Penthouse Yamaha G1 in the Upper East Side

20141106_11543820141106_115714 I expected to do more with this piano today - the work order called for repairs and a pitch raise before the fine tuning, but the purported clicking notes persistently behaved, and piano was hovering within a few cents of concert pitch.

This piano resided on the 40th floor of a luxurious apartment building, on the "PH" level - I can't recall another time my ears popped in an elevator from the change in pressure.  As I approached the front door of the building, I noticed a sign insisting "All Service People and Tradesmen Must Use Service Entrance" - I supposed I fell into the "Tradesmen" category so I played it safe and took the nondescript metal door to the left of the large revolving glass entrance.  Nonetheless, when the doorman saw me come in and I told him I was here to tune a piano he laughed and told me I could have used the main entrance - "We're tough here, but not that tough."  As I headed towards the elevators, I heard a man in a tool belt with a Long Island Accent behind me say "So you mean I can use the main entrance too?"

This is the kind of surreal 3 hours that inspired me to start this blog...surrounded by chartreuse chairs with pink pillows, floating above the rooftops of the Upper East Side - I set the glass of water I request from the maid on the golden metal tree stump behind me.  I believe my client N. is in banking...he spent the entire appointment in back room embroiled in lengthy phone conversations in a heavy Middle Eastern accent - his wife ventured out occasionally to lend the maid a hand and show her a few souvenirs from the family's vacation to Italy.


A nice Yamaha baby grand - shame that the front lid hinge completely ripped off and disappeared long before I arrived, preventing me from opening the lid and making it difficult to reach under the hood to place my mutes...

At one point while tuning I look up from my work and to my surprise am face-to-face with a glistening bum...



Extraordinarily packed trains on the return...the Lexington Ave/63rd station is interminably under construction, and two travel directions of passengers have to squeeze along a three foot walkway along the train platform precipice in the cold, dim contractor's lights...but life is good.  There's a definite solidarity in being crammed like sardines into a hurtling subterranean metal cage - financiers, PhD candidates, and tradesmen take sidelong glances at one another and realize that we're all human beings.