It is perhaps self-evident to note that playing the piano is an entirely different proposition than, say, playing the violin. Whereas a violin fits snugly into a carrying case and is transportable at the owner’s whim, there is a whole profession dedicated just to transporting pianos—and it usually can’t be done without a couple of burly movers, a rolling contraption and some hefty dents in the soundboard. As a result, few college students truck their family-room spinets anywhere at all, let alone to their schools of choice. Their desire to continue fostering their piano skills is left at the mercy of their institutions of higher learning.
For uninitiated Harvard-bound pianists, freshman fall is a time of glorious expectation. With starry eyes, they dream of the magnificent pianos that could be purchased with the change in the cushions of Harvard’s mighty endowment. And then they realize that the battered and discordant Yamaha upright in the basement of Wigglesworth D is not just a temporary measure.
In terms of pianos, Harvard suffers more from a lack of quality than a lack of quantity. During off-peak hours, an upright is almost always available at the Paine Music Building, and nine out of 10 times one can find a grand piano not in use. But Paine, located behind the Science Center, is quite a trek from the River Houses and even farther from the Quad. Its hours are miserly, especially on weekends, and its grand pianos tend to be far less than grand. Although the Houses have practice facilities of their own, they often contain few rooms dedicated to keyboard practice, and their pianos are perpetually out of tune. Even the illustrious concert grand in the Eliot House tower—donated by Leonard Bernstein no less—needs serious reworking.
If you don’t play the piano, these complaints may seem a bit wistful and irrelevant; Harvard, after all, is not a conservatory. Even though the undergraduate population has its share of virtuosi, they choose Harvard over Julliard or Curtis because they are looking for a well-rounded education. Music concentrators focus on theory, composition and history—not on the art of performance—and some of the best musicians choose to concentrate in something other than music.
But just as Harvard is not a conservatory, is it also not a sports camp. The University provides athletic facilities because physical fitness, like musical appreciation, is an integral part of a well-rounded lifestyle. Elaborate equipment and expensive gyms are not essential for fitness—a pair of sneakers would probably suffice—but those amenities certainly help. They foster a culture of physical health and make exercise convenient and accessible.
In much the same way, a pristine baby grand in every entryway would foster a culture of musical appreciation. Think of how many people you know have given up playing the piano since arriving in Cambridge, no doubt partly because of the inconvenience of finding a halfway decent one. Before the University spends millions of dollars renovating the MAC, it should budget funds to upgrade its stodgy pianos, to buy some new ones and to keep those it already owns consistently in tune. If you have seen the mile-long list of a capella groups, it should be clear how desperate the plight of instrumental music at Harvard has become.
—Evan J. Lushing
