The Keyboard Doctor

I had just launched an exciting new endeavour of recording my original piano music outside in beautiful locations with my battery powered Casio Px5s, to grow my Youtube channel and to (hopefully) increase my financial prospects. 

But of course, something had to go wrong.

I woke up one morning to a broken keyboard, lying facedown on my bedroom floor like some big old clumsy bone. The low E key - which happened to be one of the notes I played in most of my songs - was lodged in place; dead. I tried reviving it myself, unscrewing and removing the shell of the keyboard in our lounge, to conduct surgery on the thing. But I was faced with a jumble of wires, complicated electric boards, and more screws…

I needed to find a Keyboard Doctor.

“Hi, my name is Josh, and. I’ve kind of broken my keyboard. Do you guys fix keyboards?” 

“No”

“Allgood, thank you anyway.” Damn. I tried the next number.

“Hello,” came the voice. 

“Hi, my name is Josh. The other day, my keyboard fell off its stand, and one of the keys has been stuck down in place. Is there any chance you guys repair keyboards?”

“Na sorry man, not sure if we can help you with that one. 

“Okay, no worries. Thank you, bye.” Beep

For once, google wasn’t much help. So, I decided to head into Jaycar electronics to see if they could help me out.

I entered the shop already knowing that this was not the place I was going to get my keyboard fixed. Nonetheless, I still approached the man at the counter to see if he could offer me some kind of solution. “Hey. So… I’ve recently broken my keyboard. Do you guys fix those?” I spoke so awkwardly, I may as well have been my 16 year-old, pimple-faced self.  “Yeah we do,” the guy said, turning to face his computer screen. “Is it a laptop keyboard or?” Well that killed me hopes. “Oh, I mean a keyboard, like, a piano keyboard. For playing music.” The guy gave me a blank look. “Oh. Yeah we don’t really do that. But I do know a guy who repairs amps and other music gear. Hold on one second,” he said before disappearing through the door behind him. He returned with a card in his hand. “Give this guy a call. I think he might be able to help you.” I thanked the man, and went on my way.

The guy’s name was Danny. And the card stated that he worked out of his garage in a suburb called St Leonards. I typed his number into my phone, feeling hopeful. 

“Hi Danny. My name is Josh, and I’ve been given your card by a guy at Jaycar. My Casio Keyboard was dropped the other day, and one of the keys has been stuck down in place. Do you do keyboard repairs?”

“Yeah. I can help you out with that.” His voice was slow, yet certain. Rich in bass tones; calm. The Keyboard doctor… “Awesome! Well, when is a good time to bring it in then?” I asked. A pause. “I think next Tuesday is good. My address is _____” 

And that was it. I had found my Keyboard Doctor, my keyboard was going to be repaired, and I would be back on the road to making music videos!

— — — 

Next Tuesday

The house was blue, and it was nestled against a lush, forested hill. Ornaments and unique sculptures in the yard caught my eye as I made my way up to the door, and I couldn’t help but wonder who this Keyboard Doctor was. I noticed a row of shells on the windowsill next to the door, and knocked twice. His place had a beach-house vibe.

The door swung open, and a woman with a wonderful smile greeted me so enthusiastically I thought she was going to pull me in for a hug. “You must be here to see Danny! I’ll go get him for you.” She ducked back into the house calling for Danny, and after a moment, Danny came. He must have been in his late 40's or 50's. He had thin hair reaching down to his neck, and a humble demeanour. A slight smile caught his face. “Alright. Let’s take a look at this Casio.”

I followed Danny to his garage, and watched as he turned the key, entered, and flicked the light switch. It was a low, flickering light, but it revealed every corner of his garage. It was like some music-tech-wizard’s lair. Cables and leads hung from hooks in the ceiling beams. More cables padded the walls, weaving and curling like some strange network of veins. Wracks held guitar bodies, and amps lined the floor in various shapes and sizes: tall ones, stocky ones, half-open ones. A huge shelf housed plastic boxes containing nuts and bolts and screws, each labeled with some strange code. A keyboard leaned against the wall. It was a music-gear hospital!

My Casio was in its case, leaning against the garage outside; I grabbed it and brought it inside. “Alright, so you said that one of the keys has been stuck down in place?” he said as he took a seat. “Yeah, it’s the low E,” I responded as I busied myself with unzipping the bag. “I’ve tried to pull it back up but it doesn’t want to budge.” Danny gestured to the table, and so I lifted it from its case and placed it on the bench. He began examining the broken key, pressing it a few times. “Hmmmm”. After rubbing his chin for a bit, he looked up at me, a hint of mock-wonder in his eye. “And how did you do that?”

I couldn’t hide anything from his gaze. “Ah… I woke up the other morning, and I must have knocked it down in my sleep. It was just lying on the floor when I woke up.” The memory tumbled forth; vomit-splat on the floor, the horrendous stench gurgling up my nostrils, my keyboard face down on the floor… I decided not to share that part, and shoved the memory aside. “Right…” was all he said in that husky voice of his, before turning back to the broken key for more examination. 

And then, he got to work. He hooked it up to an amplifier with a lead, tested the key. Got the keyboard on its side; tested the key again. Got the keyboard to lie on its front, and began opening up the outer shell to conduct surgery on the inside. The inside was a jumbled confusion to my eye, but Danny is a qualified music-gear surgeon, and it looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. But as he poked around inside and jimmied a few things, he didn’t look all too pleased. My stomach began sinking. It looked like he couldn’t fix the Casio. After being hunched over the open keyboard and being very careful not to damage any of its arteries, he pulled himself up-straight.

“Yeah. So. There is a problem. These keyboards are really flimsy. Their bones are made of plastic, and the board from which the keys come out form is just plastic; it can break so easily. That’s what happened here. I might need to look online for another piece to hold the key. But I’m not sure if I can get one external to Casio. These products can be very finnicky…”

I just stared back at him, confused. Oh no… he can’t fix it. He can’t fix it! “Oh… Damn, that’s, annoying,” I said. “Yeah. Annoying.” He turned back to the open keyboard, and then began putting it back together. It was all I could do to just stand there, and helplessly watch as my Casio Px5s got patched back together. 

Danny said he was going to scout online for the right parts. “It could take a little while,” he said… “Damn,” is what I said, when I jumped back into my car. I didn’t have ‘a little while’. I needed to create my music videos, on the morrow! 

— — — 

Days went by. I spent them silently doing practices in my room, hoping beyond hope that Danny could find the right parts to fix my Casio. I had faith in the Keyboard Doctor. I trusted that he could solve my problem.

But I never expected to be calling him again, about an entirely different keyboard…

It was 2 years ago that my Korg R3 Synth, that I play bass on for SHEEP, came down with a terrible illness in its power socket. It became so fragile that a small jolt would knock the cord out of its socket, and kill the power to the synth. Back then, I didn’t have the funds to take it to a Keyboard Doctor, and so I just strapped it up with wads of tape. It worked…

Until now. Until days before our first SHEEP gig in Dunedin. “Bro you need to get that fixed,” Tommy said quite seriously, only moments after we abruptly stopped playing the song due to my bass cutting off. Johnny twirled a drum stick on one hand, his hair in the other. I tried desperately to re-jig the cord in place, but the light just wouldn’t turn back on. The synth was dead, and Tommy couldn’t stop pacing the room. “How quickly can you get that fixed? Before the show on Saturday?”

Luckily for us, I knew just the guy.

“Hey Danny. It’s me again. I’m actually calling about a different keyboard - its a Korg R3, and it has a pretty major problem with it’s power socket. The power keeps cutting off. We have a gig coming up this Saturday. Any chance you can help me out with this one too?”

“Yeah,” he came his husky voice. “Bring it in on Thursday, and I’ll take a look.”

I quickly realised that Danny was my hero.

Thursday...

With the Korg strapped into the passengers seat of the Emerald Wagon, I sped over to St Leonards; to the Keyboard Doctor’s blue house. The garage door was open, and he was in there, tinkering away on something I couldn’t quite identify on his desk. “Hey Danny,” I said. “Hi,” he responded, not looking up from his current operation. “Just pop it over there.” He gestured to the bench behind him. “I’ll take a look in a second.” I placed it there, and wasn’t sure what to do next as he simply proceeded with his procedure. “Hey thank you so much for helping me again. We have a gig on this Saturday, and I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t bring it to you.” He nodded. 

It was still a couple of minutes until he finished his operation, and turned to my Korg for the inspection. I stood there and watched intently as he made his examination. After a moment, he looked up at me and said, “I’ll have this ready for you by tomorrow night. See you then.” And that was it. 

When I returned the following day, my Korg R3 sat there on the desk, it’s red lights flashing. It was alive! “That’s awesome! Thank you!” I exclaimed, thrilled that he could fix it. “This is what I’ve done,” Danny said with a smile, turning the keyboard on its side. “The cord is permanently attached inside, so you won’t to worry about it ever coming out again.” The cord was snaking through the power socket, as if being swallowed by the Synth; it was indeed permanently attached. I couldn’t believe it. He didn't just fix the problem; he modified it so that it would never happen again. Not to mention that it was one of the coolest modifications ever. One of my SHEEP stage tricks was to grab the synth in my arms and thrash about with it on the stage. But with the power socket problem, doing that was extremely risky. Now? I could do that without worry!

The Keyboard Doctor had truly saved my Korg R3 from the brink of death, and restored it to full health and more. I couldn’t thank him enough, and just as I was heading out the door of his garage, he said “Oh, by the way.” I turned eagerly. Sitting there from him work-bench, he gave me a hand gesture, and made a start in his husky voice. “I’ve found the part for you Casio. It should be here in a couple of weeks.” 

I didn't know what I would do without Danny. A silent hero, tinkering away at broken music gear from his garage. The surgeon of instruments, medic of amps. A hero to musicians around Dunedin. A hero to me - a keyboard player who is hopeless at keeping his gear in good health. I slept easy that night, knowing that no matter what happened to my music gear in the future, it would all be okay. Thanks to Danny.

Thanks to the Keyboard Doctor.