The Making of a Steinway Grand Piano, From Start to Finish

Hen­ry Engel­hard Stein­way, a Ger­man immi­grant, found­ed Stein­way & Sons in 1853, in a loft locat­ed at 85 Var­ick Street in New York City. With­in a decade, Stein­way pianos were win­ning major awards and find­ing them­selves in high demand. By 1900, fac­to­ries in New York and Ham­burg, Ger­many were pro­duc­ing 3,500 hand-craft­ed pianos per year, rough­ly the same num­ber being made today. Then, as now, each Stein­way grand piano took a year to build, and it involved the work of many skilled crafts­peo­ple.

Sev­er­al decades ago, John H. Stein­way (the great-grand­son of Hen­ry E. Stein­way) nar­rat­ed an audio tour of the New York fac­to­ry, where he described the gen­er­a­tions-old process of mak­ing a Stein­way grand piano.

In 2011 Ben Niles, the pro­duc­er behind the doc­u­men­tary film Note by Note, synced the audio tour with present-day footage of the Stein­way fac­to­ry, giv­ing us a glimpse of what goes into mak­ing the piano played by Arthur Rubin­stein in the vin­tage footage below. Here Rubin­stein plays an excerpt from “Rhap­sody on a Theme of Pagani­ni” by Sergei Rach­mani­noff.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Does the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Piano Sound Like? Watch Pianist Give a Per­for­mance on a 1720 Cristo­fori Piano

Ital­ian Pianist Ludovi­co Ein­au­di Plays a Grand Piano While Float­ing in the Mid­dle of the Arc­tic Ocean

Acclaimed Japan­ese Jazz Pianist Yōsuke Yamashita Plays a Burn­ing Piano on the Beach

 

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Pussy Riot Releases First Video in a Year, Taking on Russian Oil Profits and Other High-Profile Targets

Russ­ian punk per­for­mance art col­lec­tive Pussy Riot will not be deterred. Despite two of their mem­bers still lan­guish­ing in prison labor camps for a musi­cal protest in Moscow’s Cathe­dral of Christ the Sav­ior, the band con­tin­ues to rail against its country’s cor­rup­tion and abus­es. This time, in their first music video in almost a year, they take on the Russ­ian oil indus­try and oth­er tar­gets in the song above called “Like in a Red Prison.” The Wall Street Jour­nal writes:

The con­fus­ing and caus­tic lyrics to the hard-to-lis­ten-to song decry sex­ism, “homo­pho­bic ver­min,” actor Ger­ard Depar­dieu (a recent recip­i­ent of Russ­ian cit­i­zen­ship cour­tesy of Mr. Putin), and likens Russia’s pres­i­dent to the Aya­tol­lah of Iran.

I don’t find the song hard to lis­ten to at all—quite the contrary—and the video’s pret­ty exhil­a­rat­ing too, with the band mem­bers, in trade­mark mul­ti-col­ored bal­a­clavas, clam­ber­ing atop an oil der­rick and defac­ing a por­trait of oil exec­u­tive Igor Sechin and a head of the Inves­tiga­tive Com­mit­tee (Russia’s FBI). Def­i­nite­ly a lot going on here, but the cen­tral focus is the cri­tique of Russ­ian big oil. The band explains on their site that “Russia’s rev­enues from the oil indus­try amount­ed to 7 tril­lion rubles ($216 bil­lion), but only Russ­ian Pres­i­dent Vladimir Putin and ‘sev­er­al of his friend see this’” [sic].  The new song’s lyrics were part­ly writ­ten by one of the still-impris­oned mem­bers, Nadezh­da Tolokon­niko­va.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Russ­ian Punk Band, Sen­tenced to Two Years in Prison for Derid­ing Putin, Releas­es New Sin­gle

Fear of a Female Plan­et: Kim Gor­don (Son­ic Youth) on Why Rus­sia and the US Need a Pussy Riot

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Real Value of a Guitar

True sto­ry — back in 2010 I bought a Mar­tin D‑28 from (gulp) Gui­tar Cen­ter. The sales­man rushed me out of the store and did­n’t both­er to tune the gui­tar, let alone set it up prop­er­ly. When I got home, I felt imme­di­ate buy­er’s remorse — remorse not that I had bought the Mar­tin, but that I had­n’t bought it from the best lit­tle gui­tar shop in the San Fran­cis­co Bay area, Gryphon Strings. The next day, I did the right thing. I returned the Mar­tin to GC and re-bought the same gui­tar from Gryphon. I lost a few bucks in the process. But the gui­tar was set up just right. And I felt unbur­dened. Les­son learned.

Nowa­days, I stop by Gryphon week­ly for lessons and occa­sion­al sali­va­tion ses­sions, and I get to see first­hand what this video by Cin­e­ma Mer­can­tile lets you see all too briefly. The care, craft and emo­tion (note the poignant chin quiver at the 2:22 mark) that goes into work­ing with gui­tars … if you’re doing it for the right rea­sons. In Sil­i­con Val­ley, there are very few places where busi­ness isn’t the main rea­son for being. Gryphon offers a good escape from that some­times soul-dead­en­ing real­i­ty. That’s why I will be head­ing back there tomor­row.

You can find two more short films by Cin­e­ma Mer­can­tile here.

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of the Gui­tar: The Com­plete Three-Part Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Mak­ing a Fla­men­co Gui­tar: 299 Hours of Blood, Sweat & Tears Expe­ri­enced in 3 Min­utes

Mak­ing Fend­er Gui­tars, Then (1959) and Now (2012)

The Joy of Mak­ing Artis­tic Home­made Gui­tars

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Rare Print of Censored 1972 Rolling Stones Concert Film Cocksucker Blues Goes on Sale for £25,000

In 1971, The Rolling Stones record­ed their mas­ter­ful dou­ble album Exile on Main Street, under some fab­u­lous cir­cum­stances in the south of France. That same year, they embarked on their first Amer­i­can tour since the 1969 dis­as­ter at Alta­mont tar­nished their brand. Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Frank was there to film it all, and I mean all, with cam­eras back­stage and every­where else, wield­ed by band mem­bers, groupies, and road­ies. The result­ing film, Cock­suck­er Blues (short clip above)—named after an equal­ly elu­sive and deca­dent unre­leased sin­gle—was embar­goed by the band, banned by cen­sors, and only shown in 1979 and then only once every five years there­after, with Frank present, under a strange agree­ment nego­ti­at­ed with much legal wran­gling by Frank, the band, and the courts.

The film’s depic­tion of drug use and debauch­ery is to be expect­ed, but it’s an arti­fact that deserves to be seen on oth­er grounds as well, and it has been by many in boot­leg ver­sions cir­cu­lat­ing for decades. Don DeLil­lo made a point­ed ref­er­ence to the film in the fourth sec­tion of his Great Amer­i­can Nov­el ™, Under­world, and as one of the few crit­ics to review the film has said, it’s a movie as much about late 20th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca as about the Rolling Stones, “a far truer pic­ture of the USA than any­thing else Frank ever did.” Now, British rare book­seller Peter Har­ring­ton has obtained one of the few qual­i­ty prints of the film and offers it for sale for 25,000 pounds. On the Peter Har­ring­ton web­site, writer Glenn Mitchell cites Ter­ry Southern’s remem­brance of Kei­th Richard’s response to the film. When Robert Frank explained to Richards his idea by say­ing, “it’s vérité,” Richards appar­ent­ly respond­ed, “nev­er mind vérité, I want poet­ry.” “Maybe,” writes Mitchell, “they both got what they want­ed.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gimme Shel­ter: Watch the Clas­sic Doc­u­men­tary of the Rolling Stones’ Dis­as­trous Con­cert at Alta­mont

Jean-Luc Godard Cap­tures The Rolling Stones Record­ing “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il” (1968)

Watch Phish Play All of The Rolling Stones’ Clas­sic Album, Exile on Main Street, Live in Con­cert

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s … John Lydon in a Butter Commercial?

A few days ago we post­ed an exple­tive-laced let­ter that John Lydon, for­mer­ly known as “John­ny Rot­ten,” faxed to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006 to make it clear that the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of the Sex Pis­tols would have noth­ing to do with their induc­tion. “We’re not your mon­key,” he wrote. At least one read­er felt edi­fied. “Thanks JR,” he said, “for not sell­ing out.”

So we thought it would be a fun time to bring back Lydon’s 2008 com­mer­cial for Coun­try Life But­ter. The ad, which report­ed­ly net­ted Lydon a cool $8 mil­lion, plays on the incon­gruity between two very British things: the icon­ic punk rock­er and a rather bucol­ic-sound­ing brand of but­ter. The com­mer­cial places Lydon in a series of unchar­ac­ter­is­tic sit­u­a­tions — read­ing the news­pa­per in a gen­tle­men’s smok­ing room, wav­ing the Union Jack as the Queen’s motor­cade goes by, run­ning from cows in the Eng­lish coun­try­side — as he says to the view­er, “Do I buy Coun­try Life But­ter because it’s British?” Do I buy Coun­try Life because I yearn for the British coun­try­side? Or because it’s made only from British milk? Nah. I buy Coun­try Life because I think it’s the best.”

Lydon drew a great deal of crit­i­cism for his deci­sion to appear in the ad, but he has been stead­fast­ly unapolo­getic. “The advert was for a British prod­uct,” he told The Sun last year. “All Britain. Fan­tas­tic. We don’t seem to believe in our­selves as a coun­try any more. And I found great empa­thy with that. Plus it was the most mad­dest thing to con­sid­er doing. I thought it was very anar­chic of the dairy com­pa­ny to want to attach them­selves to me. And they treat­ed me with the utmost respect and I love them for­ev­er as it all allowed me to set up my record label and put out this record.”

Lydon was refer­ring to This Is PiL, the first album in 20 years from his post-punk band Pub­lic Image Ltd. He report­ed­ly used some of the mon­ey from the com­mer­cial to bring the group back togeth­er for rehearsals, record the album and launch their 2012 tour. “The mon­ey,” he said, “got us out of no end of trou­bles.” And any­way, Lydon has always had a sense of humor when it comes to the finan­cial demands of life. His 1996 reunion with the Sex Pis­tols was offi­cial­ly named the “Filthy Lucre Tour.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock: A Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Punk, MOCA’s Series of Punk Doc­u­men­taries, Begins with Black Flag

Mal­colm McLaren on The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Punk Meets High Fash­ion in Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Exhi­bi­tionPUNK: Chaos to Cou­ture

Selling Cool: Lou Reed’s Classic Honda Scooter Commercial, 1984

In the ear­ly 1980s the Hon­da Motor Com­pa­ny was try­ing to get peo­ple to think of its new Hon­da Elite scoot­ers as a cool way of get­ting around. To that end, the com­pa­ny enlist­ed a series of celebri­ties, includ­ing Miles Davis, Grace Jones and Devo, to appear in its ad cam­paign. The most notable piece in the cam­paign, by far, was a one-minute TV com­mer­cial in 1984 star­ring for­mer Vel­vet Under­ground front­man Lou Reed.

The film was shot in what was then a very rough-and-tum­ble Low­er East Side of Man­hat­tan. Direc­tor Steve Horn, hired by the Port­land, Ore­gon-based agency Wieden & Kennedy, under­ex­posed and overde­vel­oped the film to give it a grainy, doc­u­men­tary appear­ance. Edi­tor Lawrence Bridges, well-known for his work on Michael Jack­son’s “Beat It” video, was hired to piece it all togeth­er.

Bridges found the task of set­ting the images to Reed’s clas­sic 1972 song “Walk on the Wild Side” extreme­ly daunt­ing. The idea of using that song in a com­mer­cial seemed like a sac­ri­lege. “The gen­er­a­tion being adver­tised to at that point was prob­a­bly the most cyn­i­cal and sus­pi­cious toward the medi­um to date,” writes Bridges at Vimeo, “and, more­over, I had this mon­u­men­tal piece of music that I had to hon­or. For me, the answer was to make it into an ‘under­ground’ film.”

Bridges used tech­niques he had learned from French New Wave films and that he had exper­i­ment­ed with in MTV videos. “I got to work and used the junk cuts,” says Bridges, “includ­ing flash frames and run outs and whip pans that would nor­mal­ly end up being left on the floor for an assis­tant to clean up. I did all the things I’d done in music videos, like tak­ing a shot and divid­ing it ran­dom­ly in jump cuts, and all oth­er man­ner of post-pro­duc­tion tech­niques we used in music videos when we had less footage than the length of the actu­al video.”

When it was fin­ished, Bridges and his col­leagues arranged a meet­ing with a mar­ket­ing man­ag­er from Hon­da. It was a nerve-rack­ing encounter.  “The client was a very shrewd, prac­ti­cal per­son and I knew that he was averse to con­spic­u­ous­ly dar­ing cre­ative work,” says Bridges. “This grit­ty, almost avant-garde spot, set in pre-gen­tri­fied Low­er Man­hat­tan with every art film trope you could imag­ine might have put con­sid­er­able demands on his charm.” Instead, Bridges recalls, when the com­mer­cial was fin­ished play­ing the man from Hon­da broke the ten­sion by say­ing, “We need to be THAT scoot­er com­pa­ny.”

The spot made a huge splash on Madi­son Avenue. Its influ­ence could be seen all over the next gen­er­a­tion of com­mer­cials. But it did­n’t sell many scoot­ers. “For all its impact on the adver­tis­ing indus­try,” writes Ran­dall Rothen­berg in Where the Suck­ers Moon: The Life and Death of an Adver­tis­ing Cam­paign, “the Lou Reed com­mer­cial did lit­tle for Hon­da. Young Amer­i­cans had lit­tle inter­est in scoot­ers, no mat­ter how hip they were made out to be.”

NOTE: To see some of the ear­li­er scoot­er ads cre­at­ed for Hon­da by the Los Ange­les-based Dai­ley & Asso­ciates, you can fol­low these links: DevoMiles DavisGrace Jones and Adam Ant.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

Fellini’s Fan­tas­tic TV Com­mer­cials

Ing­mar Bergman’s Soap Com­mer­cials Wash Away the Exis­ten­tial Despair

Johnny Rotten’s Cordial Letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pistols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

johnny rotten hall of fame

The Sex Pis­tols cer­tain­ly weren’t the first to balk at show­ing up to receive a tro­phy at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induc­tion cer­e­mo­ny. They were, how­ev­er, notable for the style in which they declined to attend. When word came in ear­ly 2006 that the Pis­tols would be induct­ed, the band’s singer John Lydon, whose stage name was “John­ny Rot­ten,” faxed the Hall of Fame a hand­writ­ten note. “Next to the SEX-PISTOLS rock and roll and that hall of fame is a piss stain,” wrote Lydon. “Your muse­um. Urine in wine. Were not com­ing. Were not your mon­key and so what?” You can read the rest above, or watch below as a bemused Jann Wen­ner, co-founder of the muse­um, reads the let­ter out loud dur­ing the cer­e­mo­ny.

via Let­ters of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock: A Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Punk, MOCA’s Series of Punk Doc­u­men­taries, Begins with Black Flag

Mal­colm McLaren on The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Punk Meets High Fash­ion in Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Exhi­bi­tion PUNK: Chaos to Cou­ture

The Grateful Dead’s “Ultimate Bootleg” Now Online & Added to the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry

dead barton hall

I have known many a Dead­head, and I’ve loved ‘em—friends and friends of friends; I’ve hung out in park­ing lots, at par­ties and camp­sites, and done what ‘Heads do in such gath­er­ings. And yet, to para­phrase St. Paul, I was in the scene but not of it, nev­er one of the faith­ful, just a hang­er-on in a world that bemused me, lis­ten­ing to music whose intense appeal I didn’t quite get. Don’t get me wrong; I thought the first album was a coun­try-rock clas­sic. But that’s where my Dead knowl­edge end­ed. Of the two six­ties bands who both once called them­selves The Warlocks—The Dead and The Vel­vet Underground—my psy­che­del­ic tastes ran decid­ed­ly in the East Coast direc­tion.

So I’m prob­a­bly as far as it gets from an expert on the labyrinthine world of Grate­ful Dead bootlegs. But I have to admit, just like the park­ing lot scene the young, aloof me observed through the eyes of my old hip­pie friends, I’m intrigued and a lit­tle intim­i­dat­ed by the obses­sive cat­a­logu­ing of Dead­head fan­dom.

My teenage punk-rock self admired the DIY ethos, despite seri­ous styl­is­tic mis­giv­ings, and now as a grown-up who couldn’t care less about labels, I’m find­ing the time to go back and re-lis­ten to some of those boot­leg record­ings. I’m catch­ing up on the his­to­ry of live Dead by read­ing Nick Paumgarten’s exhaus­tive “Dead­head: The After­life” arti­cle in The New York­er, and luck­i­ly for me, and for the real fans too, the days of trad­ing tapes are gone. Hun­dreds of hours of live con­cert audio now exist in the Inter­net Archive.

One of those con­cert recordings—the May 8, 1977 Bar­ton Hall/Cornell Uni­ver­si­ty gig avail­able above in its entirety—is said by some to be the “ulti­mate boot­leg.” I’m in no posi­tion to judge, so I’ll quote the Library of Congress’s Nation­al Record­ing Reg­istry, who write that this record­ing “has achieved almost myth­ic sta­tus among ‘Dead­head’ tape traders because of its excel­lent sound qual­i­ty and ear­ly acces­si­bil­i­ty.” The LOC also points out that “fans of the Grate­ful Dead will nev­er com­plete­ly agree about which one of their over 2,300 con­certs was the best.” Debates like this can, and should, go on for­ev­er. If they didn’t, whole sub­cul­tures would shriv­el up and die. The arm­chair anthro­pol­o­gist in me thinks that would be a shame. The music fan (and inner hip­pie) in me is hap­py to groove to what­ev­er catch­es my fan­cy these days, and I’m get­ting down to this one, for sure.

Note: You can find more infor­ma­tion on the Bar­ton Hall/Cornell con­cert here. And here you can find 13 essen­tial bootlegs select­ed by Nick Paum­garten, com­plete with links to audio from the con­certs.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

8,976 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive, Explored by the New York­er

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

The Grate­ful Dead Rock the Nation­al Anthem at Can­dle­stick Park: Open­ing Day, 1993

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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