piano

Music Interrupted

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The old Steinway piano isn’t well.  Not at all.  I’m thinking about putting it out on the curb in a couple of weeks when the next community clean-up comes around.

Well, that’s grabbed the attention of at least one of my readers!  My most faithful editor and resident pianist comes to mind instantly.  Perhaps others may be shocked to read of my piano-disposal fantasy, but the Lovely Lady would be most unhappy.

But, it is just that—a fantasy.  I have labored too long and often on the old instrument, as have others (some no longer living) who I know and love.  Still, I don’t savor the times when the case parts are lying on the nearby couches, and the action, held securely in a purpose-designed cradle, rests on the dining room table awaiting my periodic repairs.

The old piano is nearing one hundred fifty years old now.  I sometimes wonder if Steinway of the nineteenth century had a scheme similar to the auto industry in the late twentieth century (and cell phone manufacturers of the twenty-first, seemingly)  in place.  The popular name for it a few years ago was built-in obsolescence—a scenario designed to sell future models when the current model quits working after a year or two.

We’re not participating.  I’m sure the folks at Steinway haven’t noticed at all, but we are still proudly utilizing the cutting-edge technology of 1879 in our living room on a daily basis.

Just not this week.

It’s happened before.  I told you it was sick, didn’t I?  I believe this old piano has what we call a chronic illness or condition.

The dictionary defines chronic as persistent or recurring often.

The definition fits this old thing to a T.  Several times a year (more often than my chronic asthmatic bronchitis rears its ugly head), I have to pull the action, setting it on the old dining room table (stretched out a bit to accommodate the length), prepared to reglue flanges and make adjustments to the action’s action (if you will), adding spacers and bending damper wires—sometimes even replacing worn out and broken jack springs.

Chronically sick.

We don’t tend to keep things that are chronically defective in our homes anymore, do we?

Come to think of it, chronic defects are the reason our little town offers its residents the semi-annual clean-up week I mentioned in the first paragraph above.  We have too many items lying around that don’t perform up to their original capability and we replace them without much more than a moment’s consideration. Washing machines, microwaves, computers, furniture—you name it, we will throw it away and replace it in a heartbeat if it fails to meet our expectations.

This is not a diatribe against our contemporary society; more than that, it’s a statement on our human nature.  We don’t have the patience to deal with deficiencies.  We want dependability.  Anything that doesn’t conform has no place in our day-to-day realities.

I wonder if the reader is aware that we’re not just talking about our stuff anymore.  It is the way these conversations seem to go, is it not?

One minute we’re clearly talking about an old piece of furniture and suddenly, we seem to be caught up in a deeper discussion than we ever considered.

Perhaps we’ll just go with the current for a moment or two.

May I make a bold statement?

Our Creator doesn’t believe in built-in obsolescence.  He never has.

From the beginning, His plan was for redemption.  For renewal. For lifting up.

We seem to be advocates of the Nancy Sinatra school of deportment, promising that one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you. All the while, our loving Father promises to seek the lost, bring back the strayed, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak (Ezekiel 34:16, ESV).

We, who follow Christ, are specifically told to follow suit.  It’s not a suggestion, although we often treat it as such.

 Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted; forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you. (Ephesians 4:32, NLT)

And, Peter came to his Master, asking Him how many times he had to repair that old Steinway piano before he could toss it out. (Matthew 18:21, NLT)

And, the Teacher replied that he should do it as many times as the notes wouldn’t play in tune or refused to make any sound at all (or even if it was only the sustain pedal that was malfunctioning).

Okay.  That’s not actually the way the conversation went, but the reader will get the general meaning.

God didn’t make any trash.

While we were broken and refusing to make His music, He sent His Son to die for us.  To redeem us.  To lift us up.  To fix what was broken.

When that Steinway is repaired and tuned, it makes lovely music.  Music that will bring tears of joy and previews of Glory.

I’ll be here again sometime soon.  Making repairs.  You can count on it.

The issues are chronic.  But the response to treatment is glorious.

Music will be heard.  Again.

Beautiful music.

 

Down in the human heart, crushed by the tempter,
Feelings lie buried that grace can restore;
Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness,
Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.
(from Rescue the Perishing by Fanny J Crosby, 1869)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

If It Ain’t Broke

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

The girls were visiting and the piano needed attention.  Funny how that happens.

Months—absolutely months— can go by without a word to me about making repairs to the old thing, but let the girls come to visit and it’s time to see to what ails it.

I’ve done this many times before.

The G below Middle C is acting up!  Not many songs in our repertoire can be played without that G.

She says the words and I know exactly what must be done.  Not that anyone else cares besides me, but the jack flange has come loose from the wippen and the hammer isn’t returning quickly enough to its original position to be ready for the next repetition of the note.

It just needs a little spot of glue.

Applied to exactly the right place.

It’s always the jack flange.  Always.

The old piano is a hundred and thirty-eight years old.  It, perhaps, has earned a rest from its labors by now.  Still, in between these little crises, beautiful music can be heard spilling from the exquisite burled walnut case of the ancient instrument.

But, the girls. . .

I get my tools and take the front off of the piano one more time.

Why, one might ask, do I continue to repair one jack flange at a time (or two, if I’ve waited long enough for a second one to let go, as was the case this time), instead of taking the plunge and re-gluing every single flange?  All eighty-eight of them.

Ah.  There’s the rub.

They’re not all loose.  Yet.

One would assume the glue, nearly one hundred forty-years old, made from the hide of dead animals, would have deteriorated to the point that every joint would pop loose at the slightest touch.

It would be a wrong assumption.

The glue, for the most part, still holds the entire contrivance together admirably.  For the most part.

To remove all the flanges would involve infinite patience and time-consuming labor.  There would certainly be broken parts if they were forced apart.  

The old adhesive, brittle though it may be, still holds tightly enough and yet, ready to pop loose at whatever precise moment the molecules in the mixture break down.

An attempt to repair the entire piano would be disastrous.  And, foolish.

The smart piano technician waits until a repair is necessary to effect the remedy.

Or, in the everyday vernacular, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

I’m not sure how smart I am, but I know gluing a loose flange is much easier than repairing a broken one.  Especially one I’ve broken myself.

I left all the tightly glued flanges alone and removed only the two troublemakers.  Applying a spot of glue to the point of contact between the jack and the wippen, I matched the two parts together in precisely the same position they have held for the last century and just over a third.

They may hold for another century or more.

Time will tell.

You know, I’ve wondered why our Creator, omniscient and omnipotent as He is, wouldn’t notice all the problems we weak folk are going to have before they happen and simply take care of them for us.

All of us.  All at once.

But, He doesn’t, does He?  He leaves those of us who will fail right in among those who will carry on.  And, we break and fail.  Again and again.

We break and fail. Again and again. Click To Tweet

He knows exactly what needs to be done—exactly which part needs repair.

Every time, His touch—His love—mends the hurts and restores the errant parts of the Body.  Often, the restored members are stronger than they once were.

And, while the individual parts are getting the attention they need, the rest of the Body continues to function around its brokenness, making music for a listening world.

Beautiful music.  From flawed, broken, and repaired pieces of the whole.

From flawed, broken, and restored people, He makes beautiful music. Click To Tweet

The music is sweeter for it.

He uses broken flanges.  And, hammers.  And, center pins.  And, back checks.  And, dampers.  And. . .well, you get the point.  Even if you don’t recognize any of the parts, you get the point.

When it’s broken, He fixes it. (Jeremiah 30:17)

We make beautiful music together, don’t we?  For all of our brokenness and distress, the music is heavenly.

It was when the girls sang, too.

Heavenly.

 

                              

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
(Ernest Hemingway ~ American author ~ 1899-1961)

 

Dear brothers and sisters, if another believer is overcome by some sin, you who are Godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. And be careful not to fall into the same temptation yourself. Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ.
(Galatians 6: 1,2 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2017. All Rights Reserved.

The Instrument

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I am the instrument.

I’m trying to remember the first time I heard the words.  It must have been in high school, muttered by a friend in the choir as he prepared for a contest.  One never knows what tools will come into play when the self image needs a boost.

I’ve heard the words a few times since.

Invariably, they come from a vocalist, to whom the words give evidence there is no additional accoutrement necessary to accomplish his or her artistry.  Somehow, even though I’m sure no such thing is intended, it seems—almost—a mantra, calculated to cause jealousy in the heart of any lowly instrumentalist within listening distance.

Oh, if only I didn’t need this stupid guitar (or horn, or piano, or…) to make my music.

I wonder—do vocal teachers make this a part of their curriculum, a required piece of information which all students must practice saying daily, much as they practice their scales or vocalises?

Have you said the words today, choir?  Say it with me, “I am the instrument!”

Ah, I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?

Finally.  He’s going to write something controversial.

Now we’ll get some angry comments, won’t we?

I hate to disappoint, but this little essay was opened with the introduction of that catch phrase merely to make a point.  The point is fairly simple:

I am the instrument.

Yes, I know.  We’ve covered that.

But, have we?

There is more to be said.  The words don’t apply only to vocalists.  They’re not even exclusive to musicians.

Even if you can’t tell a C chord from a rip cord, you are an instrument.  Even if you hate every genre of music known to man, you are an instrument.

You are an instrument.

I have worked in the music business all of my adult life, and I’ve listened to a fair number of musicians.  Maybe more than a fair number.

One customer suggested to me the other day, after hearing an amazing guitarist in my music store, that I was fortunate to be able to hear so many accomplished musicians come and go.

He is right.

But then, there is the flip-side of that coin.

As often as I hear the talented and disciplined musicians, I have to endure those who only think they are good.  The cacophony is horrific at times.  It is all I can do to keep from clapping my hands over my ears.  It has been true of both instrumentalists and vocalists.

Did you know that an instrument is only as good as the one playing it?  Beautiful music or ghastly noise can come from the same instrument, depending on who is manipulating the equipment.

I have heard cheaply made, even defective, instruments played beautifully—beyond what one would believe are its capabilities.

I have heard the shrieks, almost of pain, from some of the finest and most valuable instruments imaginable being manipulated by untalented hands.

Hmmm.  Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye—or ear.

In an earlier era, the folk singer Bob Dylan reminded us of the not-so-subtle piano-453845_1280truth beginning to peek through in our conversation here.  He croaked the words (in an almost tuneful way)—Gotta Serve Somebody.  His mumbled lyrics echoed the words of the Teacher, who made it clear that no one could serve two different masters. (Luke 16:13)

One way or the other, we will serve.

The Apostle suggested that we are better off if we don’t loan ourselves out  for evil purposes.  (Romans 6:13)  The result of that collaboration can only be ugliness, raw and angry.  It’s not the stuff of harmony and spectacular beauty.

The Master Musician has the talent to make the most insignificant of instruments create the most exquisite harmonies ever heard.   But, unlike the inanimate instruments we employ on whatever whim takes us, His instruments get to choose who will take them up.

We choose.

It’s not about arrogance—only the finest instruments being held in the hands of the Master—but about humility.  Frail and battered, out-of-tune and muffled—all can make glorious music in His hands.

We choose.

I want my choice to be a wise one.

You see, I love beautiful music—sweet music—music that touches the heart.

That kind of music only comes from the hands of a Virtuoso.

I will be held by Him.

I am the instrument.

 

 

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master’s Hand.
(from The Old Violin ~ Myra Brooks Welch ~ American poet ~ 1877-1959)

 

It’s easy to play any musical instrument: all you have to do is touch the right key at the right time and the instrument will play itself.
(Johann Sebastian Bach ~ German composer ~ 1685-1750)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.