A hot day; cycling through London the parks are heaving with sunbathers and the pub gardens are packed. The ever-more confusing streets with new dead ends here and Olympic lanes there send me on a number of detours as I make my way to work, and I arrive at the hotel with minutes to spare. The bar staff stand open-mouthed as I sneak past them in T-shirt and shorts, with helmet-dishevelled hair and a red face. Minutes later, at 7pm on the dot, I emerge from the bathroom in a suit, sit at the piano and play something slow while I recover from the journey.
Glancing up I see the grumpiest of the managers, who is doing a throat-slitting action and shaking his head. He approaches me and chastises me for the creases in my shirt sleeve, apparently oblivious to the fact that he is putting me off and making me stop singing mid-verse - surely more of a hindrance to my overall presentation? Gesturing over to the far corner he tells me that the management for the global hotel chain are in, and that my presentation is not up to scratch. I apologise, and try to pick up from where I was rudely interrupted. I heard it through what now? Oh yes, the grapevine.
As I begin to build up a habitual resentment of the 'system', my phone rings. It is my agent, who never calls. Something must be up. On my break I see a message on my phone:
Dear all, we are sorry to say that the hotel bar is closing for refurb, and will re-open without a piano. Sad news after 20 years. We will try and find you work in other venues but for now all shifts after this week are cancelled. Apologies for the short notice.
This news makes tonight my last shift. Suddenly, the resentment that has become almost default disappears, and a feeling of nostalgia builds. I go over to the bar staff, who have recently been informed themselves. We all realise at that moment that a miniature era has come to an end. Amid the quiet resentment of the clientele, I had made good friends the other side of the bar. The smiling Canadian girl, who managed to keep me motivated by mouthing the words to songs and giving a subtle but appreciated thumbs up after my efforts went unnoticed by the clientele; the Australian barman who greeted me on my arrival, a year ago, and told me tales of his adventures around the world whenever he managed to get enough holiday... This is our last shift together, and the feeling of finality dawns fast.
Suddenly, I feel an urge to make the most of playing here. Rather than counting down the hours and resenting the daily grind, I begin to appreciate what I'm doing at that moment - I think the technical world is "mindfulness". My playing carries far more meaning than usual, and provides what is, to me, a quietly emotive soundtrack to the sight of bar staff at work - new friends who I will scarcely see once the piano disappears. As I start to live through nostalgia, I realise how much I have grown accustomed to the people, the place and my role here.
Suddenly, I feel an urge to make the most of playing here. Rather than counting down the hours and resenting the daily grind, I begin to appreciate what I'm doing at that moment - I think the technical world is "mindfulness". My playing carries far more meaning than usual, and provides what is, to me, a quietly emotive soundtrack to the sight of bar staff at work - new friends who I will scarcely see once the piano disappears. As I start to live through nostalgia, I realise how much I have grown accustomed to the people, the place and my role here.
Lost in my playing as I reflect on all this, I am brought back to reality by a man standing by the piano, who asks me if I know Piano Man by Billy Joel. I haven't played this one for many months, but as I glance over the lyrics sheet to jog my memory, I realise how apt the words are for my situation. I sing it with feeling, smiling at the bar staff as I sing the words that could have been written about our situation:
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says Bill, I believe this is killing me
As the smile ran away from his face
Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place
The waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinking alone.
Sing us a song you're the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight
We're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright.
At midnight, my shift ends, and my time at the hotel comes to a close. But there is a good crowd in tonight and as people continue to ask for their favourite songs, I feel no desire to pack up and leave.
I keep taking requests until 1am, and finish with the Jerome Kern song which sums up nostalgia in a metaphor that hasn't been topped in the 80 years since it was written:
When a lovely flame dies
Smoke gets in your eyes
And with those words, I pack up and leave the bar for the last time.
I keep taking requests until 1am, and finish with the Jerome Kern song which sums up nostalgia in a metaphor that hasn't been topped in the 80 years since it was written:
When a lovely flame dies
Smoke gets in your eyes
And with those words, I pack up and leave the bar for the last time.
