A Remarkable Piano Tuner Recollected by George Wilson

DO piano tuners get applause? After years of training, maybe one in fifty is good enough to tune a concert grand piano; they enter a deserted, silent hall on the afternoon of the concert, do their job, and leave often with a sore head. But they leave a piano fit for a king. Unless there is something wrong with the tuning, few of us will think about the tuner during or after the concert. Yet something close to a miracle has occurred, involving tons of force, the most delicate listening and an uncanny ability to predict how any given piano will react to the situation. Ive been lucky in that, for the last twenty-five years, my piano has been cared for by Al Edmondson both a fabulous tuner and a superb technician. For the first thirty-five years of my life, however, the only tuner for me was Tommy Kenney. His ears were second -to -none and he could work magic with even a mediocre piano. I dont want to remember the period in the wilderness that separated these two artists of dedication and genius. Tommy Kenney was as much part of my childhood as the family or the neighbours. That the piano got tuned at his convenience rather than ours was a constant source of irritation to my Mum - and of amusement - to my Dad. Tommy would appear unheralded on the doorstep with his bag, to be greeted by my Mum (mock indignation) with Well, where do you think youve been? He would just stand and smile knowing that no other tuner would have a look-in anyway. Tommy would set to work without delay, removing the outside of the upright and getting any technical adjustments sorted out before he began tuning. Once he started, I was allowed to sit in, provided I was totally silent. Then, break- time, and, over a cup of tea and a cigarette, he would relax. This was the moment I loved, for he would recount the most wonderful tales of pianists and pianos. He would talk of his own childhood and apprenticeship at Pattersons in Buchanan Street, Glasgow after the First World War. In his first month there the boss gave him an old piano and told him to clean the rust from the steel strings. After a few days of this Tommy said to his boss youre trying to sicken me arent you? But you wont - I AM going to be a piano tuner. This turned out to be the correct reponse and he never looked back. During the Second World War he was drafted into the Royal Navy where his excellent ear was put to use in the signals. He talked with some horror of his time in Africa where he contracted the dreaded Chinese foot-rot! His childhood had been overshadowed by a perfectionist German father who, apparently, rejected Tommy. This may have been part of the reason for Tommys extremely dark humour. Although he was great company, Tommy did not like to be crossed and I once heard him express the hope that one of his antagonists would get arthritis and St Vitus dance at the same time Tommy talked entertainingly of tuning for the Russian virtuoso, Vladimir be Pachman, during his tours to Scotland. Pachmans bizarre stage manner was legendary although his performances of Chopin were much admired during the twenties. He is said to have come on stage and complained about the height of the piano stool. The stage manager appeared with a phone directory. Pachman put it on the stool, sat down and shook his head, stood up, tore out one page and taking his place again with a satisfied smile would burst into the first number.

One of Tommys memories of Pachman was of tuning for him in St Andrews Hall in Glasgow. Pachman declared that he would like to sit in while Tommy did the pre-concert tuning. Tommy, being completely at ease with his own ability, was perfectly happy with this. When Tommy came to tuning the treble octaves, however, Pachman intervened and called sharper! Tommy was surprised but thought ok its your recital. As he went up the scale, on each note Pachman would cry No sharper! By the end of the tuning Tommy was horrified as the octaves at the top were more like minor 9ths. Pachman made sure that Tommy had a seat in the front row for the packed concert and when he took his bow, he winked at Tommy and proceeded to play a complete programme of pieces that didnt use a single octave in the treble but used lots of brilliant scale passages. Tommy was astonished that the piano sounded brilliant and Pachmans instincts had been right. There was rapturous applause and Tommys reputation was safe! No time spent in the company of Tommy was normal. He had inherited the perfectionist gene from his father and obsessively put it to the service of tuning pianos, and everything he did or said was connected to his vocation. Even his occasional bouts of inebriation were, I am sure, in part to escape from the cross he had chosen to bear. Once, after hed visited for a tuning and Id missed him, I found this note on the piano -

Tommy Kenney stood at the Pearly gates. His face was worn and old As he stood before the man of fate, For entry to the fold. What have you done? St Peter asked, To gain and entry here. Ive tuned pianos, Sir, he said, for many and many a year. The Pearly gates flew open wide As St. Peter pressed the bell, Come in and choose your harp he said, For youve had your share of hell!