“Recorded music is no match for hearing a piano played live,” he said. “That’s why it’s called recorded — the last syllable is ‘dead.’ ”

But the market for the player pianos that he used to buy and fix and sell has stagnated. Now, Mr. Herr is stuck with a dozen or so Steinway player pianos in the cluttered basement and garage of his 1920s-era house on 77th Avenue in Forest Hills.

He cannot even swear to the exact number because the pianos are nearly buried amid his other collectibles, including many antique cash registers. His kitchen is filled with 1920s-era appliances, and he uses a 1935 refrigerator that has a special section for his 40-ounce bottles of Olde English 800 malt liquor.

After an emotional performance of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” on the Steinway, Mr. Herr grabbed a bottle, took a healthy swig and described growing up as a ragtime-crazed teenager in Canarsie, Brooklyn.

Television specials by the ragtime master Max Morath had him eschewing Elvis and the Beatles, and he bought a $50 player piano from a used-furniture shop on Ditmas Avenue. He repaired it with the help of an article in Popular Science magazine, and then began seeking out rare rolls. His collection of more than 3,000 now includes some vintage finds, including music by Max Bruch and Scott Joplin.

To avoid the Vietnam War draft, Mr. Herr said, he enrolled in New York University’s film school and studied with Martin Scorsese. Oliver Stone, a classmate, acted in his student film. Mr. Herr never married or had children, he said, “because I was always afraid I’d get what I deserve.” He worked as a movie projectionist until his retirement.

Now loosened up, he rummaged through an antique cabinet of rolls and pulled out a knuckle-buster — for pianists, anyway — by Jelly Roll Morton from the 1930s. He pumped the Steinway’s foot pedals like mad, blowing air up through tubes and valves to smaller bellows near the keys that powered a series of chains, gears and springs that activated the piano keys.