"This thing is the heaviest piano you've ever made me move," my husband said, wiping his brow.
Those were the words that sparked the idea. I had been on the lookout for a free piano of tall proportions that I could turn into a neo-instrument, and I finally found the perfect candidate: long strings, solid build, massively over-built, ornate Victorian case. My husband and I saved it from an owner who was ready to haul it to the dump if no one took it by the end of the weekend. It was a sweaty struggle to load the over-engineered, century-old beast onto our rickety open trailer. Damn this thing, I thought. Too hard to move. What if I just...took all the outsides off?
Over the course of several months, I experimented. With sledgehammers, chisels, a crowbar, a little bit at a time. Every piece I removed felt like a shard of freedom, as if I were liberating the piano, scraping away at an archeological dig to see what I would find underneath. To paraphrase Michelangelo, I felt that there was something remarkable hidden within this weighty lump of timber and all I had to do was chip away the parts I didn't need to reveal it.
Over the course of several months, I experimented. With sledgehammers, chisels, a crowbar, a little bit at a time. Every piece I removed felt like a shard of freedom, as if I were liberating the piano, scraping away at an archeological dig to see what I would find underneath. To paraphrase Michelangelo, I felt that there was something remarkable hidden within this weighty lump of timber and all I had to do was chip away the parts I didn't need to reveal it.
The gradual discovery of one exciting sonic possibility after another as the guts of the piano were revealed is one of the most fun things I've ever experienced. (Although a couple of times I found that I had taken away too much structural material and had to add some back in order not to lose capabilities - and to be able to transport it in one piece.)
Part steampunk, part junkyard, part phoenix, The Skeleton Piano has few limits - and I tread a fine line with those all the time (as my technician said, "The next time you do this, you should pick a piano that can be repaired!"). It can do things no other piano can do, make sounds and create sonic combinations that could not be recreated safely on any other piano.
Every time I play it in concert, slivers of wood fly through the air. For some techniques, I have to mime the practicing motions since the real thing causes it to fall apart a little more every time. Like all things in art and life, The Skeleton Piano will not last forever: with every fantastical sound that is coaxed from it, it reminds us that it, too, someday shall pass into eternity. But what a life it will have led!
Experimentation is not without its dangers.
I've gotten countless splinters from playing the Skeleton Piano and plenty of memorable, full-body aches and pains from shoving it into freight elevators and up ramps. (There were some venues it was impossible to get it into.)
I've broken violin bows on its bass strings; I've broken shot glasses on its case and spent hours carefully digging pieces of glass from its innards with a chopstick covered in sticky tape, like playing a musical game of "Operation".
I've even gotten flecks of granite in my eye during performance. How, you ask? Well, I discovered a really cool set of whiskey stones in the shape of tiny skulls (SKULLS! For The Skeleton Piano!) that made a wonderful sound when used directly on the strings; however, when you use enough force...they CHIP. Now I know.
I've gotten countless splinters from playing the Skeleton Piano and plenty of memorable, full-body aches and pains from shoving it into freight elevators and up ramps. (There were some venues it was impossible to get it into.)
I've broken violin bows on its bass strings; I've broken shot glasses on its case and spent hours carefully digging pieces of glass from its innards with a chopstick covered in sticky tape, like playing a musical game of "Operation".
I've even gotten flecks of granite in my eye during performance. How, you ask? Well, I discovered a really cool set of whiskey stones in the shape of tiny skulls (SKULLS! For The Skeleton Piano!) that made a wonderful sound when used directly on the strings; however, when you use enough force...they CHIP. Now I know.
Hazards of the trade.
So adorable, so not great to have in your eye.
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Glass shards, not generally desirable when wedged between the working parts.
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Bigger ideas carry even greater risks of disaster. In my 2019 piece "Punxsutawney Blues", The Skeleton Piano was imagined to be a huge hourglass that magically wound and rewound time. At several points points throughout the piece, when the ticking-clock background track reached a climactic ringing bell, I physically turned the entire piano around 180 degrees on its large casters and then played the other side of it.
I very quickly learned only to attempt such things on a perfectly even floor, since one of the casters caught in a divet in the rough warehouse concrete and the piano nearly tipped over in the middle of a show. Not your typical extra-musical concerns!
Here, some pictures of its early development:
A sampling of the tools used to play The Skeleton Piano:
a violin bow, shot glasses, wire brushes, timpani mallets, picture wire, scrap wood, a homemade bottle cap mandolin rail,
cannibalized hammers and keys, a tambourine stick, magnet strips and a junkyard cymbal...among many others!
a violin bow, shot glasses, wire brushes, timpani mallets, picture wire, scrap wood, a homemade bottle cap mandolin rail,
cannibalized hammers and keys, a tambourine stick, magnet strips and a junkyard cymbal...among many others!
You can find a lot more info about many of these projects at my sister website, jenniferwrightpianostudio.com!