Dan's Papers - Issue #4 - April 20, 2007

James Barron imbues his documentary Piano: The Making of a Steinway Concert Grand with a nostalgia for the early success of Steinway & Sons without becoming sentimental; it is as much a tribute to the company's legacy as it is an honest picture of Steinway's commitment to perfection today. Steinway's longstanding reputation for superior quality is no accident. When the temptation to sell-out the Steinway label was high, front man Henry Ziegler resisted and instead became even more focused on producing a superior piano. A huge part of the company's success lies in its commitment to one product as opposed to its commercial possibilities.

Many of Steinway's competitors turned to machinery in the wake of the Industrial boom of the mid 20th century, but the traditional family run business retained its process of construction first begun in 1857. Arcane though it may seem, the "anti-manufacturing" (another way of saying manual labor), contributes to much of the piano's personality. Personality? Yes, and much more. Steinway's concert grands can be anything from temperamental to sweet, too bright (indicating a pang-y treble clef) to just spicy enough. K0862, the identity given to the concert grand Barron observed during its construction, received a slew of similar reviews in the early part of its life. Many likened it to some sort of blossom not yet brought to fruition, or a wine that improves with age. Speaking of the instrument in organic terms is indicative of the intimate connection between piano and player. Perhaps all the human energy poured into that one instrument gives it a vivacity that's simply inimitable, especially not by machines. Sure, a fine product can be mass-produced, but a truly great one with individuality broken down in terms of human and plant-like characteristics? Ha, only through tender love and care.

K0862 begins with thin slabs of maple glued together and bent into shape, not by pure brute force, but through a kind of tender beckoning and a manipulation with extreme attention to detail. The 16-minute rim-bending process is intense. The glue sets after only 20 minutes, so it's essential to get the job done efficiently but without rushing. Time is really of the essence here. Lots of care is taken so that the wood does not "misbehave," that is, so that it doesn't warp or snap. The rim sits in a room for two full months before it is touched again so that every droplet of moisture evaporates. Next it is sponged with linseed oil and sprayed with lacquer five times over five months. No bubbles or icky splotches here, certainly not. Aesthetics are a huge part of Steinway's majesty, not just its acoustic triumph.

Wood technician, Albrecht, travels to lumber yards as far as Vancouver to find the perfect spruce for the sounding board, arguably the most important wood element of the piano. Albrecht detects minute imperfections that are undetectable to the untrained eye, and the expensive material is sifted through until just the right piece is found. The sounding board must also be bone dry, thus it waits patiently until it is "bellied," or glued onto the rim, a hugely demanding job of angling so the right curve is made.

Once the "dentures" (keys) are inserted into the rim, tone regulator Bruce Campbell has a look at it. This job goes to the "aristocrats of the factory," and particular attention is paid to model Ds, partly because they are what gave Steinway its name and partly because they demand the most attention because of their large size. Campbell describes his job as being the guy who "hear[s] things in a piano that other people don't hear." Having a heightened perception of what will and won't cut it seems to be a requirement for any job at the factory, and meticulousness is a must. He finds the weight of depression for all 88 keys and explains how the tiniest difference makes a huge impact on the playability of the piano. He adjusts every key so it is exactly the same, except for the minuscule dipping on the far ends of the keyboard. The area around middle C should be slightly elevated.

A charming part of K0862's life is the culprit of the "metallic tone," so troublesome to tuners and regulators alike. One might think a screw rolling around the base of the soundboard would be audible in transit from one station to the next, but this teensy piece of metal was thoroughly discrete and managed to hide itself from puzzled overseers and technicians. Finally, after every imaginable imperfection has been rendered obsolete on the instrument, it's time to go "fishing." An errant screw lost months before rolls into view lured by a magnetized shim.

After K0862 changes identity to CD-60, its concert identity, the factory's prerogative to make it an astounding musical instrument shifts onto the musician. It is no longer going to be endlessly scrutinized for possible malfunctions, built and rebuilt to ensure perfection, no, now it is on its own to evolve into the "instrument of the immortals."

Come see these beautiful creations at the Hamptons Home and Garden Show May 4th-6th.