Unmistakably clear, yet where is it coming from? —within or without? The sound merges with the act of hearing until there is no longer sound at all — but a presence. A deep sense of knowing. Not a means to anything else. The purest essence of being. The infinite now...
A change of pace
Kevin was ready for something new. Recently retired, he could go with his wife, Sara, to help her cousin recover from surgery. Jenny was having a tumor biopsied. Her husband, Scott, was a piano tuner now in his mid-seventies. He loved his work so much he never considered retirement. Kevin could go with him on his rounds, maybe help out. The two men sat on the large, wrap-around porch, beers in hand. Scott shared his background with pianos.
“My German ancestors settled in Indiana in the 1880’s. They were piano makers. I learned their technique — the centuries old aural standard of the human ear assisted by tuning forks. These days, a lot of tuners use an ETD, an electronic tuning device, because they believe it’s simpler and more accurate.”
“I tried using an ETD,” Scott shook his head. “but digital and analog sound are two different animals. Digital is choppy, compartmentalized, finite. The tones are like troops marching methodically, uninspired. Analog sound? Now that’s a slice of heaven — smooth, with depth and dimension. A lot of tuners like the ETDs because they’re quick. They get fatigued tuning by ear. I can only imagine they were never initiated into the elevated realms of sound. They haven’t come to know what it offers the human heart. It’s ethereal, divine, inspiring. It’ll change you.” Scott raised up from his chair. “I’ll be right back.”
The tone
Scott brought out a set of tuning forks. He picked up the fork labeled “concert A”. Holding it by the base, he tapped one of the prongs on his knee. He then placed the base of the fork just below Kevin’s right ear. The tone was clear, pure, and strong in its simplicity. It was as if a delicate being had taken form, dazzled him with its beauty, then shyly faded away. Scott asked, “Can you reproduce it?”
Kevin cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Focusing on the tone, he felt it well up inside and let itself out, as if he had nothing to do with it. He opened his eyes to see Scott’s astonished face.
“Damn!” Scott blurted. He chose another fork, tapped it and held it to Kevin’s ear. Kevin closed his eyes and rode the wave. Opening his eyes, he expressed the tone perfectly.
Scott looked at him shrewdly, then offered a challenge. Without the tuning fork, he asked Kevin to repeat the first sound — the “A.” Kevin did so without hesitation, and then the second tone. The clarity of the tones he vocalized surprised him, too. Kevin never thought of himself as a singer, but this was different. The sound touched him. A wave of emotion rose inside. He looked off in the distance. “I thought it was going to rain, but it cleared off. Nice evening.”
Making the rounds
The next morning Kevin accompanied Scott to a piano store. They went to the back where old pianos gathered like ducks around the edge of a pond. Scott approached one and played a few chords. The sour, wobbly sound hurt Kevin’s ears. He wondered what he’d gotten himself into. Compared to the tuning fork tones, Scott’s playing was some pretty awful noise.
Scott opened the piano and laid out his kit. He went over the basics of placing the mutes, finding the corresponding pin and making adjustments to coax the perfect pitch as the hammer struck. Scott’s finesse was a game changer. Intrigued, Kevin began the hands-on manipulations with confidence. He loved that he could enable this object to deliver infinitely delicate tones. Driving the transformation was exhilarating. It was the trifecta of human endeavor: physically acting on something, the mental challenge of figuring it out, followed by that exquisite sound. Body, mind and soul.
In the evenings, the two men sat on the porch discussing the intricacies of the days’ operations. Kevin could reproduce any tone he’d heard recently. When he’d try to produce one later on, though, he couldn’t access it. He’d start to get close, but then he’d lose it. It was like trying to hold on to a live fish. It kept slipping away — first this way, then that. You try to hang on, but if you try too hard, it squirms right out of your grip — and it’s gone. Then you’re just standing there with wet hands.
The song
Kevin was relaxing alone on the porch early one evening when he heard it. Subtle at first, but as he focused, it grew more distinct — a steady, plaintive cry. It spoke to him of deep feeling, though he couldn’t identify the emotion. There were two tones. An “A” followed by a “G.” It was a sort of crying out for something. A longing.
Kevin followed the sound to the branch of an oak that sprawled its graceful arms across the front yard. A black-capped chickadee perched alone. It’s simple song had gripped him. Kevin relaxed into the tones. He felt himself falling into the sound. Enveloped in solace, he began to touch on something he couldn’t put into words. Those tones tugged at the selfless part of him — the part that always felt a yearning. It felt raw, at first, and a little scary. But he continued listening to the bird’s song. Staying with it, the yearning yielded to tenderness.
Expansion
The next day Scott was eager to get to work. “Time for the next level,” he proposed. “There’s a process for altering the voice of the piano. Normally, I wouldn’t introduce it to someone new to tuning. But you, Kevin — you have the knack. Do you have piano tuners in your background?” he joked. “I don’t know, maybe a past life?”
“Not that I know of,” Kevin mused. “What’s the ‘voice’ of the piano?”
Scott explained, “It’s a process known as ‘needling the hammers.’ It’s the most nuanced aspect of piano tuning. It enables the sound to unify, soften and expand. You have to go slowly or you’ll ruin the hammers. But when you get it right, the payoff is a whole new dimension of sound.”
Scott continued, “First, as with any tuning, you adjust each string to express its unique tone. Then, you address the way the hammers strike the strings. You work on getting them all to express in the same manner. That creates a rich, mellow, balanced sound. It adds a dimension of unity — makes the tonality continuous. If you can imagine waltzers gliding as one on a ballroom floor instead of rows of soldiers marching. Well, you just have to hear it — you’ll feel like a goddamned magician!”
The gift
Kevin enjoyed Scott’s enthusiasm for the work. He mentioned he was thinking about starting his own tuning business back home. He asked Scott what he thought of the idea. Scott motioned for Kevin to follow him. He opened the door to a storage closet. One of the shelves was full of worn cases scattered randomly. Scott sorted through them until he found a particular one. He handed it to Kevin.
“When you come from generations of piano tuners, you tend to accumulate. When none of your kids take up the trade, you end up with lots of equipment.” Scott looked down at the case Kevin was exploring, gingerly examining the row of tuning forks nestled in crushed blue velvet. Scott took a deep breath, “This equipment’s old — ah hell, it’s ancient — but it’s the real deal.” Scott’s hand rested tenderly on one of the cases. Kevin noticed the gesture seemed like touching a loved one’s arm. “I could never sell them. But Kevin, if you want, use them to keep doing the work.”
Returning
Kevin was glad he’d been able to work with Scott. It gave him a sense of renewal at a time when he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. To everyone’s relief, Jenny’s biopsy came back negative. Kevin and Sara were sad to leave, but it was time.
They’d been home only a few days when they got Jenny’s call. Sometimes, when everyone is focused on one person’s health, it’s another family member that passes without warning. Jenny explained that she woke up that morning but Scott did not. He had passed peacefully in his sleep. Kevin and Sara persuaded Jenny to live with them. Jenny convinced them to move in with her in the old family house.
The new normal
One day, Kevin was finessing a nuanced tone on a Baldwin. Missing Scott, he was struck by a pang of sadness. The note went sour as if to accentuate his sorrow. Kevin stopped. In that moment he realized it wasn’t the tone that moved away. Here he’d been imagining this work as chasing the tone, trying to catch it. But it wasn’t that at all. Whenever his mind drifted, the tone expressed his movement away. The innate clarity of that tone never changed. It came from deep within — immutable, constant, accessible. Scott’s ability to pinpoint the tone depended on whether his mind stayed or strayed. Ultimately, he had control. He could choose to direct his mind.
A euphoric state of peace washed over him. He had been wrong about the nature of things. How sadness affected him — fear, loss, grief — wasn’t inevitable. The profound peace that resides deep within us has more power than any pain.
That evening, sitting on the porch, Kevin listened to the breeze shaking the leaves. A chickadee lit on the oak and serenaded the yard with his two-note trill. Those two, simple tones pierced the evening with their sincerity. Kevin sensed the first tone was the opening to a familiar realm. The second tone welcomed him home. His days were dream-like now. His inner stillness was so pervasive everything resonated with ease. Peace, calm and lightness as foreground overshadowed the background noises of any pain in his life. All was well, so long as he kept his mind focused on the ethereal tone within.
Photo courtesy of Lorenzo Spoleti on Unsplash.com
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