Musings of a Steinway Store Owner

Musings of a Steinway Store Owner
By Arkady Gershteyn
December 16, 2008

These young folks they think they know how to play the piano. I see them by the dozens,
These poorly shaven, axe-smelling youth, who swagger into my quality Steinway & Sons Fine Fortepiano establishment. Barely finished sucking their mom’s titties and they think they’re such big shots. Really they can’t see the difference between a Steinway and a Kawai. Or these skinny gals with languished looks, from music schools, with long turtlenecks, well combed hair, and business pants – so all important. Should have learned to cook better than act as Turgenovian maids.

They sit down at one of my polished Steinway instruments and start to abuse the instruments in unheard of ways. They play the slow melodies of Rachmaninonov, Chopin’s romantic overtures, pound out Beethoven’s  violence, or the teeter away with astonishing speed Rismky-Korskov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee”. Their fingers flinging, here and there, their faces contorted in impersonations of someone else’s emotion, scatter-brained “virtuosos”. They fill the store with noise, a bombardment of sentiment, a web of notes, in short - a turbulent chaos.

Then, I have to come over there, and wipe the sweat of these “inspired” youth off the keys. But it’s not even that what bothers me. Not even the fact that most of them never even think of buying my merchandise, not to mention at least ask my opinion as to the merits of a Steinway opposed to say a Baldwin or a Weber. The plane and simple fact is they’re talentless stuck-up good-for-nothings. What’s all the agitation about?! Why the hurry, why the commotion. If you want to play – then have some skill!

A true virtuosi, has stamina. If I place my finger on a key, I hold it there for a time. Let is ring. Let it sing its sound, loud and clear. Like a train horn. Wait till I hear it, wait till Ted, the Janitor at the other end hears it. Let it soak in. Then I thump another one, let it shine. Like a headlight on an interstate. That how I play ‘Three Blind Mice’, no more than 10 or so notes – and all of them white ones. Why bang those dwarf-like black ones anyway when you’ve got plenty of pretty white ones. That’s character for you, that’s skill! My fingers aren’t going to run around, bounce here or there, or strike convulsively. They’re measured, slow and certain. It ain’t one of your fancy patsy tricks!

I started my franchise over thirty years ago. Its grown from the small 300 square meter room to a solid, respectable 1500 sq. meter store at Colossal Mall, Downtown. My repertoire hasn’t changed, I only getter better with the years. The fingers getting tighter and tougher, the hands more muscular and hardened, my voice more strung. It’s only the customers that change, rarely the vendors, sometimes my staff, the cars outside, the number of pianos on showcase. So next time you’re in New York, don’t go to Carnegie hall or those fancy Broadway shows to hear some real virtuoso. There you’ll just get more of that stuck-up riff-raff with their scattered notes. 
You go directly to me, Steinway & Sons Fine Fortepiano, ask for Don the manager. You’ll see what its all about!

© Copyright Arkady Gershteyn 2008