It will probably come as no surprise to those of you who have met me in person, but I have never been particularly adept at sports or any form of physical endeavour. Some are natural born sportsmen, able to turn their hand to both individual and team-based activities - I, on the other hand, tended to flounder at both with a laughably bad lack of hand-eye co-ordination. I learned this about myself early in life and it is something that I long since gave up hope of changing. Instead, I accepted my fate and devoted myself to a life that is predominantly free of physical activity, topped up with far more fast food, chocolate and alcohol than is necessary (well, I do come from a city with one of the lowest life expectancies in the western world).
So, when you weigh it all up, you can imagine that I have what we might term "flab definition" rather than muscle definition. Rather than bulging biceps and a rippling six-pack, any bicep muscle is generally only from lifting a beer to my lips, with the six-pack more likely to be of the Grolsch or Heineken variety. But don't think I'm taking it all lying down - I have got a small set of personal training hand-weights that I try to use on a regular basis, in a fruitless attempt to prevent myself turning into a total couch potato and to build up some tone. I know it's not much, but its a start... however, it was never going to provide me with the strength to undertake the task I faced on Friday.
In a nutshell, I've bought a Yamaha CP70B electric piano. Yes, that piano - the same as used by our favourite band Keane, as well countless other legendary rock gods, such as U2, Led Zeppelin and, er, Phil Collins. A piano that I have lusted over (in a purely platonic, geek way of course) for an excessive period of time and have spent an inordinate amount of time studying and admiring from afar. I even went as far as getting an A1 sized framed poster of one of Alex Lake's photos of it made (gear porn - its the equivalent of a teenage boy putting pictures of Ferraris and Lamborghinis on his wall). "One day," I always said, "I shall have my own." Unfortunately though, the quest to buy my own was always hamstrung by a number of factors - lack of space, lack of cash and lack of playing ability to justify it being the main ones. In the end though, I decided to throw caution (and sanity) to the wind and buy one regardless of the practicalities (I am a man, after all). So, the deed was done, cash was exchanged through the medium of plastic and all that remained was to pick up the piano and bring it back to Backline HQ for many happy evenings of experimentation with effects pedals and annoying the neighbours.
Before we could get to that point though, there was the rather large (and as it would turn out, extremely heavy) issue of actually getting the piano from its current location - a recording studio near Leeds, about 200 miles away. Fortunately, I managed to cajole my good friend Tony into assisting me in this effort, by driving down in his car, loading up the piano and driving back home again. We measured up his Renault Megane to confirm that the CP70 would actually be able to fit in the first place, then satisfied with our work we headed south on the four hour drive, under the direction of Jane, our Tom-Tom satellite navigator. A simple jaunt down, pick up the piano, load it into the car, drive back home, get it up the lift and into my flat, then head out for some celebratory alcoholic beveridges - as they often say on Top Gear, "how hard can it be?"
Well, bloody hard actually. The journey down was uneventful (with the exception of my Grumpy Old Man outrage at an ATM wanting to charge me 2 pounds for the privilege of getting my own money), but once we'd actually arrived at the recording studio, it became apparent that what we had undertaken was a task more suited to the type of guys who wouldn't even break sweat at pulling a truck with their bare hands, rather than overweight wasters like myself and Tony who've never had to do a day's manual labour in our lives. Now don't get me wrong - it wasn't that I'd been completely stupid and hadn't realised that the two body parts of the CP70 would actually be quite heavy (I'd even read through the user manual, which is quite unlike me!) - but I had underestimated quite how heavy and awkward to move it would be. Cue much shuffling, groaning and gnashing of teeth as we tried to negotiate each bit out of the building and squeeze it through the Megane's now-annoyingly-small boot opening (or tailgate, if you're not on British shores). After a degree of flailing around, we managed to get it all in and sat in the car, dripping with sweat and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
Except, of course, that the job was anything but done. In fact, the worst was yet to come - after the return drive, we arrived at Backline HQ and then faced the Herculean task of actually getting into the flat. I live on the third floor of the building, but at least there is a lift (if there hadn't been, I think we'd have admitted defeat and just set it up in the ground floor hallway). Not that it helped - it must have taken us at least 5 minutes to get both sections out of the car in the first place, then another 5 to get it past the main door (which helpfully can't be wedged open), then two trips trying to negotiate the lift. It would seem that OTIS (the company who built and maintain the lifts) believed that there would never been any need for the doors of the lift to stay open for longer than 10 seconds - not particularly helpful when you've got two struggling incompetents trying to maneuvre an extremely heavy piano into it. What then emerged was a cacophony of chaos - me trying to keep the doors from closing whilst we got the piano in, the lift made an ominous whining alarm noise and urged us to "remove the obstruction from the doors", whilst we groaned and swore loudly at it for making what was already a difficult task even harder (the sheer variety of profanities that can come from one's lips when under this type of pressure is truly staggering). This was then repeated again when we had to get off at my floor and actually had to get it back out of the lift. "Hell's Bloody Bells", as Tony said.
The task ended up so farcical that by the time we'd actually got it into my flat, we were both too knackered, shaky and in pain to actually even contemplate assembling it. So, it sat in the room forlornly until yesterday evening (by which time our aching backs and limbs had sufficiently recovered) when it was finally assembled into the magnificent beast we know and love. However, unlike most of Tim's inumerable number of CP70's, this one is clearly very battle-scarred and looks like it hasn't have been a stranger to the rigours of touring. Scratches, tears in the tolex, rusting fixtures a cigarette burn on one key and a crack on another, plus a slightly worrying bulge from the metal front of the harp section... yep, the old girl looks to have had a rough life (which will have prepared it well for the chaos of Messrs. McDonald and Quigley piano movers) but mechanically it all seems to be sound. It would benefit from some TLC at the hands of a piano tuner, but in that sense it actually reminds me of the old days when Keane had only one battered old CP70 that permanently seemed to be a little out-of-tune - it all adds to the charm! For all its flaws (and cosmetically, they are numerous!), it was still worth it in the end... to see it sitting there after all this time, getting to know its various sibling instruments would bring a tear to a glass eye.
It does amaze me though that those three boys used to move this beast around on their own for gigs at The Water Rats and the like - despite not looking like muscle-bound Sussex adonis (steady on, ladies), they clearly are made of stronger stuff than me! But, having done it all now and with the piano taking pride of place in the "music room", I can safely say that I now have an even greater amount of respect for Keane's roadies and crew who have to shift these behemoths around on a daily basis when touring is happening. And not even just one necessarily either - I think they take at least one spare harp section to each gig, in the event of a string breaking. The sheer weight of all Keane's gear must be truly staggering and I doff my cap to these unsung heroes who's dedication, commitment and earth-moving strength make sure that a Keane gig can happen at all. These are the real men, ladies - forget about what actually happens on-stage, give a shout out for the crew, who are the true supermen of the Keane set-up!
Oh, and if you ever decide you want a piano moved, please - don't call us!
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| THE NEW ARRIVAL: The Backline CP70B gets familiar with its new surroundings after the trauma of the journey to Scotland. |