He told me he made the word up…YIKES how some people focus on the wrong things. I figure you focus on making great soundboards, not make believe ones. The saying goes: “if you can’t amaze them with your talent, you baffle them with your bull…”, or something like that.
My study of pianos led me down many paths; guitars, violins, and harps, anything that had strings, and a way to excite them and produce an amplified sound. That approach revealed many truths in the piano world which I used to learn the math and procedures to give that rebuilt piano the quality of touch and tone it deserved while staying true to the manufacturer’s intent and design…not an easy task.
Of course, all of this study, research, trial, and yes error did manage to hold up production in the beginning, but it all paid off in the end.
In reality though, there is no end. One strives for perfection but one never gets there. You never, never stop learning. A prospective client once asked if I could say something about my work that would prompt him to write a check for a rebuilding deposit. Without thinking, I offered the following, “My next rebuilding is always better than my last.” He wrote the check. That is still true today.
I teach my students that the progression of improvement in piano rebuilding goes something like this: the first one is awful, the second better, the third better, and the fourth awful. What happened on the fourth, “you get cocky and over confident”. You have to learn to leave your ego and over-confidence in the back seat, slow down and pay attention to the task at hand.
In the ensuing offerings, we will take that journey over again while we go through the piano and try to understand it better. I promise to mix in some stories, both funny and not so to keep things on the move.
In the meantime, if you have a piano, play it. Don’t just let it sit there. I know you don’t have time, you can’t play anymore; you wish your mother made you take lessons. I’ve heard all the excuses. It’s music, it’s culture, it’s beautiful, and as my friend Jim says, “there are no wrong notes”. It’s not called work the piano it’s called play. Go…play. Just fifteen minutes a day and you will be surprised how the consistency will bring improvement which brings joy and fun.
Remember, as adults we have diseases. The symptoms are the adult ear, we think we can run home and play something we’ve heard on the radio just because we have the music, and, we have responsibilities…mortgages, kids, work. Fifteen minutes a day…use it as your “me time”
So…who will teach me????
Where do you go…to whom do you go to learn a craft and trade that almost doesn’t exist?
You try the mentor route. The trouble with that is the first sentence…there is no one out there that actually gets this trade.
In the old days, a piano needed a pin block…maybe it gets replaced…but a soundboard and bridges…you just take the piano out back, one bullet to the brain and it’s the dumpster for you.
The mentor route wasn’t viable because those trying to rebuild just put back whatever the factory put there in the first place. You may think this interesting, but the factory is not always right. Just look at the older pianos from the late 1800’s. They weren’t really pianos as we know them today. The mechanical and acoustical features were crude at best. We can’t put it back together that way.
And even in the case of the better modern pianos, was it before or after???? Before or after what…?…the beer break. “Back in the day” as the kids put it, there wasn’t a coffee break at 11AM. Someone would come to the middle of the floor in the factory and put down a bucket of suds…that’s right…BEER. The workers would approach the bucket with their personal stein in hand, take their dip and go back, trade stories, and down the brew.
Now then…was your piano done…before…or after the dip.
My dilemma remained. Where do I go to learn how to do it if all around me were just “doing it the way the factory did it”? Worse yet, I would hear after asking a pertinent question about a process, “Well, we always did it that way”. It was cutting off the ends of the roast all over again. Don’t know that story? This is as good a place as any.
One day a young girl asked her mom, when making a roast, why it was she dutifully cut off the ends. The mom replied that her mom always did it that way, that’s the way she learned, and that’s the way she continued to make a roast. But being a good teaching mom, she suggested that the next time they visited with grandmom, the granddaughter should ask, and ask she did…”Grandmom, why did mom learn to cut off the ends of a roast? Grandmom replied, “When I was a young married woman, we didn’t have much money and a large roasting pan was not something on which I would spend that hard earned cash. The normal sized roast would not fit in my pan (…wait for it…) so I got into the habit of cutting off the ends.”
That was nice for the meal, but not good enough for me to learn a complicated process.
My background was in science. We learned a lot about deductive reasoning. The process then was something they call today: reverse engineering. I let the piano teach me.
I was able to get my hands on two pianos; a Steinway A, and a Mason & Hamlin AA. These were two top tier piano designs. I took to the task of ripping them down, but as I did that I would record what was done, and try to figure out, both acoustically and mechanically where the manufacturer wanted to be, and how I could get them there during the “put it back” process.
It took a long time and a lot of sleepless nights, and as it turned out, many more pianos than those two I had at the time.
After fully realizing that my “mentors” were not going to give me and my rebuildings what I needed, I moved off on my own to my first little shop. This goes back some 45 years.
I took on jobs but had no tools. How do you do that…you stall. “Ralph, will you rebuild my piano?” “Why certainly,” I would reply, “but my schedule is so backed up, there will be a bit of a wait.” With that, I would contract the job, get a healthy deposit, and you guessed it, went out and bought tools for that specific job. Before you knew it, my shop was small, but it could do everything but refinish. Refinishing was better left to those who did that for a living…so I left it with them.
And down that slippery slope I call piano rebuilding I slid………………………………………
OK…so there I was!
The year was 1962…WAIT…I have a question…NO…two questions:
1. Why is when people have me as a technician, they insist on surprising me with a new piano purchase done without my FREE help. Today I went to a client’s house and they surprised me with a grand piano that isn’t as good as the console they had…oh…they were so proud. What do you say…”Congratulations!”
2. How in heaven’s name does someone write on Facebook, from my account, in what looks like my name…???? How do they do that…hacked again!!!! I had to send out 250+ apologies for what…for having a Facebook account that was apparently unsecured.
Ok…where was I…? Oh yes, 1962…
My Uncle was bent on my being a piano technician…I was bent in the other direction. So for some time I followed him around from client to client. When an action was broken…we would both stare at it like a helpless driver stuck on the side of the road looking into the hood of the car for something…anything!
He would go to the car to fetch a part, and inevitably, by the time he got back…I had it figured out. You see…I was one of those kids that took all of their toys apart…but put them back so they worked better…I was doomed!
Soon, he became frustrated with me and passed me off to one John “Larry” Scheer. Larry was “Mr. Technical” in the guild. He wrote most of the technical articles…he was the guru of piano technology and happened to live close by…what luck????
Ok…I was almost hooked…almost. I called Mr. Scheer and he told me he was no longer taking on students. I understood. We talked more. He asked questions and I answered them. He was impressed by the fact that I had read the last nine years of the piano technicians journal given to me by my uncle, and memorized all of his technical articles. “OK…maybe one more student”.
Now, instead of following Uncle Pete around, I followed “Uncle” Larry. He loved the fact that I showed up on our first appointment together with a note book…yes…the same kind I kept track of my book request; that black and white marble, hard cover, sewn copy book.
We worked together for one year until he said, “Kid…I have nothing more. You take faster than I can give”, and turned me loose just after I promised to take my test and become registered…more on that later.
In the time I spent with my Uncle and Larry, I bought books…read them all, bought tools…wore them out learning and by 1964 started…wait for it…Onesti Piano Service…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO not a piano technician…doomed!
I thought I would just do it to get me through college…I did that, but forgot to stop!
Through all of this…there was the mystery of rebuilding…you know…taking the piano apart and putting it back together…only better. I did it with toys. This was a musician’s toy…sorry…tool…why not.
Why not, I’ll tell you why not! That business really wasn’t up and running yet. It was in its infancy…yet to be invented, and I was in on the invention…now it gets interesting.
The Judge said, “Get a job or go to Jail!”…
That’s what I say when people ask how I got into the piano service business…a joke of course.
Truth is, I started with my Uncle Pete, on my mother’s side of the family, who was a technician back in the early ‘60’s. He would take me around with him on his runs in the summer. It really isn’t what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a music educator. Piano was my instrument.
The main problem was my choice was limited to my physical ailment of arthritis that I got from the Marine Corps in 1969. I went in rather heavy, and instead of putting me in the “fat boy” platoon to get me into shape for regular boot camp, they kept me with the regular platoon and put me on a diet of raw carrots and raw celery and coffee for 12 weeks. So malnourished and physically punished, I developed osteoarthritis at a surprising young age. And to that, pushups on my knuckles completely destroyed my hands.
The other influence in my life was Uncle Frank on my father’s side of the family. He was an educator and a big deal in the Philadelphia Public School System.
So what do I do now…I service and rebuild pianos and teach!…go figure. Never give the finger to the witch doctor.
I have been doing this as a result of the deterioration of my joints, especially my hands, knees and shoulders. In music education you have to have the main instrument, and piano was it. So, I went to the State of Pennsylvania Department of Vocational Rehabilitation. After a full examination, both physical and intellectual, they saw the I deserved a full pass to the Philadelphia Musical Academy.
I tried. I was Dean’s list, but my hands refused to let me play anything! So, music education was not in the cards for me. Back to piano service for me… hated it.
I service pianos in homes, in studios, on the concert stage. I’ve taught for the Piano Technicians Guild, The Master Piano Technicians of America, retailers, and at Temple University. I’ve done, and still do, consultations for technicians, rebuilders, and manufacturers. And, I still hate it…but I love the people.
The truth is that in spite of my ailment, I could do piano technology through the pain. My doctors told me the best I could do was to keep moving and improve my muscle strength. I did was I was told and was able to work. There was no medication for my problem, just perseverance!
The musicians in my life think that their schedule is my schedule…and…they are correct. They know I’ll do anything for them if humanly, and sometimes inhumanly possible.
It seems I’ve worked for just about everyone in the biz.
So why am I blogging…something else I said I wouldn’t do?!
Many times I would go to an appointment, service the piano, be my personable self, tell stories, and people would say, “You need to write a book”. Well, “I don’t think there is a book in there.” I would reply. But they kept saying it and I kept refusing. However, I decided that if one thousand people asked me to write that book, I would consider it.
I went years ago, to purchase one of those hard over, marbleized copy books. In it a put a stroke for every person who said, “You need to write a book”. I never really took it seriously.
A few months ago I went to an appointment, tuned the piano, told my stories, and the client said…you guessed it…”You need to write a book”. When I said I didn’t think there was a book in there…he said, “Think Blog!”
That evening, I dutifully went to my little copy book to give him his deserved “stroke”, and what do you know…he was number one thousand.
Welcome to, “The Other Side of the Keyboard”. This blog is named after a lecture I do for audiences filled with piano owners, pianists, teachers, etc who want to know more about their rather complicated instrument.
This is my first entry, and I will do my level best to be diligent in keeping it up. I’m not very technical with blogs yet, but I do plan to cover humorous stories, technical issues, and anything that comes to mind, mine or yours.
Welcome to this new venture and adventure…let’s see where it goes, shall we?
To learn more about me, you can go to:
theothersideofthekeyboard http://theothersideofthekeyboard.onestipiano.com
On here…you can read, and comment, ask questions, anything you like. This is here for the individual piano owner, the serious musician, the hobbyist, and technician…if you like pianos…come on in…the water’s just fine.
Ciao and wish me (us) luck,
RJ