The Digital Upright Piano Project--a "Functional Intermediate"

This has been a great project. While I still have a few things to do to really "finish" this thing, for now it's at a point where I could roll it into the house and set it up (and get it out of my shop!).

One question that came up in the process was, "why would you take on a project like that?" My first answer is, "why not?" But a more complete answer is this: as we all look forward to the future our kids will have, we need to look at things we are going to throw away, like an old piano, as either materials for new projects, or as a restorable resource. It's also useful to look at it in the same way you might look at restoring a classic car or a home from the early 1900s--it's a productive hobby with a beautiful product as the goal. It's a way to breathe new life into something that was probably headed to the landfill or the fireplace. Philosophy aside, this post details how I built in the functionality I though I'd need for my home music studio space. 

After getting down to the empty case,

I cut, chiseled, scraped, filled, sanded, scrubbed, wire-brushed, shop-vac'ed and cleaned. I purchased and installed new casters from Piano Showcase Online (they have a huge selection or replacement piano parts). It rolls MUCH more smoothly now, and is much more stable with 4 casters instead of the 3 it had.

I put strips of 1/4" birch plywood between the large posts (I wanted the posts to be visible and needed the depth for some of my bigger songbooks and 3-ring binders), used 3/4" birch plywood for the "floor," and mounted pieces of cherry veneered MDF (which my wife found years ago at a yard sale) on the sides to bring the insides flush with the trim and enable opening/closing of the bottom flap (here the flap is open).

The upper shelf is more or less temporary, but for now will hold my speakers, recording interface, a mixer, and a computer. The shelf supports were made from pieces of the piano guts.

The upper arrangement will probably change. Part of rolling it into the house is to determine what will ultimately fit my needs.

For a more "authentic" look & feel, I set up the damper (right-hand) pedal on the piano to actuate the sustain function on the keyboard. I dismantled the plastic pedal that came with the keyboard, removed the switch, and installed it under the piano's pedal. The pedals had a bunch of holes drilled in them, making installation of a post (a screw, actually) to actuate the switch relatively easy. A fairly stiff spring was placed underneath the pedal arm to return the pedal to the "up" position. The other pedals were "fixed" in place and are currently just there for looks. I made a removable cover so I can go in and add some function to the other pedals later on, if desired. This picture is taken more or less from the top.

The front plate below the keyboard tray needed a hinge and a method to slide it back out of the way. I took two of the maple rods from the guts of the piano and transformed them into slides for the flap.

 I fabricated pins for the slides from two of the screws that held the cast iron harp in place; I basically just ground the heads of the screws down to the diameter I needed and brushed them smooth. Here's the flap closed.

I wanted to rig the upper panel the same way, but there wasn't enough room in the carcase for the panel to slide inside very far. I'm still debating about what to do; I may make it so it slides straight up, but for now it'll just be removable (basically I'm going to leave it alone). There was a really cool, really simple mechanism that linked tilting the upper panel with opening the key cover. Since the key cover had to go, I just changed the mechanism so that I can still actuate it, but from the front with a lever (for now). Here's a close-up, which is the inside left of the piano between the upper shelf and keyboard shelf.

I finished all the shelves and plywood that I installed with rub-on polyurethane to stand up to wear & tear. Rub-on poly is my current favorite finish. It's easy to use, easy to clean up, goes on in thin,  controllable coats, and dries relatively quickly so I can get multiple coats on in a single day.

Here's the "studio" in the house with most of the equipment installed and the upper front panel removed.

The cords and headphones are hanging on some of the pegs that once held the strings. There were more than 225 of these things. It's great pegboard. Ultimately I plan to have a dedicated keyboard for this piano, but for now I'll move my gigging piano in and out.

And here is the piano case with all the remaining covers closed.

As with most projects, there were a few things that I didn't anticipate. Moving it into the house was more difficult than I thought it'd be. The depth of the piano is ~28 1/2", leaving about 1/4" on each side as we squeezed it through the doorway between the garage and the house. We needed a straight shot, which necessitated moving a few things around (and cleaning) in the garage. The next several days will be spent sorting the garage back out.

Another problem is that the digital piano is a good 2-3" thicker than the keybed that I removed, and the piano sits a bit too high to play comfortably for long periods of time. I'll need to create a recess in the keyboard shelf for the digital to sit down in before I can start teaching lessons to little kids with this set-up. Or I'll need to find an organ bench.


An unanticipated bonus is the resonance that I get inside the wooden case, even through the 5 1/2" speakers I currently have. I had bring the bass and low-mid down and boost the high-mid and high, but it sounds really good. I could even feel the sound resonating while I was playing the last few days.

Next steps, eventually, maybe:
- re-do the keyboard shelf
- a couple trim pieces need to be installed
- connection box that houses all the hook-ups (audio, USB, power, etc) to ease switching keyboards and hooking up for recording
- main power switch and wired outlets in a few places
- retractable upper front panel (instead of removable)
- better way to tilt the upper front panel
- multiple positions/angles for upper shelf (in the likely event I want a 2nd keyboard there) and/or multiple upper shelves/cubbies/drawers
- dedicated keyboard (at that point I'll also install the wooden spacers between the case and the keys)
- larger speakers (more bass response)
- possibly, functionality for the other pedals (on/off switch? soft? expression?)
- other projects with the odds and ends that I took out of the thing.

Oh, and if you have any ideas for what to do with a gigantic cast iron harp, other than scrap, please let me know!

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

Recent Small Projects and Deep Thoughts

I made a bunch of these Altoids tin fly boxes, just in time for the ol' holidays:

The idea of the Altoids tin fly box is not new, but this is a slightly classier version. I rendered a bitmap from a photograph (or, in non-tech-speak, I drew the stencil) in Inkscape (a good freeware graphics program), cut it out on a laser cutter, applied it in enamel (black fingernail polish) with a stenciling brush, and coated the lid with a spray-on acrylic clear-coat to protect the image. The ripple foam was a "boat patch" that I purchased a while back and cut down to fit the tins. It came pre-glued with rubber cement and sticks nicely. The boxes came from Specialty Bottle, though I'll probably recycle tins for future boxes and charge a bit less. I have these kits for sale at Warm Hearts Yarn in White Rock with a selection of flies (tied by me) for local waters. At this point I should also plug Bill Orr and Karen Denison's book, Fly Patterns of Northern New Mexico as the source of the fly patterns in this collection. Look for it at your local bookstore, or heck, find Bill at the Los Alamos Farmer's Market next summer (that's where I bought my copy!).

SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT: I tie flies quite a bit, and I'm reasonably good at it. If there's a fly or a set of flies you're dying to try and don't want to drive to Santa Fe to buy, give me a shout. I'll do custom orders.  I'm also planning a tying class or two for early spring, say March-ish, again in White Rock.

My wife and I just pulled the trigger on a new sewing machine, something we've been saving for for quite a while. The most important feature we were looking for: sewing in a straight line with minimal input (our ol' Pfaff has a broken feed dog). We're looking forward to yards and yards of stitch-making fun. I can't believe how automatic these new machines are; even threading the needle is an automated task, done at the push of a button. Right now I'm in the middle of replacing the zipper on my favorite lightweight jacket, which has been relegated to a drawer for 2 years with a busted zipper, and it's time to resurrect it. I spent an hour with the seam ripper a few nights ago, and I have to say, the folks that sew for Cloudveil do a very good and thorough job! Maybe that expensive outdoor clothing is worth the price.

The old Pfaff managed to turn out my Christmas stocking, which I made from the sleeves of my Carhartt jacket-to-vest conversion. It is hung by the fireplace with care (or carabiner...). The "man stocking" may be a gift for next year's Christmas season, sized big enough for tools, firearms, a 6-pack, etc. We'll see. Maybe I'll make some in camo, too.

 
I'm working on a sword for my son for Christmas. I'm going to use an old axe handle my Dad had lying around in his odds and ends. I had been making swords for all the boys (my son's friends and their brothers) for their birthdays, but sort of slacked off when it came to my own. That and I ran out of the good 5/8" plywood. He said he wanted the "ninja" sword anyway, which makes stock selection easier because there's no elaborate hand guard. Stay tuned for that as well, but I'm hoping to crank it out over the weekend.

Speaking of dads and sons, I've been going through my dad's tools and hunting stuff on my trips back to Idaho, most recently over the week surrounding Thanksgiving. His big old desk still sits in his basement "den," and going through that has been a trip down memory lane. I remember being 5 or 6 and sitting there at the little pull-out writing board, playing with my Matchbox cars or Legos or building with nuts and bolts and magnets while he tied flies or reloaded shells. I learned to tie flies on that pull-out table. I also remember sitting on his lap and pulling the handles and moving the levers on his shotgun shell reloading equipment--first the primer, then the powder, then the wad, then the shot, and finally the crimp. Over and over. I'm honestly amazed at the variety of things he did as an adult, from hunting and fishing to golf and clubmaking to skiing, from landscaping his property to maintaining his vehicles. Maybe that's where I got my varied interests and do-it-myself tendencies! In going through his possessions, I've not only encountered personal nostalgia, but also a history lesson from the 60s through the present--old cardboard cigar boxes, tools, silverware, knives, guns and the ancillary equipment (cleaning, smithing, etc.), vintage books, and some older hunting clothes. I'm also amazed at how much of that stuff I personally remember, and how things have shifted. For example, my memory of the heft of one of his pocket knives doesn't match with my current reality. That desk, however, is still gigantic, and I look forward to someday having a place in my home for it. Our little 1200 square foot abode just doesn't have room for it now, unfortunately. 

My goal for Christmas is to have my upright piano project done, or at least usable. Two or three more good hours and I'll be there. The new casters are on and all that's left is an upper shelf. Hopefully a showcase of the piano project will fill my next post.

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

First Tracks

For me, a skier since I was 5 years old, first tracks meant getting out the door at some ungodly hour to brave challenging road conditions (traffic or snowpack or both!), and/or find a mountain and start moving. The goal was to be the first person on the mountain, either riding the lift up or hiking up to ski down. I've skied--downhill, cross-country, and backcountry--in 7 states and Canada. Blizzards, snow-packed roads, jack-knived semis, and traffic jams were my frequent companions. I have poor circulation in my feet from standing around in the snow during too many avalanche classes. But I've logged many miles in the mountains in pursuit of something else, something beyond, and yes, the bragging rights that come with being the first one there (or maybe even the only one!) and doing things that few others will or can do.

When I lived in Colorado's Front Range, ski traffic was a horrendous ordeal: it caused more fear in me than the impressive Rocky mountains, and contributed to the desire to move. Avoiding traffic motivated creative schedules (up at 5 am to beat the traffic then leave the mountains by early afternoon), added expense (meals out, lodging, etc.), off-the-beaten-path destinations, or spending the night in the car. Here's a morning after a chilly night on Tennessee Pass, CO in my wife's old Subaru: We got up, had our oatmeal, and toured around the pass, but we were back on I-70 by early afternoon to, you guessed it, beat the traffic.

Then we moved to Los Alamos, where Pajarito Mountain is 20 minutes from town. First tracks are closer, but, in some ways, more difficult to get because the outdoor community in Los Alamos is extremely motivated. There's always someone who got up earlier, went further, and climbed higher.  

While I've slowed down a little, I don't plan to quit the mountain lifestyle any time soon. Here, Rusty the dog and I are getting first ski tracks on a beautiful Spring day near Wolf Creek Pass (photo by Ryan Hess)

in the Nambe Chutes near Santa Fe on another, cloudier, Spring day (photo by Scott Hsu)

 and on Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's high point (sans Rusty; photo by Scott Hsu).

Come to think of it, though, those pics were all taken about 10 years ago. A lot's changed since then.

Like having kids.  Here we are in our local Jemez Mountains, getting a different kind of first tracks (yes, that's me pulling a kid in a sled on my lightweight Nordic gear; photo by my lovely wife):

As you can see, my accepted meaning of first tracks has relaxed a little. I was musing on this little revelation the other day while out walking with Rusty the dog. Even at 8:30 in the morning, we were the first ones out on the local trails behind our house. I could hear the crunch of the snow, feel the crisp, cold morning air, and see the tracks that the crows and coyotes had left during the previous night's snowfall as they, too, were looking for something.  Rusty and I got first tracks that morning, and it didn't involve traffic or treacherous roads or a long hike. Rather, it required an openness to what was: the fact that we were the first ones out on the trail, getting some exercise, and enjoying a little fresh air and solitude.

Maybe that's just the persistence of time, the willingness to compromise on what we will endure for bragging rights. Now I'm as apt to brag that we can get the kids to bed by 8 pm, or that I got a chilly but beautiful moonlit walk, as I am about anything else. That said, Pajarito Mountain is currently blanketed in snow, and I'll be digging the skis out for their season prep sometime this week. Hopefully Sundance run stays un-tracked for another few days, but I doubt it will.

As a parting shot, here's a picture I took that I think captures the essence and spirit of "first tracks."

After a light snow a couple years ago, the boy put on his winter clothes, went to the garage, grabbed his cross country skis, headed out to the back yard, and toured through the garden. Adventure, it turns out, is where you find it.

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

Quitting, Part 4: Drinkin'

Before I get started on the quitting part, here are my musical engagements for the next few weeks.
- Dec 6, 9 pm-midnight, Junction Restaurant/Bar in Santa Fe (Affordables)
- Dec 7, wedding in Santa Fe (solo!!!)
- Dec 14, Los Alamos Family Council event (Craig Martin Experience)
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Now onto the quitting.

This post was a tough one to write. I don't have any "drank too much and lost my job" or "ran my car into a tree" stories. The fact is, I've never been much of a drinker, and my partying days are long past. Because there are no sordid details, some might consider this a boring story. It will certainly never make mainstream news! But, the fact is, I quit drinking, and I did so because it diminished my quality of life another way: it triggered migraines.

It started this past summer, or rather, I noticed it this past summer. Maybe it was there all along and I was able to ignore it before. At any rate, these headaches, combined with a stomach thing that lasted for about a month, left me feeling crappy for much of this past summer. The migraines would start with a dizzy spell (I never got the "classic" visual symptoms) and go downhill from there, often requiring total sensory deprivation to provide any relief. Ibuprofen doesn't touch my migraines, even at the maximum recommended dose (by my doctor, which is higher than the directions on the bottle). Excedrin was the remedy of choice, but acetaminophen rides a fine line between effectiveness and liver damage, so I was hesitant to use it much. The migraine thing finally got so bad I started to look for lifestyle changes I could make. My dad used to get migraines, too, and his were triggered by peanuts, of all things. Everything I read about migraines suggested a trigger of some kind. After a summer of this sh*t--ruined days of dizziness and pain--I finally hit on the trigger. It was a combination of alcohol and changing light conditions, such as playing in a dimly lit bar with flashing lights, or driving at night after a beer or two (even after several hours from beer to car).

The night that started this line of thought was late in the summer when Northern New Mexico (and much of the Central & Southern Rockies, really) was being hit with record-shattering rain and thunderstorms. The Affordables had a late night gig at a local bar, and I was into my second (and, as it turned out, last) beer when the lightning started. The bar has windows all around, and the flashing against the dark while trying to concentrate on playing and reading music started the headache. By the time the show was over and we were packed up, I was not looking forward to the drive home and I knew I wasn't going to have a great next day. By the time I got home, I was shivering, headache-y, and nauseous. At first I thought it was food poisoning, but when I get food poisoning it's usually obvious from the, um, flow. This was something else.

As a scientist, I of course had to experiment (cartoon from www.sodahead.com).

So, I had my usual (one!) beer at my weekly jazz band practice a couple weeks later, and noticed that the next day was really rough, with a dizzy, sick-feeling headache dominating my senses. A hangover after one beer?! Never happened before. I noticed this a couple more times (refer to above cartoon-- the scientist, remember?), and came to the conclusion that I was going to have to quit drinking to really get at the heart of this.

I'm not sure if you've ever been "on the wagon," but it was really difficult for me--a long-term social drinker--to say no to a drink. I love bourbon. I enjoy beer and wine. Recently I was playing a gig with the Affordables for a local Beer Co-op, and, you guessed it, there was an ample supply. The classic "devil on one shoulder, angel on the other" scene ensued.

"Come on, just one beer. It's Halloween!" the devil said.

"You'll regret it in the morning!" the angel said.

"Oh, but it's Marble [a good brewery out of Albuquerque]! And an IPA."

"But you [like other social drinkers] can't have just one!"

"Everyone else is having one. Look how much fun they're having!"

"You still have to drive home."

And on and on.

In the end, the thought of being dizzy and unable to hang out with my family in any meaningful way the next day was reason enough to stick with water and seltzer. And, even though I didn't get to bed until 1:30 AM that morning, I was still able to get up at 6:30 and function. I'm trying as hard as I can to paint this in a positive light. Not drinking saves me money and probably makes me a better musician. But it still feels unfair. Bar gigs are a great opportunity to drink because the bar owners usually buy the band a round or two. And there is nothing like a cold beer on a hot afternoon. But, with every day that passes, the "why me?" feeling fades. It becomes easier and easier to say "club soda with a lime" or "ginger ale" rather than "Marble IPA." That happy-hour-on-Friday desire to drink is even fading. And there are far fewer calories in a club soda than a beer.

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Thanks for enduring my tales of woe and righteous indignation. Hopefully you enjoyed what you read, and that I inspired you to let go of some of your unnecessary obligations or baggage, or make some changes that improve your life in another way. Of course, I'm not advocating that you leave the loving embrace of your family and friends, nor am I suggesting you quit your passions and jobs. But, if change comes your way, be open to it. It just might open doors and possibilities you never considered.

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My next posts will get back to art, craft, and music, I swear!

Thanks for reading, and have a great week.