A piece of music history hides on campus
By Massiel Bobadilla
Oct. 10, 2007 9:05 p.m.
There’s hidden treasure buried in the depths of the Schoenberg Music Building.
Its winding labyrinth of hallways conceals a forgotten relic of which few know the location, and fewer still know the meaning. Down in the basement, amid a clamor of trumpet blasts, tympani booms, and violin moans, rests a piano that bears the signatures of some of the 20th century’s most prolific musical talents scrawled upon its musty, beautiful innards. In its unassuming home, this piano stands as a testament to a bygone era of Hollywood glamour and unparalleled musical genius.
“They always say that the person who has played an instrument leaves something of themselves (behind) with it,” said Professor Gary Gray, whose studio in Schoenberg’s basement currently houses the piano.
Gray, an instructor of clarinet and chamber music, admitted that his many years working with the illustrious piano in his midst has caused him to become somewhat attached to it.
“These names are such a big part of history,” he added, his eyes twinkling with a hint of adoration. “Arthur Rubenstein was my favorite pianist of all,” he said with a wistful smile, gesturing toward one of the many illegibly scrawled signatures on the piano’s interior.
Few people outside the music department know this piano even exists, and those that do seemingly happen upon it by chance.
“I found out about it (when) I was in a clarinet lesson with Gary,” said Tyler Tangalin, a third-year student working toward a bachelor’s degree in music focusing on clarinet performance.
“He wanted to go over the part that I was playing. So he goes over to this piano, which I’ve never seen him play ““ actually, I’ve never seen anyone play (it) because it’s always covered with something ““ and he opens it and he plays through it. (It was) completely out of tune,” he added with a laugh.
“I asked, “˜Why’d you get such a crappy piano?’ And he said, “˜Well, it’s not that crappy,’ and he opened up the top and inside were hundreds of names.”
Some of the noteworthy names on the piano include those of pianist Vladimir Horowitz, composer Sergei Prokofiev, and perhaps the most famous of all, composer Igor Stravinsky, who signed his name to the instrument in November 1935.
“If you look at it, its just so beautiful to see all those names,” said Tangalin.
Throughout Schoenberg’s subterranean maze of offices, studios, and practice rooms, the history of how so many of the 20th century’s most famous musical minds all came to imprint their names on the inside of a 7-foot-long piano is shrouded in obscurity and speculation. Some claim it was once the main performance piano in Royce Hall. Others swear it commanded throngs of music lovers in Schoenberg itself.
Yet the piano’s origin lies somewhere altogether unexpected: in the house of a Hollywood screen legend.
Circa 1930, one name was synonymous with the “tough guy” persona. One face was the epitome of the sharp-dressed, cigar-smoking, gun-wielding mobster who everyone loved to hate. The name behind the face ““ and the man behind UCLA’s mythic piano ““ was Edward G. Robinson.
Robinson was perhaps one of the most recognizable faces of Hollywood’s golden era. His ability to morph his naturally cherubic face into the scowl of a ruthless gangster earned him a spot among the city’s most talented actors, and perhaps a little typecasting to boot.
Robert Portillo, who was music curator in charge of instrument restoration and donation at the time the piano made its way to UCLA, further explained how man, music and memory melded together on that Steinway & Sons piano.
As the story goes, Robinson had a particular affinity for fine art and music ““ which will likely come as a surprise to those who find him synonymous with the uncouth mafia brute he frequently portrayed ““ and would often host private parties and concerts at his home with a guest list that boasted the names of the time’s best musicians and composers. When Robinson passed away in 1973, he willed his priceless piano to UCLA in the hope that music and history would live on through the students who he hoped would play the instrument.
Though it would take 20 more years for the piano to arrive at UCLA, it seems to have found a cozy niche in the dark and melodious underbelly of Schoenberg.
“If I remember correctly, his wishes were that it were played by students and faculty members,” Portillo said. “In a practice room is where he would have wanted it.”
Yet the debate persists as to whether such a valuable piece of history ought to be displayed or not. Those tried-and-true Indiana Jones-esque calls of, “It belongs in a museum” seem to fall flat on the ears of those who feel the Robinson piano has found a happy home in the belly of Schoenberg.
“We’re concerned about excess wear and tear,” said Michael Kemper, piano technician in charge of maintaining and repairing every piano in the department. “It’s in a good custodial care environment in Gary Gray’s studio.
“It won’t get too much pounding or too much abuse. Right now, it’s just laying low.”
The future of this historic piano is still up in the air. For the time being, it rests amid sheet music and clarinet warbles in Gray’s studio.
“I just don’t know what should happen with it,” said Gray after tickling out an impromptu tune on the piano’s slightly yellowing keys. “I just feel like it should be in a museum or something, or somewhere where just the great artists play it. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with our students, but they’re not quite up to that status yet. But that’s life in Westwood at this point.”
