"All Or Nothing At All"

Who's listening?


As night falls, I walk into the cosy hotel bar with its dark mahogany walls and tiny, sophisticated glass tables. A businessman stares into space, his iPad on the table along with various account papers and a glass of whiskey. Next to him is an elegant middle-aged woman, presumably once a stunning young heartbreaker. I wonder what her story is, why she is here alone so often. They both sit in silence, ordering drink after drink, rarely gesturing with more than a subtle wave.

In the far corner, a plump and balding man sits next to a gorgeous blonde at least a foot taller than him. Her cleavage bulges, perfectly in line with the eyes of her nervous looking date. As with so many people in here, few words are said. And like many of the ‘couples’ here, money has evidently exchanged hands. Despite his awkwardness, he seems proud to be in the company of the escort, who smiles and strokes his arm with impeccable professionalism.

Walking through the room I approach the bar, greeted warmly by the army of bar staff in their matching white blazers, who let down their stiff outward appearance for a moment; I am an employee too, in no need of the royal treatment that guests receive. We smile and joke quietly, but their rigid efficiency is never far from the surface.

As I sit at the grand piano in the corner of the room, I hear furious whispers from the adjacent table; an elderly couple are having a quiet but bubbling argument. He’s done something wrong, and she won’t let it go. He strokes her arm and tries to look into her eyes but she shrugs him off and turns to face me: it appears the pianist has provided a convenient distraction which she fixates on stubbornly by way of ignoring his pleas. As I prepare to play my first song I am faced with the unique lounge pianist dilemma – do I change my repertoire so it fits the surroundings better? Is my initial song choice too inappropriate? My job is essentially to provide a soundtrack to people’s evenings; sometimes they are sickeningly appropriate, accompanying lovers staring at one another with ‘The Way You Look Tonight’, and sometimes they are less so. This is one such occasion.

I stick to my initial choice, and after an introductory chord progression I begin singing:

‘When somebody loves you, it’s not good unless they love you…all the way’

Their muttering interjects: ‘Oh shut UP, Jeffery. Shut up!’

Should I move onto something more appropriate like ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’? No, I carry on regardless:

‘Taller than the tallest tree, that’s how it’s got to feel…’

Another interjection: ‘You’re really pissing me off now… don’t TOUCH me!’

She gets up to leave, giving me a forced and exaggerated smile before gesticulating violently at him and storming out. He smiles at me sheepishly, lingers for a moment and then darts out after her, the sharp whispering continuing down the hall. And the song goes on, despite its failure to inspire them with its message.

The life of a lounge pianist is a strange one; our job is to fade into the background, gently creating an atmosphere for (predominantly) wealthy people. The default atmosphere in the hotel is one of solitude. As my fingers run up and down the keys, and I sing songs about love, happiness and relationships, the atmosphere around me is thrown into a stark and revealing light. The loneliness of the ageing business tycoon is more evident than ever. The face of the escort, whose date has excused himself, giving her a moment to relax that well-rehearsed smile, looks defeated and longs for words of ‘Let’s Stay Together’, to suit her situation more. But it’s not just them who feel isolated. A man comes up to me and congratulates me on my playing, before undercutting his compliment with a question I ponder over night after night: ‘Do you mind being ignored?’

Like most hotel pianists, I have a lot of love for what I do. But it can be a lonely job, as we are well-practiced enough to have stopped concentrating on playing some time ago. Rather, we watch the world go by and reflect on what we see. And the overpaid, underloved people who sit in silence for hours on end can leave us feeling uninspired. The refrain of ‘Eleanor Rigby’ is perhaps the most appropriate soundtrack I can provide, as I look out at all the lonely people, and wonder: where do they all come from?
Every now and then, though, I witness an encounter which reassures me that loneliness doesn’t always prevail here, and that my singing is not always ignored. The week before, a man sitting at the bar, sipping a cocktail, had thanked me for the music. A conversation ensued and I learnt that he had travelled from his home in Los Angeles to try to patch things up with his ex-fiancée. He was nervous, and had a lot of emotional energy invested in the prospect of his success. He had asked me if I could learn her favourite song, thinking it might sway his chances. Unfortunately, that song was ‘Crying Game’ by Boy George, which proved to be a test of my endurance as I learned it over the next few days, struggling to maintain enthusiasm despite its awfulness, but buoyed by the sentimental value it clearly held for the estranged couple.

Now seated at the nearby table with the woman he has travelled across the Atlantic to reclaim, he subtly gestures to me to start playing. The conversation seems awkward and tense; her arms are folded and she responds half-heartedly to his staggered emotional outpourings. But as I begin to play the song, its effect is instant and surprises me as much as it pleases him. She covers her face her with hands and begins to sob into her lap, before looking up at me with an astonished expression on her face. He looks relieved, and a huge smile materialises on his face. After she composes herself they sit there holding each other as I continue singing the song, doing everything in my professional power to put some emotion in despite my feelings toward the song.

Soon after, they leave together, and he tosses a generous tip onto the piano, accompanied by a wink. I have expunged the song from my repertoire, but felt pleased to have contributed to what was, for them, a very happy evening. Unlike the angry couple from earlier in the evening, they left holding hands and all smiles.

It is nearly closing time, so I finish with something upbeat to leave the bar staff and me with positive vibes for the road. While the escorts' business had been booming as ever, and the hotel's longstanding residents had continued to stare into space, relationships had both exploded and blossomed before my eyes. One couple had given me all their attention and my music had changed their lives, at least in a small way; another had given me nothing at all, arguing in spite of the romantic atmosphere I tried to create with my song. Such is the life of lounge pianists; we provide an atmosphere in a room where our presence is felt by all, and acknowledged only by a few.