Notes from a Studio
This is an online journal where I share thoughts about topics related to music as well as
discussing my ongoing Zen meditation practice as it relates to the art of music.
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Enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts and suggestions for further entries
peter@petergach.com
#3
February 2026
An Impromptu Concert in Mexico City and a Confirmation of the Power of Live Music
I recently completed a week-long intensive Spanish course in Mexico City, my first visit there. I, along with the other students, were housed in a small hotel in the Polanco District of this enormous, vibrant, art-filled city. When I entered the hotel, I noticed a grand piano, about 6 feet in length, in the lobby. Pianos in hotel lobbies are usually there as an object of display, evidenced by the fact that on this one stood a tall vase of flowers, as well as some local magazines and newspapers, artfully arranged. I asked one of the staff who could play on it, and they said anyone could. I left it at that.
As the classes began, and people got to know one another, my being a pianist was, as usual, of interest - everyone assuming that I travelled the world giving concerts, playing with symphonies, etc. etc. – the usual stereotype of the life of a concert pianist (and in fact the reality of only a tiny, tiny elite at the ‘top’ of the profession.) And as usual, my fellow students began asking if I would play for them. I have learned over the years that being asked to play on any piano without first trying it out can be a recipe for disaster. A grand
piano used as a platform for the display of flowers is usually not the most positive sign of a piano that has been well maintained, and ready to convey all the nuances of the music performed on it. In fact, during a meeting with one of the instructors who also happened to be a musician, I was told that it was out of tune and in bad shape. This, plus my own previous experiences with good-looking but awful-sounding pianos was enough to allow me to hope the subject would be dropped by my fellow Spanish language learners.
The urging didn’t stop, however, and finally one day I decided to try the piano out to see if it was at least playable. When I opened the fallboard (the hinged lid that covers the keys) I found, to my pleasant surprise, that the piano was a Chickering – a piano made in the US between 1823 and 1983, and considered by many to be a piano that surpassed the New York Steinway in the beauty of its tone. And my own encounters with Chickering pianos in the past confirmed this. With that in mind, I sat down and played the First Prelude in C
Major from the WTC Book 1 of Bach. And, as always, I was impressed by the beauty of the piano’s tone – a warm, round yet clear sound. Unfortunately, the piano was terribly out of tune. To make matters worse, even though all the keys worked (something not always guaranteed) the ‘e’ and octave and a half above middle c (and right in the range where most melodies are located for the right hand) was badly regulated, so that when that key was played, it sounded not only the ‘e’ but also the ‘d-sharp’ directly below it, thus creating a
unpleasant minor-second dissonance - certainly no help in shaping a melody in that frequently used part of the piano!
With that in mind, I finished the Prelude, closed the lid, and hoped that if I kept quiet, the other students would forget about the fact that I was a pianist and we could skip the agony of playing and hearing a poor, neglected piano, however elegantly toned. Unfortunately, this was not to be the case. At the end of the week, each of the 10 members of the class gave a short presentation in both Spanish and English. Afterwards, the class coordinator announced, “And now we’ll go downstairs to the lobby and hear Peter play!” Being a ‘grizzled professional’ as I like to call myself, and having been in similar situations in the past, I thought that I could get by with playing just one piece, everyone would be satisfied, and we could all get on with going out to dinner.
I decided to play Dance by my good friend and composer William Bradbury. It’s a lovely work, with a gentle repeated rhythm in the left hand which allows the right hand to weave a series of embroidered lines in a hypnotic evocation of a scene somewhat reminiscent of whirling dervishes. When I finished the audience gathered around the piano in the lobby – some 20 people in all, students of the class, their friends, the instructors and some hotel staff - applauded wildly and demanded another piece. With the enthusiastic
encouragement of their applause, as well as appreciating the somewhat hidden but enticing beauty of this neglected Chickering, I decided to hazard Debussy’s Claire de lune – always a crowd pleaser, and one that I hoped would satisfy my listeners. Again, I finished to wild applause, shouts of Bravo! and Encore! What to do? I launched into the Etude in B-flat minor by Karol Szymanowski (Op.4 No. 3) an early work of his, full of late romantic hyperbole, but nonetheless beautifully written. Again, wild applause, shouts of Bravo, etc.​​​
Three pieces were, I felt, quite enough. I was playing from memory, not having practiced (as I was busy all day with the class and rehearsal in the middle of a hotel lobby was not feasible) and, except for the brief tryout of the Bach Prelude, playing completely ‘cold’ on a neglected, out of tune piano with a ‘cracked’ note right in the melodic range of the piano. After the Szymanowski, I stood to the side of the piano in a way that signaled that the little concert was over. Now, maybe we could all get to dinner.
Then something astonishing happened.
People began coming up to me, hugging me and with tears in their eyes thanked me for playing. This was beyond being unexpected. There was nothing in my experience as a performer that would have allowed me to anticipate such enthusiasm and outpouring of gratitude after an impromptu, unrehearsed performance on a neglected piano.
Given our 21st century mania for recording everything on our cell phones, I received videos of the performance from some of my fellow students. I could barely listen to even a few seconds of the performance. The piano was so out of tune that listening to the recording was like sucking on a lemon! What were my listeners responding to?
It took me a few days after returning home from Mexico City to fully absorb the experience and to understand what had happened. As one of my musical colleagues explained to me, the response from the listeners was perfectly natural. Hearing live music, even in those challenging circumstances, reached deeply into the souls of those listening. In our over-mediated, hyper-curated and saturated screen environment, having someone simply sit down and communicate beautiful music spoke in a way so beyond words and images that something magic happened. I don’t credit this to any particular powers or talent I have as a pianist (although 60+ years of performing and practicing have certainly prepared me to respond to almost any musical circumstance) but to that unique conjunction of composer+performer+listener that reaches deep into human experience.
It is a magic that can transcend culture, language and yes, badly maintained pianos (however lovely their
potential.)
It has once again renewed my faith in the power of music, and in my own vocation to be the
very best artist I can be, regardless of the circumstances. And for that I am grateful.
Previous Notes From a Studio
#2 December 2025
#1 September 2025