Unfortunately, I had to come to terms with the fact that, every time I want to write music, I’m at the piano. And while I’m prepared to consider sharing my brain with something other than a piano, it shouldn’t require more money than I care to part with and, as Cameron Carpenter says, a debate-ridden crew of experts to schlep it around.
I didn’t have the time to do justice to the Rodgers, so it’s been rehomed at this nice place where I fervently hope that some fascinated kid pushes down a few keys and feels the same sudden jolt to the insides that I got when I first set eyes on a piano and realized what possibilities lay in it.
I won’t lie, though — part of my discomfort with it was the knowledge that I had a beast in my apartment that, although it fit fine, was still well in excess of 600lbs and had caused two experienced piano movers to quail in fear and almost herniate themselves getting it in. (One of them dubbed it the “hardest move I’ve ever done.”) I’m the sort of person who prefers an unencumbered life, to put it bluntly, and the thing made me feel claustrophobic. I detest owning enormous objects, and the largest and heaviest single home item I own currently is my couch.
I owned a dining room table once. It was awful.
I’ve spent the last few weeks agonizing over how the hell I was going to get it out of my life; the sort of people who can play a Rodgers 820 Alexandria are generally the sort of people who are currently drooling over VPOs and are not interested in a late 70s/early 80s electronic organ that weighs over a quarter ton. And it was too large for your typical municipal “bulky item” pickup service by far. (Not only that, but I disliked the idea of chucking something that still worked in the dump.)
That service did however put me in touch with the folks mentioned above, who have installed the thing in their shop where it is currently beguiling people, making them very happy by its presence and me very happy by its absence.
No more behemoths in my space. I’m the kind of person who imagines retiring to one of these things with a welcome mat in front of the door and shotgun propped up behind it.
If I can’t lift it, I don’t want it.
BTW, this isn’t an April Fool’s post. I feel like a dick for having “jilted” one of the noblest devices on Earth: a musical instrument. It’s really gone.