In tune

I recently went to the workshop of a double bass maker and repairer. My friend was taking his battered bass there to see what parts might be glued and otherwise made to hold together again. ‘Can’t you clean it up whilst you’re at it?’ I asked naively, attending to the finish rather than the sound. Apparently there is value in layers of varnish and Roger is cautious. It seems to me that he’s sort of ‘reading the wood’ as he looks at the instrument, and he knows not to touch where he can’t be sure of the impact of changing something. ‘No, you wouldn’t want to do that…’ he concludes.

Waiting

The workshop is an extraordinary place for an outsider. There are pieces of instruments all around the single room, sections and strings and bridges and necks, and a pan of glue on the boil on an old camping stove. I can’t take it all in, and I can’t see how Roger manoeuvres his way through the arrangement of objects. As well as making new instruments, what he does here is to work on things produced through the craftsmanship of others, undoing and remaking them. It takes a careful eye and a trained ear, an understanding of the whole process of creating a double bass, a lot of patience and dexterity, and a kind of respect it seems to me. He’s not an old man but he’s been doing this for a long time already. Several years ago, he decided to take a break. ‘I tried being a driving instructor,’ he said. ‘I lasted a year.’ When he was doing his apprenticeship, the man who taught him had already told him his future: ‘You’ll never do anything else.’ And here he is, in his own workshop, in tune with his instruments.

Your first appointment is at nine o’clock. (This leisurely start gives you a chance to answer emails and telephone messages from the previous evening.) As you enter the hall of an elegant townhouse, the smell of fresh coffee greets you. The good news doesn’t end there. The client has just bought a fifteen year-old Yamaha upright piano: a fine instrument in good condition. You have been highly recommended by their piano teacher so you do not have to prove yourself. Clients who have not owned instruments before will stand around the piano and watch you work. They will ask how you became a piano tuner, when pianos were invented, and how they work. This is a great opportunity to show off and a wonderful antidote to the highly skilled but somewhat lonely tuning process. So, allow plenty of time.

Next stop: a converted barn a few miles out of town. You have to walk past a four-wheel drive BMW and a top of the range Mercedes to reach the door. As before, a new client, but this piano that has been bought on Ebay for fifty pounds. On first inspection you reel off a well-rehearsed list of conditions and provisos: ‘When we spoke price on the phone you didn’t say there were six broken hammer shanks. Do you realise that if I repair these, the others (clearly in a fragile state) will probably break too? Because it is so far out of tune it may take a couple of sessions to get it up to pitch,’ and so on. The status of the piano tuner swiftly goes from one that is up with the GP or family accountant, right down to general dogsbody who earns money for old rope, and whose visit is an unwelcome irritation that has to be slotted in between getting children to riding lessons and shopping at Waitrose.

Because you did so much extra work on the Ebay piano, you eat your lunch as you drive to the local jazz venue. The band want the Steinway tuned before they rehearse in the afternoon — and for you to call back before the gig in the evening to check and tidy. You work in the half light as roadies clatter about with mike-stands and ladders, but you’ve tuned it a thousand times before and it is second nature, almost.

In the afternoon you visit an old client, a retired GP for whom you tune twice a year, as regular as clockwork. He is particular, and wants to discuss any tiny problem with the piano. But when you finally iron out any niggles, he is extremely appreciative and you leave feeling highly valued. Many tunings are on pianos for children learning, but amongst adult musicians, Doctors, University lecturers and school teachers seem to rank high in number.

You head home to telephone messages and emails. Piano tuners do not earn enough to employ secretaries and the administrative side of business stretches into the evening — an intrusion that has been eased to an extent by the mobile phone and computer. Usually, your working day ends here as you settle in for dinner with the family. But don’t forget, you must return to check the Steinway for the jazz.

The stage is cramped and you have to untangle the vocal mike-lead and the stage-light from the music desk before you can check the tuning. It has barely shifted. They could have managed without the extra visit, but you can always make some improvement. You spend ten minutes on the top octave. Money for old rope, you wonder? No, money for peace of mind; peace of mind for the pianist who can feel confident that the piano will not reflect badly on her playing. And for you, knowing that if the pianist is happy, you will be asked again.