Loopy Pro: Create music, your way.

What is Loopy Pro? — Loopy Pro is a powerful, flexible, and intuitive live looper, sampler, clip launcher and DAW for iPhone and iPad. At its core, it allows you to record and layer sounds in real-time to create complex musical arrangements. But it doesn’t stop there—Loopy Pro offers advanced tools to customize your workflow, build dynamic performance setups, and create a seamless connection between instruments, effects, and external gear.

Use it for live looping, sequencing, arranging, mixing, and much more. Whether you're a live performer, a producer, or just experimenting with sound, Loopy Pro helps you take control of your creative process.

Download on the App Store

Loopy Pro is your all-in-one musical toolkit. Try it for free today.

OT: Abandoned Pianos

Comments

  • Wrlds2ndBstGeoshredrWrlds2ndBstGeoshredr

    Pretty cool. Most of those spaces are better than my house, run down as they are.

  • JohnnyGoodyearJohnnyGoodyear
    edited November 2020

    November,1982
    Classified advertisement in the South London Press:

    New Youth Club forming to benefit underprivileged kids in the Brixton area. We will focus on using music to touch the lives of local children who have never had the opportunity to play. Pianos and other instruments desperately needed. We will collect. Please help this worthy cause. Call Johnny Goodyear at 555-1212.

    Chalkie was (and I hope he still is, but it's been almost 40 years) a perfect rascal. And perfect rascals are hard to find. He worked summers on a laboring gang which traveled throughout England putting up tents and booths for exhibitions and shows. He was what my grandmother would have called a `diddicoy', which is something similar to a gypsy, but less trustworthy (in her closely-typed moral book).

    In the Winter months he would come back to West Dulwich in South-East London and make his money doing odd jobs, a little building work, pilfering, borrowing, and so forth. What (in my very loosely-bound moral book) made him a rascal was that he was bright and funny and not in the business of particularly harming anyone, although he would take swift advantage of you (and your grandmother) if the opportunity presented itself. Which, because of his quick eye, it often seemed to.

    I wanted a piano. But I had no money to buy one with. This was the gist of the dilemma that Chalkie and I were talking about one Sunday lunchtime in the pub on Rosendale Road. While I was moaning, as mortals will do, Chalkie was already scheming. I think the thin end of the wedge that first inserted itself into Chalkie's ever flexible brain was the possibility that if I were to buy a piano I would probably need to pay someone (him) to help me move it. An odd job. And not the first I would have given a few quid to Chalkie for taking care of. A van would be borrowed, extra helpers would appear for a fiver each (Chalkie probably pocketing a pound of it) and in an hour the piano would be procured from unknown Point A to Point B in my living room. Might even be worth more than a fiver each and a tenner for him. Pianos are heavy. I lived up two flights. I think the conversation began in earnest then as a type of sales meeting. Chalkie being the Sales Manager, he began to sell:

    "...Course pianas are eavy, bloody eavy. Be worth a coupla of knicker if you could get your ands on one. I mean, when you fink abaht it, getting a piana shouldn't be ard, not compared wiv movin' it. But I could elp you there."

    As we discussed how difficult pianos can be to transport, we moved onto the fact that so many people had pianos in their houses but never played them. Pianos that had been bought years ago, for the kids to have lessons on or to sit around (the old Joanna) and sing songs on Saturday nights or at Christmas. And it was our guess that many people had pianos that they had no intention of moving (because of the difficulty therein), but might be happy to be shot of if the could be made to magically disappear. And for a good cause, at that.

    Of course, I paid for the ad.

    It turned out that our guess was right. Within 48 hours of the advertisement being published in the local paper I had the offer of 12 pianos, a bunch of acoustic guitars, two electric guitars (both in need of strings) and a handful of violins. Without exception these were offered to us by folks who had had these remnants of their children's long-ago forgotten musical obsessions kicking around the house for years.

    A van was duly borrowed. Chalkie found two other likely fellows (twenty quid each) and persuaded me that "a fella like you don't want to be aht shiftin' pianas." They carried mine up the two flights and a little more than a week later Chalkie gave me 50 quid and a long story about how it hadn't been easy to sell the pianos and how, 'onest, this was all my cut came to.

    I was living in a rented flat then and I left it about six months later. A friend of a friend moved in to take the place over. The piano is probably still there. Unless Chalkie claimed it as his own.

  • BluepunkBluepunk

    @JohnnyGoodyear said:
    November,1982
    Classified advertisement in the South London Press:

    New Youth Club forming to benefit underprivileged kids in the Brixton area. We will focus on using music to touch the lives of local children who have never had the opportunity to play. Pianos and other instruments desperately needed. We will collect. Please help this worthy cause. Call Johnny Goodyear at 555-1212.

    Chalkie was (and I hope he still is, but it's been almost 40 years) a perfect rascal. And perfect rascals are hard to find. He worked summers on a laboring gang which traveled throughout England putting up tents and booths for exhibitions and shows. He was what my grandmother would have called a `diddicoy', which is something similar to a gypsy, but less trustworthy (in her closely-typed moral book).

    In the Winter months he would come back to West Dulwich in South-East London and make his money doing odd jobs, a little building work, pilfering, borrowing, and so forth. What (in my very loosely-bound moral book) made him a rascal was that he was bright and funny and not in the business of particularly harming anyone, although he would take swift advantage of you (and your grandmother) if the opportunity presented itself. Which, because of his quick eye, it often seemed to.

    I wanted a piano. But I had no money to buy one with. This was the gist of the dilemma that Chalkie and I were talking about one Sunday lunchtime in the pub on Rosendale Road. While I was moaning, as mortals will do, Chalkie was already scheming. I think the thin end of the wedge that first inserted itself into Chalkie's ever flexible brain was the possibility that if I were to buy a piano I would probably need to pay someone (him) to help me move it. An odd job. And not the first I would have given a few quid to Chalkie for taking care of. A van would be borrowed, extra helpers would appear for a fiver each (Chalkie probably pocketing a pound of it) and in an hour the piano would be procured from unknown Point A to Point B in my living room. Might even be worth more than a fiver each and a tenner for him. Pianos are heavy. I lived up two flights. I think the conversation began in earnest then as a type of sales meeting. Chalkie being the Sales Manager, he began to sell:

    "...Course pianas are eavy, bloody eavy. Be worth a coupla of knicker if you could get your ands on one. I mean, when you fink abaht it, getting a piana shouldn't be ard, not compared wiv movin' it. But I could elp you there."

    As we discussed how difficult pianos can be to transport, we moved onto the fact that so many people had pianos in their houses but never played them. Pianos that had been bought years ago, for the kids to have lessons on or to sit around (the old Joanna) and sing songs on Saturday nights or at Christmas. And it was our guess that many people had pianos that they had no intention of moving (because of the difficulty therein), but might be happy to be shot of if the could be made to magically disappear. And for a good cause, at that.

    Of course, I paid for the ad.

    It turned out that our guess was right. Within 48 hours of the advertisement being published in the local paper I had the offer of 12 pianos, a bunch of acoustic guitars, two electric guitars (both in need of strings) and a handful of violins. Without exception these were offered to us by folks who had had these remnants of their children's long-ago forgotten musical obsessions kicking around the house for years.

    A van was duly borrowed. Chalkie found two other likely fellows (twenty quid each) and persuaded me that "a fella like you don't want to be aht shiftin' pianas." They carried mine up the two flights and a little more than a week later Chalkie gave me 50 quid and a long story about how it hadn't been easy to sell the pianos and how, 'onest, this was all my cut came to.

    I was living in a rented flat then and I left it about six months later. A friend of a friend moved in to take the place over. The piano is probably still there. Unless Chalkie claimed it as his own.

    BRILLIANT story. Thanks for sharing. ‘A Perfect Rascal’...There’s a Ian Dury-esque song to be written, Colonel Goodyear. Looking forward to hearing it.

    When I’m clearing the leaves from Mrs Smith’s gutters next week I’ll think of Chalkie. :)

  • KrupaKrupa

    Fantastic read @JohnnyGoodyear thanks for evoking SouthLondon in a time before I ever got there :)

  • GavinskiGavinski

    @JohnnyGoodyear said:
    November,1982
    Classified advertisement in the South London Press:

    New Youth Club forming to benefit underprivileged kids in the Brixton area. We will focus on using music to touch the lives of local children who have never had the opportunity to play. Pianos and other instruments desperately needed. We will collect. Please help this worthy cause. Call Johnny Goodyear at 555-1212.

    Chalkie was (and I hope he still is, but it's been almost 40 years) a perfect rascal. And perfect rascals are hard to find. He worked summers on a laboring gang which traveled throughout England putting up tents and booths for exhibitions and shows. He was what my grandmother would have called a `diddicoy', which is something similar to a gypsy, but less trustworthy (in her closely-typed moral book).

    In the Winter months he would come back to West Dulwich in South-East London and make his money doing odd jobs, a little building work, pilfering, borrowing, and so forth. What (in my very loosely-bound moral book) made him a rascal was that he was bright and funny and not in the business of particularly harming anyone, although he would take swift advantage of you (and your grandmother) if the opportunity presented itself. Which, because of his quick eye, it often seemed to.

    I wanted a piano. But I had no money to buy one with. This was the gist of the dilemma that Chalkie and I were talking about one Sunday lunchtime in the pub on Rosendale Road. While I was moaning, as mortals will do, Chalkie was already scheming. I think the thin end of the wedge that first inserted itself into Chalkie's ever flexible brain was the possibility that if I were to buy a piano I would probably need to pay someone (him) to help me move it. An odd job. And not the first I would have given a few quid to Chalkie for taking care of. A van would be borrowed, extra helpers would appear for a fiver each (Chalkie probably pocketing a pound of it) and in an hour the piano would be procured from unknown Point A to Point B in my living room. Might even be worth more than a fiver each and a tenner for him. Pianos are heavy. I lived up two flights. I think the conversation began in earnest then as a type of sales meeting. Chalkie being the Sales Manager, he began to sell:

    "...Course pianas are eavy, bloody eavy. Be worth a coupla of knicker if you could get your ands on one. I mean, when you fink abaht it, getting a piana shouldn't be ard, not compared wiv movin' it. But I could elp you there."

    As we discussed how difficult pianos can be to transport, we moved onto the fact that so many people had pianos in their houses but never played them. Pianos that had been bought years ago, for the kids to have lessons on or to sit around (the old Joanna) and sing songs on Saturday nights or at Christmas. And it was our guess that many people had pianos that they had no intention of moving (because of the difficulty therein), but might be happy to be shot of if the could be made to magically disappear. And for a good cause, at that.

    Of course, I paid for the ad.

    It turned out that our guess was right. Within 48 hours of the advertisement being published in the local paper I had the offer of 12 pianos, a bunch of acoustic guitars, two electric guitars (both in need of strings) and a handful of violins. Without exception these were offered to us by folks who had had these remnants of their children's long-ago forgotten musical obsessions kicking around the house for years.

    A van was duly borrowed. Chalkie found two other likely fellows (twenty quid each) and persuaded me that "a fella like you don't want to be aht shiftin' pianas." They carried mine up the two flights and a little more than a week later Chalkie gave me 50 quid and a long story about how it hadn't been easy to sell the pianos and how, 'onest, this was all my cut came to.

    I was living in a rented flat then and I left it about six months later. A friend of a friend moved in to take the place over. The piano is probably still there. Unless Chalkie claimed it as his own.

    Brilliant Johnny.

    @LinearLineman you might need to abandon one of those 'd's in the title btw 😉

  • ecamburnecamburn

    Painted a vivid picture Mr. Goodyear. I enjoyed the journey

  • GavinskiGavinski

    Sorry, one of those ‘n’s i mean, 😂 > @Gavinski said:

    @JohnnyGoodyear said:
    November,1982
    Classified advertisement in the South London Press:

    New Youth Club forming to benefit underprivileged kids in the Brixton area. We will focus on using music to touch the lives of local children who have never had the opportunity to play. Pianos and other instruments desperately needed. We will collect. Please help this worthy cause. Call Johnny Goodyear at 555-1212.

    Chalkie was (and I hope he still is, but it's been almost 40 years) a perfect rascal. And perfect rascals are hard to find. He worked summers on a laboring gang which traveled throughout England putting up tents and booths for exhibitions and shows. He was what my grandmother would have called a `diddicoy', which is something similar to a gypsy, but less trustworthy (in her closely-typed moral book).

    In the Winter months he would come back to West Dulwich in South-East London and make his money doing odd jobs, a little building work, pilfering, borrowing, and so forth. What (in my very loosely-bound moral book) made him a rascal was that he was bright and funny and not in the business of particularly harming anyone, although he would take swift advantage of you (and your grandmother) if the opportunity presented itself. Which, because of his quick eye, it often seemed to.

    I wanted a piano. But I had no money to buy one with. This was the gist of the dilemma that Chalkie and I were talking about one Sunday lunchtime in the pub on Rosendale Road. While I was moaning, as mortals will do, Chalkie was already scheming. I think the thin end of the wedge that first inserted itself into Chalkie's ever flexible brain was the possibility that if I were to buy a piano I would probably need to pay someone (him) to help me move it. An odd job. And not the first I would have given a few quid to Chalkie for taking care of. A van would be borrowed, extra helpers would appear for a fiver each (Chalkie probably pocketing a pound of it) and in an hour the piano would be procured from unknown Point A to Point B in my living room. Might even be worth more than a fiver each and a tenner for him. Pianos are heavy. I lived up two flights. I think the conversation began in earnest then as a type of sales meeting. Chalkie being the Sales Manager, he began to sell:

    "...Course pianas are eavy, bloody eavy. Be worth a coupla of knicker if you could get your ands on one. I mean, when you fink abaht it, getting a piana shouldn't be ard, not compared wiv movin' it. But I could elp you there."

    As we discussed how difficult pianos can be to transport, we moved onto the fact that so many people had pianos in their houses but never played them. Pianos that had been bought years ago, for the kids to have lessons on or to sit around (the old Joanna) and sing songs on Saturday nights or at Christmas. And it was our guess that many people had pianos that they had no intention of moving (because of the difficulty therein), but might be happy to be shot of if the could be made to magically disappear. And for a good cause, at that.

    Of course, I paid for the ad.

    It turned out that our guess was right. Within 48 hours of the advertisement being published in the local paper I had the offer of 12 pianos, a bunch of acoustic guitars, two electric guitars (both in need of strings) and a handful of violins. Without exception these were offered to us by folks who had had these remnants of their children's long-ago forgotten musical obsessions kicking around the house for years.

    A van was duly borrowed. Chalkie found two other likely fellows (twenty quid each) and persuaded me that "a fella like you don't want to be aht shiftin' pianas." They carried mine up the two flights and a little more than a week later Chalkie gave me 50 quid and a long story about how it hadn't been easy to sell the pianos and how, 'onest, this was all my cut came to.

    I was living in a rented flat then and I left it about six months later. A friend of a friend moved in to take the place over. The piano is probably still there. Unless Chalkie claimed it as his own.

    Brilliant Johnny.

    @LinearLineman you might need to abandon one of those 'd's in the title btw 😉

  • richardyotrichardyot

    Beautiful pictures @LinearLineman and beautiful story @JohnnyGoodyear.

  • LinearLinemanLinearLineman

    @Gavinski, thanks for the tip. @JohnnyGoodyear, I’m sure that story is just the tip of the iceberg.

  • JohnnyGoodyearJohnnyGoodyear

    @LinearLineman said:
    @Gavinski, thanks for the tip. @JohnnyGoodyear, I’m sure that story is just the tip of the iceberg.

    Too many folks worry about the time left when it's amazing we're still alive to tell the tale...

  • McDMcD

    A grand piano is good for about 30-40 years unless it great great service and most don't.
    They get abandoned for a trophy piano if the owner has the money and just abandoned or
    cut up for firewood if not.

  • Wrlds2ndBstGeoshredrWrlds2ndBstGeoshredr

    @McD said:
    A grand piano is good for about 30-40 years unless it great great service and most don't.
    They get abandoned for a trophy piano if the owner has the money and just abandoned or
    cut up for firewood if not.

    My favorite luthier puts them to good use:

    https://wishbass.com/gallery/Piano-wood-X-Lobe/

Sign In or Register to comment.

© Vanilla Keystone Theme 2024