An Evening with Rachmaninoff
The black concert grand stood alone in the center of the stage. The house
lights were up and the recital hall was packed with technicians and
pianists--Baloney Bunchers, all. Nevertheless, the noise level was
surprisingly subdued. After all, the piano on the stage was Rachmaninoff's
own, and the arrival of his technician was expected momentarily. Sudden-
ly, a silver-haired man walked briskly from the back of the stage to the
piano, sat down and the house went utterly silent as he began to make his
final pre-concert checks. This man's name was Bill Hupfer.
In every walk of life, in every profession, there is one individual who
stands out as the very best. In piano technology, that man's name is Bill
Hupfer, long Chief Concert Technician for Steinway in the early part of
this century and considered by many--myself, included--to be the most
talented technician to ever pick up a tuning hammer. Now, some opinions
count for more than others. My own, for example, counts for little. On
the other hand, those of men with names like Rachmaninoff, Horowitz,
Rubinstein, Hoffman, Lhevinne, Godowsky and the like--a veritable "Who's
Who" of great pianists in the early part of this century--count for a
whole lot. Beside every great pianist stands a great piano technician and
the one the greatest pianists of this century chose to stand beside them
was Bill Hupfer. Listen to any of their recordings from earlier in this
century and you will hear a great performance, by a great pianist, playing
a great piano, prepped and tuned in ET by Bill Hupfer.
We all sat in respectful silence as Bill worked. Then, when he had finish-
ed his last check, we all held our breaths as Rachmaninoff, himself--
tall, unsmiling, serious-looking, with closely-cropped, grayish hair and
wearing a dark suit--walked out to check the piano. He played a bit
and then stopped abruptly and peered in at the strings, distastefully.
He then whispered something to Bill, while pointing at the piano, and Bill
immediately retuned the note in question. The final judge as to whether or
not the note was in tune was not Bill, it was Rachmaninoff.
Ten minutes later, barely acknowledging his audience, unsmiling and all
business, Rachmaninoff walked out to his piano, sat down and began
playing. I was reminded of James Huneker, who once called him a "keyboard
emotionalist" and of Godowsky's famous remark that he did not play the
piano with his hands, (but his heart). For over an hour he held us spell-
bound with his playing. No one whispered, no one coughed, no one squirmed
in his seat, seemingly no one even breathed. They listened.
What he played is unimportant, what matters was how he played it. Superrbly.
I will mention only his final encore, Henselt's Etude in F#, opus 2, #6.
An immensely popular pianist in his day and a contemporary of Chopin,
today his music is largely forgotten. Only this single piece remains.
Technically, it's a double-note etude for interlocked hands. Rachmaninoff
is one of the few who plays it. His interpretation is centered around a
huge climax in the middle--Rachmaninoff calls this a "point"-- which takes
the pianists to FFF, "con tutta forza". (Hey, pal, so much for that pile
of bill-bull about Romantic Era composers writing quiet, serene pieces,
"filled with p's, pp's, ppp's and even more when writing in the foreign
keys.") Then, after a long fermata (hold), followed by a slight pause,
the original melody returns with a delicious tinkle in the upper regist-
er, after which the whole piece fades away to nothing. After Rachmaninoff
had floated off the final notes, for a moment the house sat motionless and
silent, as time seemingly stood still. And then we all burst into a
thunderous, standing ovation. In response, the great man barely nodded his
head and then walked off the stage forever.
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Susan Kline had tears in her eyes. "Damn. Double Damn!" she said. "Every
time that ignorant fool on Pianotech shoots off his mouth, putting down
anyone who tunes, or plays in ET, he puts down pianists like Rachmaninoff
and technicians like Bill, too. Damn him. He's a born jerk." "Correction,"
said Ralph Martin. "He's a self-made man."
Just then, Horace came over. "Hey, guys, Dick Gertz is looking for you.
Come on." And, so we did. I was the last to leave. I turned back to take
one last look at the piano on the stage, and as I did, it shimmered and
disappeared before my eyes. Was I dreaming? And then, as I went to stuff
the concert's program in my pocket, its last lines caught my eye:
Pianist: Sergei Rachmaninoff
Technician: Bill Hupfer
Rest in Peace
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I hurried after my friends. At this point, several of us helped Ralph to
roll the Mason & Hamlin grand he was working, on over to Richard Gertz,
who had agreed to give us his critical opinion of the restoration's
progress. Although he had been light-hearted and easy-going with us all
night, once the great man saw his piano, he became dead-serious and all
business. We all lapsed into a respectful silence, as he donned his steel-
rimmed glasses and bent over the piano to begin his inspection. Suddenly,
however, there was a commotion.
"Mr. Gertz. Mr. Gertz. I have a question, please, sir," said a youthful
technician as he approached our group. "Yes?" said Richard, in his thick
German accent, obviously greatly annoyed at the interruption. "What do you
want?"
"Well, sir," the technician stammered, now confronted with Richard's
staring, ice-blue eyes, "it's about birdcages. I was wonder---"
"Birdcages? BIRDCAGES?!" Richard exploded. And here the great man's
serious demeanor dissolved before our eyes, as his body began to shake
with mirth. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the tears of
laughter rolling down his cheeks, it was some moments before he could
get himself under control enough to speak. "Heed these words, carefully,
my boy," he said, desperately trying to contain himself. "Birdcages are
for...are for..." "The birds?" I ventured. "THE BIRDS!" he agreed, and
then he threw back his head and laughed and laughed and laughed, with
the rest of us--including the young technician--joining in. Which just
goes to prove that even Richard Gertz knows a good one when he hears it!
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And that's a look at last week's virtual meeting of the Baloney Bunch
and some of the highly-distinguished Bunchers and Buncherettes who at-
tended. Quite frankly, I'm proud to be a member. You should know, how-
ever, that we are not the only club in town. There is also, of course,
BILL'S BULL-ONLY BUNCH, about which you probably have heard a lot, but
wish you hadn't. As a wise man once said, "The more nearly empty the
barrel, the louder the sound." Now, ain't that the truth?!
You know, pal, I must admit that even after all this, I do find your posts
useful, despite the fact that I can't entirely purge them from my computer
by merely hitting the delete button, but must also shovel out, and then
disinfect and deodorize my mailbox before I can use it again. Yet,
there is an upside, too. I just carry that shovelful of bill-bull out
to my backyard, spread it over my vegetable garden, my flower beds and
my fruit trees and then step back and watch them instantly burst into
bloom. Wow! Thanks for the free fertilizer.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, even this post. It's
time to go now. Damn, and just when we were starting to have fun.
Nevertheless, my fellow Baloney Bunchers tell me that we have to get to
work on that Mason & Hamlin grand we're all helping Ralph to restore.
It seems Rachmaninoff has just written a new prelude (not an etude!) and
is anxious to try it out. Once we've finished, it'll have to be tuned, of
course, but fortunately we have Bill Hupfer here to do the actual tuning,
with Dr. White, John Travis and Horace Greeley to assist. The Rock is
very picky about how his piano is tuned, especially since he knows that
Horowitz is here and will be quick to point out any mistakes he might
make and then want to show him how it should be played. We Baloney
Bunchers are a highly-competitive group.
So I'll leave you to your birdcage upright. In the meantime, why don't
you figure out exactly what HT will sound best on it and then post your
expert opinion back here? Please do it soon. You see, my rose bushes out
back aren't looking so good these days. They are in need of another dose
of your matchless, heavy-duty, industrial-strength, high-octane, high-
fiber, reduced-fat, premium-blend, 100%-guaranteed, all-bull fertilizer.
I'll have my shovel ready. Thanks.
Lastly, as the old German technician-- who taught me how to tune, and
gave me my first tuning hammer a half a century ago; and who used
to play the middle movement of Beethoven's Opus 57, when he had finished
tuning the piano---might say:
Hey, dat lasten vone, vas a gooten vone
Don'ten nebber liszten ta da dodos ob da vorld
Alvays vemember, int de endt, DA MUSICA IST DA TING
I couldn't have said it better myzelfen--oops, myself.
Les Smith Ambassador-at-Large and proud member of the Baloney Bunch
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