I got the gig right after piano tech school (at the New England Conservatory), 23 years ago. I wrote them a letter out of the blue, and they called me and asked for a quote. I've been with them ever since.
A few years ago the founder of the Newport Festivals, George Wein, sold his company, Festival Productions. The company had grown over the years, earning George the invariable title impresario, and ran several festivals throughout the world. Many of the jazz festivals were sponsored by JVC, the Japanese electronics company. All of us working at Newport realized that things might change under the new company, Festival Network, and the familiar "See you next year" came to be followed by "with any luck."
Last year the production team was replaced, but the field and stage operations stayed mostly the same. The Festival seemed to go well in spite of the sour economy, though I could see that nothing had been done to rein in costs. This was not a good sign. So I guess I wasn't entirely surprised to learn that there might not be a festival in Newport this year. Festival Network had lost a ton of money, the State of Rhode Island had not been paid, and permits had been revoked. Then, just to add to the uncertainty, JVC pulled its sponsorship of all festivals worldwide.
Not wanting to lose his first babies, the Newport Jazz and Folk Festivals, George Wein has decided to disentangle himself from Festival Network and produce these two festivals himself. This year will be the 50th anniversary of the Folk Festival, and the 55th anniversary of the Jazz Festival. I'm assuming that George will keep most of the old staff in place, but one never knows, so cross your fingers for me!
You can check out the New Festival Productions website here. While you do that, here are two of my favorite stories from the Newport Jazz Festival.
How I Met Herbie Hancock Underneath a Piano
The Festival hires me to come in very early in the morning to tune the pianos, which have been sitting on outdoor stages all night. Then I remain in attendance all day, touching up the tunings amidst the chaos between sets. There are two wings of the main stage; one wing is for the stage crew and all the musical equipment, the other wing is for the stage sound crew and their sound equipment. I usually hang out in this wing and listen to what the sound engineer is listening to.One year, during Herbie Hancock's performance, there was a terrific bang in the middle of a piece. It sounded the way a significant electrical disconnection sounds, amplified through a gigantic sound system. The music kept going, but the sound guys were wide-eyed, calling each other on walkie-talkies, checking the million dials and knobs. Nobody could find the cause, everything seemed OK, shoulders were shrugged, and then Herbie ended his piece, got up off the piano bench, and climbed under the piano.
"Bill, Bill, get out there!" all the guys yelled, and I ran out onto the stage, as did Herbie's road manager from the other wing. We had a breathless meeting under the piano. "Are you the piano guy?" asked the manager. I nodded. "Good." Then he pointed at Herbie; "Herbie, get out of here!"
The piano's lyre, which holds the pedals, had disconnected from the piano and dropped straight down onto the stage floor, with a bang, in the middle of Herbie's playing. I guess Herbie was going to try to fix it himself. The manager helped me put the lyre back on, and then we scurried to our respective wings, leaving Herbie to introduce his next piece.
I Tuned a Piano So a Guy Could Hit It With Sticks
When I touch up the tuning between sets, I have to be very focused. It's loud on stage as the previous set is broken down and the new one wheeled in place, and the emcee makes announcements, and the sound crew checks things. I stand and lean way down over the Steinway grand, straining to hear the unisons. I stop to help with repositioning the piano, and then start in again, checking and retuning for as long as needed or as long as I can, until the stage manager calls everyone off stage. Sometimes I have 30 or 40 minutes, sometimes ten. I check the schedule ahead of time so I can mentally prepare.One year, Bobby McFerrin was to perform. The schedule said he was using a piano, which I thought was odd, so I consulted the tech rider and stage plot, and there it was - a grand piano tuned to A440. All right, fine. The piano was going to get heavy use in the prior set, and since there would be little to break down, and nothing but the piano to set up for Bobby, I was going to have ten minutes at the most to touch up the piano. I was already sweating.
When my moment came, I ran out and got to work. It was mercifully quiet, but much too soon the stage manager put his hand on my shoulder, and I put my tools away and walked to my wing. Out came Bobby McFerrin, who greeted the cheering crowd, and then turned to introduce his accompanist, a big burly guy. Bobby started singing, and I watched the big guy, who just stood there looking like he'd wandered, lost, onto the stage. Then he pulled two mallets out of his pocket, and began drumming on the piano. He drummed on the case, on the plate and the soundboard, and depressed the damper pedal and drummed on the strings. He sometimes used the handle end of the mallet. He moved all around the piano, drumming and tapping. That was it. I turned to a fellow crew member and said, "Wow, I just got paid to tune a piano so someone could hit it with sticks."
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