Just Squeeze. . .

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piano_accordion)
The first accordion to feature a piano keyboard was probably the instrument introduced in 1852 by Bouton of Paris. Another source claimed the first piano accordion was introduced in 1854 at the Deutsche Industrieausstellung in München. It was showcased by the instrument builder Mattäus Bauer and quickly became a serious competitor to button accordions.

In the United States, the piano accordion dramatically increased in popularity between 1900-1930 based on its familiarity to students and teachers, and its uniformity, whereby accordion dealers and instructors did not have to support different styles of accordions for many European immigrant groups. The piano keyboard layout was also promoted by the fame of Vaudeville performers Guido Deiro and his brother Pietro who premiered the instrument on stage, recordings and radio. After the Deiro's success, popular chromatic button accordionist Pietro Frosini chose to disguise his accordion's buttons to look like a piano keyboard so as not to appear "old-fashioned." 

As of 1972 it could be largely said that the piano system dominated the English-Speaking North American continent, Scotland, and certain East European countries, while differing button systems are generally to be found in Scandinavia, France, Belgium and former Soviet countries. The piano accordion is also predominant in Italy, New Zealand, and Australia.
Comparison to chromatic button layout

Compared to a chromatic button layout, the advantages of using a piano layout on an accordion would be the layout's logical simplicity, the relative size of the buttons for fast legato flows, and its layout compared to standard notation. However, it has a smaller range, is too big to reach notes far apart, such as two octaves, and requires more finger movement to operate.


(We [OHO] are working on Jay's composition 'Paleolithic Goddess Figurine' and are working on adding - an accordion track!)

Paleolithic Goddess Figurine
written by John P. Graboski
performed by OHO- Jay Graboski, David Reeve and Ray Jozwiak





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A word or two. . .

. . . here about 'coolness' and musical instruments, the relation of one to the other quite relative but very important. The 'uncool'-ness of the accordion which had become, in essence a new appendage, had long since been a non-issue to me musically. But it was an issue for audiences of popular music, not to mention for bandmates of accordionists in groups that played popular music. In other words, okay to me-uncool to them. And in truth, I was enamored with the idea of a new, and much more widely acceptable to younger audiences, instrument which was a mainstay in a preponderance of musical groups professional and unprofessional, young and old- the electronic organ. I had previously graduated from my first very own 120 bass accordion to a 'mic-ed' acoustic/electric hybrid accordion (not as sophisticated nor as expensive as the Cordovox) which had its merits: additional volume and the mere characteristic of being 'electric'. But NOW, I was ready for the electronic organ.

Remember Paul Revere and the Raiders and Paul Revere himself (stage name, I'm sure) who stood, sang and danced while banging out those gloriously wheezing chords on his Vox electronic? Well that's what I wanted, only I couldn't dance and I didn't want the HAT.

Not surprisingly to me, electronic organs were expensive. At least for an adolescent earning about $10.00 a week delivering newspapers. A then you would of course, have to buy an amplifier through which to play this wonderful instrument. After some shopping, comparing and arranging finance with my parents, I decided upon the Farfisa Fast Four and a used Ampeg bass amp with two 24-inch speakers and nary a watt of output. I do exaggerate, but it was FAR from powerful. The organ itself was off-white with chrome folding legs and gray keys (naturals) with which sharps and flats with a little more than an octave of bass keys in black instead of gray. It was GRAND. It was downright COOL!




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The roar of the crowd. . .

My friend Joe, he of the red American flyer 26-inch bicycle (it was more an extension of his being than a mere bicycle) and I played electric guitar and accordion arrangements of songs by Peter, Paul and Mary, Buck Owens, Buddy Holly (yes, Buddy Holly's music was in there too), and a number of other 'fake book' songs. Our repertoire included Pack Up Your Sorrows, The King of Names, On a Desert Island, I'm In Love With A Big Blue Frog, Sam's Place, Buckaroo, Tall Dark Stranger, Love's Gonna Live Here, My Heart Skips a Beat, I've Got A Tiger By The Tail, Black Texas Dirt, Baby Elephant Walk, Tijuana Taxi, Spanish Flea, Third Man Theme, Zorba The Greek, Solitary Man and Love Is Strange.

We even entered a 'talent show', which I don't recall was actually a competition or simply a variety show, organized by our local Catholic church, to which we both belonged by benefit of our families. And since I don't remember that, I certainly don't remember whether or not we won anything. But it didn't matter. We got to play the music we loved in front of an appreciative crowd. It doesn't get any better than that.


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But I only want to. . .

. . . SING!! NNNAAAHHHHHH! Not really.

Joe, of the American Flyer mentioned above, was himself branching out from country into other types of music. And Joe was also, in fact, a guitarist, which naturally led to a musical collaboration. Electric guitar and accordion. And no vocals. Although not striking me at the time, I find it amusing, in hindsight, that I never attempted (thankfully) vocals (of course, POST-Wyatt Earp [see prior blogs]). While all, or most, kids who play guitars, drums and various forms of keyboards as young bands in garages and basements or an occasional backyard in the summertime, want to and do sing, I quite naturally shied away from vocals. I did play with vocalists but never seriously attempted vocals after about the age of eight.

And of course, after hearing folks like this years later, why even try? I do attempt vocals on recordings these days, but this is merely in the interest of 'demoing' the songs since I do write lyrics quite frequently. It's not something I'm very comfortable with nor very adept.




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There were times. . .

. . . when I felt that I had ALWAYS taken accordion lessons. Then there were times when I felt that I would never be allowed to STOP taking them. But through the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, they were ten years well spent on lessons which exposed me to a wealth of musical variety with an initiation to and education in music theory.

Somewhere around my last year of lessons, an unusual development regarding the operation of the Maryland Accordion Institute occurred. My friend, and fellow accordion student of Greek descent, possessing an appropriately lengthy Greek name and who we knew affectionately as Jimmy, purchased the operation. As I was about seventeen years of age at the time, I was understandably astounded at #1, the fact that Jimmy had the financial resources to purchase an entire business AND #2, the fact that Jimmy had the intellectual capability, the drive, motivation and just plain chutzpah to take on such a gargantuan challenge at this tender age. Jimmy was probably several years my senior, but just the same, truly quite an intelligent, thoughtful, practical and generally resourceful young man. And while he may have had the financial assistance of some older adults, he was, by all means, up to such a challenge. By that time in the life-span of the Institute and the current tastes and trends in popular culture, the Institute and accordion lessons in general, were already on their way OUT. But this was by no means a reflection on the talents and abilities of my friend Jimmy when it came to running the Maryland Accordion Institute. His great display of maturity in the whole affair made me proud of him and of myself as well, if only by association with my mature and sophisticated friend.

And the association was briefly more that simply friendship. Jimmy asked me to handle some musical affairs at the Institute during his vacation. This would mean unlocking the building, performing the duties of an instructor and handling the subsequent cash transactions. I was flattered to be asked, eager to prove the wisdom of his choice and filled with new and exorbitant amounts of self esteem at my new, responsible and lofty position even though it was only a temporary, vacation fill-in position.




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That polarizing musical instrument. . .

. . . the accordion.

I did become exposed to a gamut of music during my accordion education playing Polish folk music (but of course), American folk and pop music, tin pan alley standards, classical, English drinking songs and even rock and roll- envision that on the accordion. When you began accordion lessons at the Maryland Accordion Institute, you were issued a twelve bass piano accordion. What that is, is a small accordion with a 25-key piano keyboard on the right (from the performer's perspective) and twelve buttons on the left. The piano accordion is designed to be a complete musical ensemble. The right hand plays melody while the left plays bass notes and complete major chords on the first and second row of buttons respectively. Of course the bellows are between the two halves

After completing the basic course, I don't recall if that was measured in weeks or an instruction book, you were encouraged to purchase a full-size accordion which was casually called a "hundred and twenty bass" accordion, appropriately named for the one hundred and twenty buttons on the left side. The buttons are arranged in diagonal rows consisting of, in order from left to right, a 'counter bass' note (the third of the root bass note which is next to the right, major chord, minor chord, seventh chord and last, diminished chord. The keyboard on the right being larger, of course, has 41 keys.

So you see it is a complex instrument, mastery of which equips one very well with a fair amount of music theory knowledge. And you can see how the 120 bass instrument provides the player much more versatility and range in what can be played.





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You Couldn't Play The Music. . .

. . . so you made up your own. . .

That's what the father of another accordion student said to me at the conclusion of accordion practice on the night I chose as my solo, a song that I made up. . . I mean. . . an original composition. In fact, it was my very first original composition, to the best of my knowledge.

The piece was entitled THE NEW YORK STRANGERS. It was essentially, half blues and half folk song. Literally. It was not verse- chorus-verse-chorus, or verse-chorus-bridge-verse-chorus. It was first-part-second-part (repeat). It had lyrics. Very simple lyrics which I, unfortunately (and embarrassingly) do remember so will not repeat here. It was inspired by. . . nothing in particular but the need to write an original composition. Well, isn't that ENOUGH?

And the comment from the other student's parent seems quite ruthless in print. It was, in fact, delivered quite humorously (and kiddingly) by a man who had quite a fine sense of humor with no offense intended and none, indeed, taken.

In retrospect, quite possibly (make that DEFINITELY) the best part of the entire experience, and the finest nuance of the memory, is the look of pride on my very own father's face as I received congratulations from several listeners that evening.


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The Roar of the Greaspaint. . .

. . . the smell of the crowd.

Yeah, that taste of public attention, appreciation, the thrill, the communication, the connection between performer and audience cannot be underestimated. It's not ego. It is a need. Like a drug. The accordion band practice refined my experience and perception of the performer/audience relationship.

And after several years of accordion band practice sessions, which were really low-calibre concerts, I'm not quite sure what inspired or motivated me since nothing clear remains in my memory of the motivation, I wrote my first original composition.



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You Haven't Lived. . .

. . . until you've heard forty seven accordionists playing HALLELUJA I'M A BUM on a cold, Monday evening in November. Kinda warms the cockles of your heart.

Well, we used to have 'band practice', not as in a conventional 'band' of various compatible instruments rehearsing together for a performance, but a 'band' meaning a group, and 'practice' meaning just that. And many of us most certainly needed practice. Theoretically, the concept had musical merit. Playing with other music students promoted an understanding of time, tempo and dynamics, following a 'conductor' (of sorts) and taught cooperation, support, sympathy, harmony, rhythm and accompaniment.

The configuration was four rows of metal, folding chairs of about 8 - 10 facing the conductor (an accordion teacher, most often Mr. Edward (Taylor) Krawcyk) whose back was to a row of assorted couches and chairs where the parents of the students sat to 'enjoy' the music of their progeny. The protocol had the 'new' or less senior (accordionwise) students in the first row, with students 'promoted' to the following rows as they progressed in skill, or sometimes when they merely 'hung in there' for a period, with or without really improving technically at all.

And the coup de gras for seriously dedicated students of the squeezebox, during each band practice, was the opportunity to perform a solo. Only two rows of students were allowed to perform a 'solo' each week, simply because of the one-hour time limit of the weekly gathering. The first two rows would offer solos one week, with only the 3rd and 4th rows the following week. And Oh Boy, did I look forward to my time to 'shine' with a solo every other week. And this performance opportunity was not taken lightly, by myself at least, and much time and toil was taken in the selection, preparation and eventual performance of my bi-monthly accordion solo.


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I found a friend. . .

. . . a passtime, a hobby, a treasure, a joy, a therapy, a passion in music. Not consciously, mind you. But music and I became one. We were joined at the hip and never found each other to be a burden.

And as I uncomfortably approached, then entered adolescence, I found that music could be a comfort; a refuge. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

As a young guitarist, who never took a lesson or ever really played a guitar with any semblance of skill, at the tender age of seven, my Mother received a phone call. A young entrepreneur was opening a 'music studio' in our very own east Baltimore neighborhood. (I always thought the term 'music studio' sounded impressive. Sophisticated, cultured and exclusive.) This studio was to be called the Maryland Accordion Institute. (Talk about impressive, sophisticated, cultured and exclusive.) The phone call was telemarketing for prospective clientele, namely wee sprites who were interested in learning to play that prince of all reed instruments, king of the Bohemian beer hall, and butt of many, many jokes - the accordion. But, this was not the perception held by myself at the time. Nor was it the perception held by many in a similar position at the time. It was, quite honestly (and truly , unashamedly) an interesting and desirable proposition. I was, indeed, VERY interested in learning to play the accordion. DAMNED interested. Those Sunday afternoons listening to Dad play his accordion, combined with my natural love of music, possibly even my lack of ambition and talent on the guitar, all united in my seven year old brain forming a profound hunger to learn to play the accordion.

As odd as it sounds, I did not regret at the time, nor do I now regret not pursuing the 'cool' -er musical path of playing the guitar. It just never occurred to me that that's what I should have done. And I never looked back.



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I can't remember. . .

. . . a time when music didn't play a major part in my life. Of course, in my second half-century, it only falls second in order of importance after my wife and children, being well past the kiss-butt, knock-yourself-out-to-impress-em at work paradigm and long over the status-seeking preoccupation of many young adults that I, as well, possessed, at least in some small amount. (I'm listening to the Spinners 'I Don't Want To Lose You' as I write.)

One of my earliest recollections of being conscious of music is hearing my father play the accordion on Sunday afternoons. Picture a mere child of four, seeing for the first time, a monstrosity of keys, buttons and bellows, and hearing it plow (sometimes haltingly) through old, Polish folk dances, as my father contorted his face and his hands in order to strike the right notes at the right time. It was magical. . . to me.

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