The one man on speed dial for 50 years

Since the opening of the Sydney Opera over 50 years ago, countless musical stars, world leaders and amazed customers have visited its emblematic rooms.

The external forecourt was covered by thousands of naked bodies in the name of art and, inside, an Arnold Schwarzenegger, a single little naked, even won a title of body creation. There have been renovations and controversies, staged demonstrations and history.

And the constant, through all of this, is Terry Harper.

He has set the building pianos for half a century, working behind the scenes to make sure that the Uber-Technic instruments are ready for the best musicians in the world.

It is a family legacy launched by his father when the opera opened in 1973 – and which ended this week, with Terry’s retreat.

The 69 -year -old man still remembers the first time he has entered the opera half finished, as a child with a wide eyes.

“The sails were in place, but everything was very naked,” he told the BBC, making a gesture towards the edges of the Grand Concert Hall.

“There was nothing inside … You could see the port on both sides.”

At the time, he had no idea that he would spend most of his life in the emblematic place. His father, on the other hand, had no doubt major projects, said Terry.

At that time, the emigrant of Liverpool Ron Harper was renowned on the music scene of Sydney as a piano and interpreter tuner.

“He would take me into these nightclubs as [kid] in my little school uniform. And I would see all these world -class acts, “recalls Terry. He tracks on a list, including the Welsh singer Lady Shirley Bassey, the stage icon Liza Minelli, and British television and music Cilla Black – which they even brought home after his performance one evening.

“It was an interesting childhood,” according to Terry, with a little laugh.

But it was the one who instilled in him a love of music – even if he was not particularly interested in doing it himself.

A little ironically, Terry admits that he spent about a year learning from the piano before abandoning it, by twisting with the drums and his school choir instead.

It was in 1973, shortly after the opera was officially opened by Queen Elizabeth II, that her father Ron received his fateful call.

“One day, Sydney Symphony repeated downstairs, and the piano had not been particularly well settled by anyone in the morning,” said Terry. “One of the people working here knew my father.”

Three years later, a 19 -year -old Terry would join Ron under the sails, after taking a year -long adjustment course when he left school.

He started pianos of rehearsal behind the scenes, while accumulating his skills and confidence, before finally taking over when his father retired a decade later.

These days, he can enter a room and immediately know if the piano is disordered.

“I have always had a very good sense of height,” he says, “[but] It is difficult to master. “”

And everything is done in the ear.

Pinklant on the piano in front of him, he explains that he has 243 strings. For most keys, three separate steel wires combine to note.

“Once they start to deviate from the same frequency, they provoke these things that we call rhythms, and that’s what we listen when we go.”

“Can you hear this?” He asks, with enthusiasm.

Alas, I – a pleb of music – cannot.

“It’s not like adjusting a guitar,” he said, offering me a little comfort.

The process can take up to 90 minutes, and each of the 30 pianos of the building must be adjusted essentially each time they are used.

“There are so many strings in there that can go away, especially when you play major piano concertos,” said Terry.

“I call them racing cars F1 … They really shoot them.”

This can be a demanding and relentless job.

“It doesn’t stop. And it’s night, it’s early in the morning, it’s two and three times a day,” said Terry.

But the advantages – which include shoulder brushing with some of the most decorated musicians in the globe and easy access to the most sought after tickets in the city – are not in wire, does not prevent you from adding.

Terry has also set pianos in many other notable places – from Royal Albert Hall and Abbey studios to the BBC broadcasting offices.

But no one occupies a place in their heart like the opera.

“For me, it’s a very happy place. It’s about my life.”

Earlier this year, after five decades, Terry decided that it was time to hang up the tools.

“I became quite comfortable during Covid, without having to work,” he quips.

His son could not be tempted to take the family business – “He is in computer stuff, like all the good young men” – and therefore Friday also marked the end of the Harper inheritance inside the Sydney Opera.

The place opened a call for tenders to a new entrepreneur to settle his pianos – and Terry says that he heard a rumor that they could replace him with several tunes.

“I think someone owes me money … I did the work of six people,” he teased.

Jokes aside, he admits that, as his departure got closer, a wave of emotions came with it.

“The piano tunes, we are quite lonely,” he said. “We like to be in a room by ourselves with calm, because you have to focus and listen to what you do … [but] I have always had the camaraderie of all the people who work here. “”

“I’m going to miss the place.”