Chapter 9 #2
I consider giving an explanation for the sudden appearance of the piano but then I decide to just get on with things.
The crowd cheers even louder as soon as they hear the opening bars of Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now”; it’s not a song I’ve ever performed here before because I could never do it justice on guitar.
As much I love the challenge of rearranging a song for the guitar and experimenting with different percussive sounds that I can layer into the performance, there are just some songs that shouldn’t be messed with.
The apprehension I was feeling earlier completely disappears as I become immersed in the song; as my fingers slide over the keys with the ease of familiarity I feel a sense of pure joy wrap around me and I find myself grinning as I reach an instrumental break.
My relationship with the piano is complicated, to say the least. As a kid it was a passion—or perhaps obsession would be more accurate—and until the age of twelve I had one goal: Juilliard.
Then on my twelfth birthday Mom and I were driving home from a junior orchestra performance when another car crashed into us after skidding through a patch of ice.
After she died I didn’t want to go near a piano. My hand was completely fucked from the accident, my dreams were in tatters, and it all just seemed kind of pointless without Mom there anyway.
But then my baby sister came along and changed everything. Learning what musical therapy can do for kids like Izzy gave me the push I needed to reconnect with the piano, and every second I spend playing with her is incredible.
My hand is still an issue, though. After two major surgeries, countless hours of rehab, and enough metal plating to rival Wolverine I haven’t managed to get even close to matching the flexibility, dexterity and strength I once had in my left hand.
It’s also pretty prone to RSI flare ups, so I need to manage that carefully.
I finish the song to enthusiastic applause; there are even a few wolf-whistles, which prompt my brows to shoot up.
“You might want to save some of that excitement,” I say with a breath of laughter. “You’re about to see something really special. Gia—this is your nine-minute warning.”
I wait for her to acknowledge the warning with a wave, then dance my fingers over the keys, the crowd once again cheering its approval as they recognize Meat Loaf’s “I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That).”
This is another one that I’ve never played before—for the exact same reason.
I don’t usually make a habit of playing songs longer than ten minutes—not that there are many of those from the nineties—but when Gia made the Jim Steinman suggestion I knew the radio version wasn’t going to cut it.
And the crowd seems to be getting into it so I’ll take that as a win.
I see Gia step onto the stage with about twenty seconds to spare and the whole bar goes fucking insane when she starts to sing. I’m guessing there aren’t many Saturday regulars here.
“Give it up for Gia, everyone,” I say into the mic once we’re done with the song.
It’s a little redundant because everyone’s already applauding wildly.
“I also want to shout out Whiskey Tango’s very own Damon Forrester, who sponsored this performance—he’s going to be covering the last hour of Gia’s shift tonight. ”
The crowd cheers again and Gia gives Damon a two-fingered salute off her forehead before stepping off the stage. I notice Damon’s brother giving him a commiserating pat on the back and struggle not to laugh.
I’m supposed to be switching back to guitar now I’m done with the two Jim Steinman songs, but I’m reluctant to move just yet.
I can’t resist the opportunity to perform another classic that I’ve designated strictly off-limits for the guitar; so I turn my attention back to the piano and start playing, smiling at the enthusiastic reaction from the crowd when they recognize Mark Cohn’s “Walking in Memphis.”
I can’t see much of the bar from the angle I’m sitting, so I’m stunned to glance around as I’m wrapping the song up to find a bunch of people up on the dance floor. Soft rock is not the genre I generally pull out when I want to get people up dancing.
So, now I’m in the unfamiliar territory of not knowing what my next move is.
I’m thrilled they’re having a good time and I want to make sure that continues but I’m having trouble figuring out which song I should play next to keep the vibe going.
My instincts are rebelling against playing another soft rock song—but maybe that’s what this crowd wants?
This feels so fucking weird. I can usually read the crowd really well but there are so many variables right now I can’t tell what they’re responding to.
I’m sure the novelty of seeing me play something other than guitar is driving some of the enthusiasm but my ego’s not inflated enough to believe this reaction is solely due to my awesome skillz.
I take the genre out of the equation and just focus on the song.
“Walking In Memphis” is a classic; it’s great to sing along to and it’s basically a musical good mood pill.
That’s what they’re responding to; it has nothing to do with soft rock.
In fact, I’m pretty sure if I were to play Simply Red or Charles & Eddie right now people would be diving for their seats like it was a Duck and Cover drill.
The weird sense of uncertainty evaporates and I feel myself grinning. I know exactly what to play next.