Creaky Piano

My first instrument of expression

I don’t recall when my sisters started piano lessons, but I know it was on an old, brown upright in our living room. I remember the movers delivering it – I stood on the porch, watching a mysterious, monstrous box on wheels being steered up the driveway.

Photo by Geert Pieters on Unsplash

I was awed by the physicality of it. The imposition of an immovable wooden rectangle, now the focal point of our living room. It wasn’t furniture. It wasn’t functional. It was music. When no one else was around, I’d climb onto the bench, gently open the top and peer inside. I saw strings and metal and brass — such craftsmanship, precision, tension. I came to know that instrument’s character: the worn leather padding on the bench, the loosely swinging fallboard – watch your hands! — and the heaviness of the keys. My tiny fingers would press lightly, tentatively, trying to go unnoticed – but the piano always made its presence heard in our house.

Before I learned to play, I loved to make sound. The piano was my first instrument of expression. It begged to be banged, notes crashing and caving into one another, the walls vibrating with overtones and echoes. It was a heavy and billowing sound, like the roar of a tiger. I started lessons and tried to tame the creaky beast.

Link to Playlist

I was inspired to create this playlist because of the song “Disco Days*” by the 90s Canadian rock band Moist. Specifically, the creaking of the piano bench and the audible cough heard halfway through. I am fascinated by studio recordings that retain buzzes, squeals or squeaks: sounds of a human interacting with a physical, imperfect instrument. Such authenticity and vulnerability is best exemplified on the first track, the Miles Davis Quintet’s “It Never Entered My Mind,” from 1959. Red Garland’s piano (and Miles Davis’ trumpet) communicate more feeling than a revealing lyric or soaring vocal could. All of the songs I have selected showcase the sound of a person and a piano in a room, laid bare, cracks and creaks and all.

*Unfortunately, “Disco Days” isn’t available on Spotify in the UK, hence why it’s omitted from this playlist. You can hear it on YouTube here: