Jordi Marco Collell: "If I wanted to earn money, I would go and work at something else."

He's a third-generation piano tuner. His grandfather, who combined his job at a lumber company with playing in a weekend orchestra, became interested in the instrument's mechanics. He even asked a piano company if he could observe their work. Little by little, he learned the trade and started tuning instruments near his home. Word of mouth spread so quickly that he eventually left the lumber business and the orchestra to start his own company. His mother continued the family business, which he, Jordi Marco Collell, has been running for years.

Does a piano explain things?

— Wow, so many. Just a few days ago I went to a house where my father had been a tuner, and just opening it, without the instrument even wanting to, told me so many stories…

Which is it?

— The repairs it had undergone, the old use of talc to mark things that weren't quite right, the signature of the person who had tuned it, because keys used to be signed.

As?

— The piano tuner used to sign the first keys of the piano. That's no longer done.

Because?

— Laziness, I suppose. You used to have to remove the keys from old pianos, but now they're pressed in and taking them apart is a lot of work. I've never wanted to do it, even though some people have asked me to. But I don't need to leave my mark on any piano.

Your first memory of the instrument?

— The workshop was below my house. I remember Nintendo had just come out, and my friends were asking for it, but I only wanted the toolbox, because that's what I saw at home. And all I could think about was getting out of school so I could go there and see them with the hammers, the cable ties, the new springs…

How do you learn to tune?

— You have to lock yourself away at home for years and stimulate your hearing. All the senses can be stimulated. Sommeliers do it with their sense of smell, and we do it with our hearing.

But is there a method?

— My grandfather had one, which was both a blessing and a curse. Blessed because it made me the professional I am. A curse… because it's tough; there are times when you want to throw in the towel.

How does it work?

— You'd buy a piano, the more dilapidated you could find, and it would need a complete restoration. That meant dismantling everything until only the keyboard and strings remained. And then you'd piece it back together.

Pinching…

— On the piano, most notes have three strings, so you always start with the middle string and then the others, until all three are in tune. It always begins with A, and then there's a progression of notes. I know when it's in tune because it stops bothering my ear.

But how would they annoy us?

— How can I explain it… You know when you have a mosquito that's bothering you? Well, there's a vibration that tells me it's not in tune. And suddenly the mosquito stops. Then I know it's okay.

And don't you have a machine that can do this?

— I would be incapable of doing it. A piano has variables, because it has three strings, and a microscopic speck of rust on one string can make it vibrate differently. In this trade, machines are not well suited to the job.

When were you ready?

— The day my grandfather lent me his Yamaha C3 baby grand. He told me to let him know when I was finished, and after testing it, he said: "I can vouch for the fact that you know how to do this job." It's the piano I've been most excited to tune.

And were you sure you wanted to do this?

— No, I was devoted to my grandfather; he seemed like a superior being to me. And when I was 12 or 13, when I wasn't getting along with them—and I was—they would take me to work with them. I worked for a while at another company, but when things started going badly, my mother and grandfather said to me, "Why don't you seriously consider tuning?" Now I think I started too young.

Because?

— Because people must have seen me and thought: what is this kid doing? This brought me bad experiences.

Which is it?

— Imagine someone telling me, "A kid like you won't play the piano," or a woman giving me the runaround and refusing to pay me. Some days I'd come home crying, saying I never wanted to tune pianos again. But this has made me who I am. I can do many things, but I'm sure I can't do anything as well as I can tune pianos.

Why does a piano go out of tune?

— Due to the passage of time. Pianos have an approximate tension of 17,000 kilos, which they exert from top to bottom, and they try to lose weight. And what we must do is give them tension. A piano goes out of tune because it seeks comfort.

And if you spend all day listening to sounds, don't you become obsessive about noises?

— Yes. It's difficult, what we do… Day after day listening to the same thing. Sometimes I go to sleep and I hear the "ta, ta, ta" of the keys. Car rides and silence are what heal me… But yes, I'm a bit of a perfectionist, quite a bit.

But do you enjoy it?

— Absolutely. For me, the best reward is when people come and try it on and tell me it works better. Although most people don't know how to appreciate it. My grandfather always told me that.

What was I saying?

— "You'll find relatively few people who appreciate the tuning." That's because many times they're pianos for small children, or people tell you, "But it sounds fine to me," when the piano is in terrible condition. They'll rarely say "how wonderful," because many don't have the ear to appreciate it. But when it happens, it's fantastic.

Are there not enough tuners?

— You know, when I was little, when my grandfather told me that someone had called him to ask him to teach them the trade, it used to make me furious. I thought: they want to take our jobs. It doesn't happen now; now I get angry at people who call themselves tuners but aren't.

Does it happen often?

— Not long ago I went to a music studio on the Costa Brava and they told me that a man had come in, charged them under the table, and done a terrible job. I had to restore it, tune it… I don't know how he dared to charge me. We pay our taxes and struggle to make ends meet, and then there are people like that. They see it as a business, and tuning pianos isn't a business.

Well… it’s your business, isn’t it?

— If I wanted to make money, I'd get a different job. And I can tell they create distrust. When I arrive, the client is already thinking: let's see if this guy sleeps with me again.

And would you like your son to continue the family tradition?

— My grandfather lived through one era. My mother another. And I'm living through mine. But electronic pianos are painful, and I know for sure that my son wouldn't have enough work to survive financially.