MY VINTAGE YAMAHA C7: Built in the company's main factory in Hamamatsu, Japan:
Matte black.
1978.
A piano with stories.
There’s a reason the Yamaha C7 has become the most recorded piano in history.
It’s the sound of countless studios — the heartbeat of albums that defined eras — from Elton John’s sessions to mine.
My own C7 is a creature of character and resonance.
Every key feels like it’s lived a thousand songs.
Its tone — that perfect balance of clarity and warmth — bright enough to cut through a mix, deep enough to break your heart.
When I first bought it in the U.S., its keys were original ivory — smooth and luminous.
But after years of crossing back and forth between the U.K. and the U.S. — four journeys in all — I had to replace them with Ivorite to bring it home again.
I didn’t mind. I adore elephants.
It felt right — keeping the soul, shedding the harm.
Friends sometimes say,
“Why don’t you just sell it and buy another when you get there?”
I look at them like they’re crazy.
This C7 of mine has a soul.
Most of my songs have begun here.
Not just notes — confessions.
You can’t hide from a C7; it tells the truth back to you.
That’s why Elton loved it.
That’s why I do too.
