Just like at times when I pop in the tiny, green, Diphenoxylate pills to stop my strong stomach’s acid from churning, I need some elixir for my mind/soul blobbing music practices.
Sometimes the music pills comes from watching some classical videos (doesn’t that reminds me of the Pururin Gorota’s space candy in Nodame Cantabile, Gapoo!), sometimes with listening ears comes therapy, when there’s someone to hear musical stories I tell (and my current teacher has a good set).
There was also treatment for my musical illness when this elderly piano tuner arrived, long after the piano at home should be serviced.
Hearing I was still in the army, he conversed with his companion in hokkien, comparing the similarities between firing the rifle and tunning the piano.
As he took apart the piano into its skeleton form, I looked closely into the parts, and immediately the piano seemed drawn closer to me.
I usually marvel at the body of a grand piano. There’s in a upright piano has the similar workings, the ribs of the piano’s voice box, and its soul from the frame in a harp-like structure hidden with its usual standing position.
As the piano tuner runs across the keys to test the piano, his expressions express his shock of a almost baroque tuning, each keys about a tone down.
On commenting his good ears as he needed only a tuning fork, he recalls how he tells young tuners, “Young man, you are very good, you can hear with eyes”, as the new generation piano tuners seem to rely on their electrical tuning tools.
As out of tune intervals starts to clear, he wipes and polishes black wood while I test the keys.
Bright, though not too much like Kawai’s, not too heavy keys, not too hollow came the sounds of the Czech produced Bohemia tones.
“Remember 6 months time”, as we waved goodbye.
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