By Dave Shiflett Steinway pianos, very much at home among black ties and tails, happen to hail from a decidedly blue-collar neighborhood. “Note by Note,” which aired on PBS Sept. 14 and is available from filmmaker Ben Niles, follows the creation of Steinway concert grand L1037 from its humble origins in a Queens factory to the Steinway & Sons showroom at 109 West 57th Street, staging area for the world’s great concert halls. The fascinating film starts on a snowy December day as craftsmen force begin assembling the piano’s wooden frame. While L1037’s destiny will likely include Mozart and perhaps dancing waifs, its birth features huffing, puffing and grunting from guys who tend to be beefy, tattooed and sport pictures of Jerry Garcia and Harley Davidsons on their workshop walls. They bang away with hammers and chisels, sometimes pulling pegs out of an old Maxwell House can, other times knocking the piano into shape with the help of substantial power tools. The efforts of 450 craftsmen go into a Steinway, along with 12,000 parts. Tiring work, to be sure, punctuated by breaks during which the workers play guitars, cards, or go outside in the rain for a smoke. Director/producer Ben Niles includes testimonials to Steinway’s greatness from pianists Lang Lang, Hélène Grimaud, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, Harry Connick Jr., Hank Jones, Marcus Roberts, Kenny Barron and Bill Charlap. “A good piano,” says Lang, “is like a good actor” with “several personalities.” Jazz great Jones explains that some “resonate more than others” though that is only “apparent to some people.” Tin ears, we assume, can make due with a Yamaha. The film follows Aimard’s search for a “monster” to play at an upcoming Carnegie Hall performance. If Steinways had feelings most of them probably wouldn’t like picky Pierre, who has a hard time finding the beast of his dreams. The show doesn’t go into prices, though we glimpse one price tag a bit north of $103,000. One worker, outfitted in a football jersey, admits that “nobody I know could afford one.” We also get a look at sale day at the Steinway showroom. A saleswoman plays a magnificent passage for a woman and child, inspiring the little tickler to take a shot at “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” One senses there’s a Porshe awaiting her on her 16th birthday. There are a few amusing asides. Connick tells of his “heavy handed” technique while Lang provides an animated explanation of what drew him to the piano: hearing Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies on Tom and Jerry cartoons. A child-rearing tip, perhaps. Aimard finally finds his piano, which has just come off a truck and is ice cold. He sits down to test her out, reminding us that when some people tickle a Steinway they get much more than a giggle. “Ahhh!” he exclaims after detonating an aural explosion. His monster has been located. It takes around a year to complete a concert grand, and the final product is a source of great pride to employees, one of whom compares the process to the creation of a swan. At show’s end we see L1037 getting its finishing touches from a worker whose job is to “even out the tone.” When it’s “easy to play and easy on the ears, then you know you’ve got a piano,” he explains. The swan – painted jet black -- is moved to the Steinway store, where Helene Grimaud beams it “spoke to me immediately.” We assume L1037 will be speaking to audiences long after we, the humble viewers, have departed for the great concert hall in the sky, which we assume will be home to a truly sublime Steinway.
