March 2021 - Vicente, An All-American Piano

I grew up playing a Yamaha upright studio model piano, nothing fancy. Made in Michigan, circa 1980. Adequate. Often there would be complaints from elsewhere in the house that I was “banging too loud” while I practiced, and I must have agreed, because at some point I developed the tendency of stomping down the una corda pedal in order to play the softest passages, as the keys did not respond the way I wanted/needed. No matter. It only took a year of study at the collegiate level to unravel that habit.

Initially I gravitated towards the upright pianos in the practice rooms in the music building, the ones reserved for voice and non-piano majors, simply because that’s what I was used to playing on. Grand pianos were for real pianists. Over the next several years, after I earned my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in piano, I acquired a series of different pianos, all free. They were like boyfriends, in a way; all castaways from people who needed to clear out the real estate in their living room, or storage space, or there was the one guy who was being evicted. Fast! None of them were good. I mean, they were all free, but you get what you pay for in life.

There was one piano out of that sorry lot that we attempted to resuscitate - a grand, I don’t even remember the maker, some churn-it-out early 20th-century Chicago or New York factory powerhouse. My technician, Makoto Michii, who has played double bass in the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra for decades, and also serviced my family’s Yamaha for the same amount of time, spent two days in my living room reconstructing the hammers and dampers to make it more playable. It was better, but it needed more money and time than the instrument was ever worth investing in. The day we exchanged it for my very own childhood Yamaha in my very own living room, I watched the piano movers hack the legs off that tired, abused, worn-out piano and chuck it into the back of their moving truck like a carcass.

Pianos. Old pianos. They breathe life into music, we treat them like precious cargo, beautiful works of art, furniture, family heirlooms…or we shove them into the corner of a room, neglected, covered with dust and knickknacks and photos and flower vases and resentments. Echoes of “I wish I didn’t have to practice” that turn into “I wish I had never given up my lessons.” We make our children take lessons and start the cycle all over again, hoping things will be different this time around.

As my piano studio flourished this year during the COVID pandemic, I found myself with more time to practice, which led to an increasing desire to return to my own studies. The childhood Yamaha wasn’t going to cut it. I also knew that once the world opened up again and I had 40+ students flowing in and out of my studio, my piano couldn’t keep up. It was time to take a giant uncertain leap of — of what? Faith? Make an investment? What was holding me back?

Imagine any profession - medicine, artist, writer, graphic designer, construction, etc. - and think about what tools and equipment they need to get their job done. A quality construction company would never skimp or cut corners when it came to materials - they would ensure that the best possible tools were at their disposal, because that was their business, and that was what they do. Yet here I was, a professional musician with a master’s degree from a world-class conservatory, without the proper tools to work with. Why? Because I still didn’t feel like a professional. I didn’t feel like a real pianist. I didn’t feel like I deserved a good instrument, because first I needed to “prove” I was a good pianist.

Enter Vicente.

It was between him, and this other shiny brand new Yamaha grand piano with a price tag three times the size. He’s a Baldwin model L, made in 1979, one owner, 6’4”, with a deep rich bass tone and keys that do exactly what you think they’ll do. I have never owned something so beautiful in my life.

He’s a little high-maintenance, but then again, so am I. We’ll make a good team. He’s not young; he’s been around the block a few times, but he has class and style, and an elegance that’s earned with time and merit. There’s some issues with the key/hammer action that I need to attend to, and my studio space has weather and temperature issues, but nothing I can’t figure out.

I am overflowing with gratitude for this tremendous instrument that has found its way into my care; for the life circumstances that have led me to this moment. I cannot wait to share its beauty with my students, and am thrilled that my own children will have the opportunity to learn on a quality instrument.

Don’t wait until you feel like you deserve something extraordinary to take a leap of faith and invest in yourself. You are already extraordinary and worthy of love. So are the people you hold dearest and closest to your heart.

Side note: I chose the name Vicente because it is the middle name of Argentine composer Carlos Guastavino (1912-2000). I have had the joy and honor of serving on the board of directors of Sonus International Music Festival for the past several months, an organization which is dedicated to preserving folk traditions in music and art, as Guastavino did in his compositions. The name seemed a fitting tribute. Plus I always name things like instruments, computers, cars, etc. It’s one of my charms? quirks?