1984

In 1984 or 1985, my father had had just about enough.

The digital revolution was just beginning, and, it's first victim was our old upright piano. Roland started selling a home piano, 88 keys, fake wood veneer, 6 sounds (2 piano, vibraphone, harpsichord, clavicord, and, oddly enough, Electric Piano), it also had chorus and stereo (stereo!) vibrato. I'd just be taking a stab at the price, but it's safe to say that it cost more than my car is currently worth. Oh, right, and the most important part -- it had a headphone jack. You could play the piano, QUIETLY! Now, headphones are nothing now -- were nothing then; everyone had the big closed-eared hi-fi headphone for listening to records or the radio. But little girls and boys practicing the piano, for 270 years, had been a LOUD painful endeavor. My grandfathers had suffered it, but my father would not. As surely as the cassette tapes which ran the colour computer in my father's office spun, we would practice in silence.

Skip ahead, skip ahead. . .

It was decided that the piano would no longer be in the living room. I'm not sure if this was around the time my mom bought a baby-grand piano (take that, digital revolution!), but my sister and I did battle. She was still taller than me (most people think she still is, but let the tale of the tape prove my inch advantage, gained in 1995), so I settled on a shared custody. Now, digital it may have been, but that sucker was heavy. There is no doubt that it outweighed me well into puberty, and possibly until my frosh 15 was gained. My dad moved it up to Tara's room, washed his hands of the matter, and there it stayed for the requisite fortnight.

On the evening of the transfer, I sneaked into Tara's room, detached the top of the piano, and somehow heaved it off it's stand and onto the floor. I slid it on it's side (thank god for the carpet) to the stairs, and then tipped and wrestled and pried and begged and eased and elbow-dropped it down three flights to the basement studio with my drums (then just a snare and splash cymbol), my little keyboard, and my karaoke machine / P.A. System).


Well, needless to say, since my father had already moved it for the last time, and I certainly wasn't going to help, my sister never managed to retrieve the piano.

Skip Ahead. . . Skip Ahead. . .

I have had it for about 20 years longer than I deserved. I have written and recorded endless records with it. Before I bought my bass, I used the lower keys to fill in my arrangements. Shortly after Sienna and I got married, I bought a sound module and added a few hundreds of great quality sounds (if you've got my records, all the organ, accordion, flute, bells, and steel drums were all played on the old Roland).

A few weeks back my boss Tim let me know that the country band I played piano for might be interested in some live Jay piano action. Now, as the Roland still nearly outweighs me, I'm not about to haul it around, so I'm buying a light (8 lbs!) 61 midi controlling keyboard to use with the sound module. So, I logged on MSN Messenger and dropped my sister a note, which said, in essence -- your turn. I might even deliver it this time.