Photo by Amir Doreh on Unsplash
What a time to stop working, lamented Charles Hurland, a three time Tony Award winning composer, as he hit the middle C key on the battered, peeling but playable, black upright Baldwin piano, he was composing on. Charles was 55, a bit plump with nothing physically to distinguish him as a famous composer, except perhaps his very long, thin fingers. Charles worked with a lyricist named Jacques, who was 24.
Charles was in a small rehearsal room, which contained only a florescent ceiling light, the piano and its bench and two metal folding chairs. It was the smallest of the twelve rehearsal rooms in a rental studio complex in the west 50s of Manhattan.
This Baldwin piano, although it had a slightly metallic sound and the least responsive keyboard of any of the pianos in the studio complex, was Charles’ favorite. He’d first rented this least expensive rehearsal studio in 1990 when he was nearly broke. He composed his first commercially successful music sitting at this very piano. He had since become very successful but he had a superstition that he composed best on what other people would consider to be an old, uninspiring piano. Plus he believed that, if his music sounded good on this mediocre piano, it would sound even better on a Steinway grand piano.
I can’t play this song without this C note, he thought. He tried playing the C note up an octave but that key had also stopped working. Jacques also tuned pianos and could fix the keys but he’d already left. Charles pounded his foot on the floor. Then he said out loud, “Let me transpose the music to C sharp major, then I won’t have to use either C key.”
He did so and tried to play the C sharp key next to middle C. To his astonishment, he thought he heard that C sharp key, call out, “You can’t push me around anymore. I won’t play for you.”
Charles shook his head back and forth, thinking he was hallucinating. It was Sunday, 2:57 AM. He and Jacques had been working since 9 AM to revise the music for a show that was supposed to open shortly. Jacques had left at 9 PM but Charles stayed on. He thought that when you begin to think your piano is talking to you, it’s probably time to get some rest. But he’d really better make it only a short nap. They’d had a preview with a critic, two days before, and the critic called four of their new songs “lame, lamentable and listless. Your play is about an aspiring composer and a good deal of the music stinks.” They still had two more to either fix or write replacements. Charles didn’t have much time to rest.
Charles got off the piano bench and closed the cover over the keys. He opened the folding cot that sat in the corner and moved it in line with the piano keyboard. He lay down but was too wound up to fall asleep. He distinctly heard talking in the room but knew that was impossible. He felt fear. Definitely, the voices were in the piano. I’ll move the piano bench away and move my cot closer and listen. Maybe I’ll get an idea for a better song. No, I’m acting crazy, he thought, but continued to listen.
Charles had perfect pitch. Whenever he listened to music, he could always tell exactly what note was being played. Now he was sure the keyboard was talking, each individual key speaking in the exact distinct pitch of its own note. He pinched his cheek to see if he had gone off to sleep but he was awake and aware. There was no pitch variation in each voice he heard, just the 88 sounds that can be made by the 88 keys of a piano.
“That bastard Charles left me out again,” he heard. “He’s a prejudicial, low-note phobic, black key hating scum.” So said the lowest black B flat key. “I’m triple cursed and deserving of better.”
“Oh yeah,” replied the highest white A note on the piano, who resided 86 keys to the right of the first complaining B flat, “I’m a white key and when has he ever put me into one of his pieces? Maybe once. He’s also a anti-high note bigot.”
“You don’t understand,” said the middle C, “most music is written in the range of the human voice and neither one of you is a tone that can be sung by a human. That’s why I’m the most frequently played sound. It’s only fair.”
From somewhere came the question, “If you’re so popular, why did you stop playing?”
The middle C note replied, “Because I’m forced to work too much because I’m so damn popular. I should be paid more than any other key because of all the extra work I do. You all should revere me. I’m on strike for fair pay.”
“Who the hell are you to defend those bastard humans for not using all notes equally?” said the D note, three octaves above middle C. “I’m above the notes that humans can sing so I don’t get my fair share of playing. Humans have the technology to allow vocal chords to be altered to produce much higher and lower notes. If they did that, I’d get my fair share of playing. I say we all stop working.”
“I think humans might think they have other more pressing problems to solve. I love Charles’ music. I’m not going on strike,” noted the white G note who resided a few notes up from middle C. Most of the other keys called this particular G key, “Haughty G” . This key was extremely unpopular and had virtually no support from the other keys.
The black F sharp note, about two octaves lower on the piano shouted out, “Haughty G”, what an arrogant double-crossing bastard you are. You’re part of the C major chord, “C”, “E” and “G”, the most popular chord in all of music and then you’re the base note of the G major chord, which leads back to the C chord and the second most popular chord on the piano. And the G major scale has the second most music written for it. You get all the attention you could possibly deal with, while I get none.”
“I don’t know why the hell you complain,” answered ‘Haughty G.’ “Why you, Mr. F sharp are the last note of my scale. The best of all scales, the G major scale.”
The F sharp chord even lower than the previous one said, “You, Haughty G, called the G major scale including me, ‘My scale’. As if you own all of the other six notes in the scale and we are your slaves. I’m no one’s slave. No way. You’re as much an exploiter as Charles.”
“I agree with F sharp,” said all the black A flat keys at once. “We black keys have a tremendous grievance. There are 52 white keys and only 36 black ones. That’s almost 50 percent more. I say all black keys should refuse to play when we’re hit until we get equality of numbers.”
“We don’t need you,” said the white E note, two notes down. “We white notes can make up a full major or natural minor scale. That can’t be done with only the black notes. Why should Charles even bother with black keys? White keys should be enough for him.”
There was a shout from the black keys high on the keyboard. “That’s why there should be more black keys. Make all the white B keys into black B keys, then there will be 44 black keys and 44 white keys. Now that would be fair.”
A black A flat key quipped, “The black keys are unique and constitute both major and minor natural pentatonic scales. Pentatonic scales are the most melodious. If you play only on the black keys, your music will be harmonic, never a sour note. We don’t need any of you so-called superior white notes. All you do is cause disharmonic sound combinations.”
“More needs to be done,” said one black G flat key. “I had a horrible realization two weeks ago. You know that Charles gives piano lessons? He was teaching this ignorant brat, Tommy, who knew nothing about music. Now I always think of myself and call myself by the name G flat so that I’m sure of my identity. Charles taught Tom that I’m also the F sharp key. Immoral, I should get to decide what I’m called, not some ass of a composer. Self-identification is an unalienable right. How dare he call me what I don’t want to be called. It’s humiliating. I want him in jail. I’m thinking of burning myself up. I think I’ll get a match.”
Charles was suddenly frightened. Would there be a fire? He thought of doing something until he heard a cry from throughout the keyboard, “Please, please don’t play with matches.”
Charles relaxed. This conversation is fascinating, he thought. Who would have guessed the passions going on inside an ancient Baldwin piano?
The “Haughty G” key, Charles defender, whispered to the A key, two up from him, “That G flat key is one striking short of being sent to the home for mentally confused piano notes.”
“How very arrogant you are, ‘Haughty G’. Next we’ll have to call you ‘Sir Haughty G’,” replied the A key.
The black A flat key, in the next octaves down, piped up, “I’ve always found that the flat key signatures are the most melodic. Why the great Chopin was enamored of the key of A flat major. Some of the world’s most melodic music is written in my key.”
From across the keyboard came shouts, “That statement is deeply prejudicial. All scales, keys and notes are equal. Retract your statement or be expelled. Let’s vote that particular A flat key out.”
“But who will remove the key, if we vote it out?” asked the much hated “Haughty G” . “You’ll never convince Charles to remove all the A flat keys and he’d have to do it.”
“That bastard Charles covered us up ,” said the high A, the highest note on the keyboard. “We’re almost always in the dark. No light. I’m going to light a match.”
There came a roar from about twenty-seven keys at once “Never. We have a solemn pact never to light a match. You might hurt someone.”
“I don’t care. I’m going to burn this whole damned studio down if Charles doesn’t include me in one of the pieces he’s writing.”
Charles sat bolt upright. All the piano keys were talking at the same time and he couldn’t discern what was being said except that his name was joined with words like “cynic,” “chauvinist,” “misanthropist,” “sneerer”.
Charles started to wonder what he could have done to get the Baldwin piano to rebel.
It’s not fair. I’ve dedicated my life to the piano, teaching students, writing music, seeing how pianos could be made less costly so more people could play them. He began to talk to himself.. “They say I’m prejudiced, black key hostile, a low key maligner, an exploiter of certain keys. How can it be? I always hoped that I treated all the keys equally.”
He uncovered the keys. Light streamed in and the keys were startled. After a joint scream, they became quiet. Charles began to speak to them. “Please understand that I have to make my music fit the mood, words, emotions and sensations of the plays. If the songs don’t sound satisfying, the audience won’t come, I’ll lose my job, starve and maybe die. You don’t abhor me enough to want me to die, do you?” Then, exhausted, Charles lay down and continued to listen.
Haughty G said, “What an understanding composer Charles is.”
From different parts of the piano keyboard came cries of “Not enough” and “Work-stoppage.”
Suddenly there was an intense complaint. The sustain pedal yelled, “All people ever do is step on me. It’s terrible to be trampled on by smelly shoes.”
There was then a boom louder than any other, “I am the metal frame that holds you all together. Do I get even the slightest notice or good wishes? Never. Does the composer ever make the player hit me so I can make a sound too? Forget it. If I withdraw, the strings will fall off and there will be no music. I say we defy Charles.”
“I don’t understand why you’re rebelling. What do you want from me?” asked Charles.
The lowest note said, “Who will get all the glory for the new music? You, Charles, that’s who. It’s always the same. You’re the hero. Who will be credited in the Playbill? You will, Charles, and it won’t mention us. Will the composer in the play, play on an old Baldwin? Of course not. He’ll play on a brand new Steinway. We spit on new Steinways. This is an official work stoppage.”
The piano fell silent and in a minute Charles fell asleep and started snoring.
At 9 AM, Jacques, the lyricist, woke Charles, bringing coffees and breakfast. Charles put the folding cot away, refreshed himself, then they ate and drank. Charles was usually talkative in the morning but he today he was silent.
When they finished eating, Charles put the bench in front of the piano and was about to play, when he stopped and said to Jacques, “I have no idea what’s going to happen when I play the piano. I’m afraid.”
Jacques, much bemused, thinking Charles had gone insane said, “Fall off the horse? They say the best thing is to get back on the horse.”
"I didn't fall off a horse, it's this damned piano.”
Jacques looked Charles in the eye with disbelief. “Afraid of a piano, I’d never have guessed.”
Charles wondered whether he could pluck up the courage to play? He looked at Jacques and said “The piano talked to me last night. It’s having a work-stoppage.”
“Maybe you should take the day off.”
“It did talk to me,” screamed Charles. “Go ahead, try to play it, it’s holding out.”
Jacques hit the white middle C key and there was no sound. “That’s odd. Must be stuck. I can fix that.” Jacques got out his tuning tools.
“Try more keys,” said Charles.
Jacques hit the white D, E and F keys. Nothing.
“Now try the black keys,” said Charles.
Jacques hit the black A flat, B flat, D flat and not a sound came out.
“They must all have agreed,” said Charles. “ There was one key that was friendly to me, it was the G key above middle C, the other keys called it the Haughty G key. Try that key.” It didn’t play.
Jacques didn’t know what to think. He said “Maybe you need more rest. We could put this off a few more hours then we’ll try another room.”
"No, I refuse. I always compose at this piano. Take a picture of me playing and tweet it out saying how proud I am of this Baldwin Piano.”
Jacques did so. Charles tried to play the notes again but they were all stuck except Haughty G, which played.
“I’m on to something. I know it,” said Charles. “Maybe I can understand some of what was said last night.”
“One key plays. That ain’t much,” said Jacques.
“It’s everything,” said Charles. “I’ve got it. I have in my mind a new piece of music, it’s going to start out on all black keys, an introduction in major pentatonic, completely harmonic and loud. It’s our play’s composer’s introduction to a happy piece. Then we add a chorus, it’s in A natural minor, using all white keys. It sounds so different from the beginning but somehow we make it fit. Then I do a huge sweep from bottom to top hitting all the white key and then one down all the black keys. Every key played.. All equal.”
“It’s a plan at least,” said Jacques.
Charles stopped to consider what else he might do. He opened the top of the piano and started to pound on the frame, which made interesting notes. He took his shoes off and pressed down on the sustain pedal to make the sounds even more exotic. .
“We’re going to have lots of key changes in this piece and lots of high and low notes.” said Charles. “This new song will be named We all win when I play on my Baldwin. How does that sound as a plan, Jacques? Can you write a song with those words as the lead in to the chorus?”
“Sure. Let’s go to another room and try it. This piano is messed up.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve made this Baldwin happy and it will play now ” Charles started a riff up the piano on the white keys and down on the black keys. Every single note sang out like luminous flame. He took off his shoe and started to push down the sustain pedal with his bare foot as he played a pentatonic melody followed by a natural minor melody. Then he changed the key of he song five times running. Charles felt the Baldwin’s pride.
Jacques said “I love that sound. It will sound even better on a Steinway..”
“Nope. We’re going to use my favorite Baldwin in the show and we’ll put it’s picture on all the advertisements. It’s this piano that’s made all this possible.”
“What an odd morning,” said Jacques.
“A marvelous morning,” replied Charles. “They all need to have their voices.”
Jacques looked at him oddly, “Whatever you say, Charles.” Then, on a whim, “Okay, let’s have this Baldwin in the show.”
“Brilliant” said Charles.
“I am brilliant sometimes,” said Jacques
“I meant the Baldwin” said Charles with a sparkle in his eye.