Raising the Piano Bar
RAISING THE PIANO BAR – August 7, 2024 – Lansing, Michigan, USA
Everyone who encountered Kane Crookston suddenly believed in trolls and giants. For the first few milliseconds, their eyes thought they recognized Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies. No, it was not him, but he also had bushy long hair and a long beard.
Kane dressed mostly in black leather. He liked silver decorations, including studs running down the front of his vest and a belt buckle as big as a plate. When he was not wearing sleeves, his tree-trunk arms showed black tattoos featuring skulls and snakes. He kept a tablecloth sized bandana tied around his neck.
Kane rarely needed to speak, but when he did open his mouth, his voice pounded eardrums like a sledgehammer on concrete. Women and children crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him looming ahead on a sidewalk. He appeared in court three times and three different judges shakily addressed him as “Sir.”
Kane was minding his own business as he visited a mall near his home to pick up custom-made boots. As he strode past T-shirt shops and jewelry stores, Kane noticed someone playing the grand piano which sat at the convergence point of the mall’s concourses. He grew uncharacteristically curious and stomped his way toward the music. He stopped behind the piano bench, casting a shadow that stretched past the piano’s top lid.
A clean-cut young man sat beneath Kane wearing a loose suit jacket. He concluded one song and immediately began another, as if he was being paid to play. The pianist’s skinny fingers danced lightly over the black and white keys, coaxing out a classical tune Kane did not recognize. He would later learn it was Clair de Lune, composed by Claude Debussy. Kane felt mildly indifferent to the sound but for five full minutes, was fascinated by the moving fingers.
When the song ended, none of the passing mall visitors acknowledged how well it was played. Kane grunted deeply and walked away. By the time he reached the exit, he forgot about the piano. He found his lifted pickup truck with extra-large tires in the parking lot and drove home.
Kane usually did not dream while he slept, but that night he dreamed of playing the piano. The dream was vivid and detailed. He saw his own fingers moving along the keys, tapping the same way as the skinny fingers at the mall. The dream repeated all night. By the time Kane woke, he was sure it repeated in his head for 1000 hours.
“I can play the piano now,” Kane said to himself, although his massive fingers had never touched piano keys.
He could not explain why he was so sure of the overnight transformation, but he wanted to experience the sensation of creating music. None of his friends owned a piano so he drove to a music store close to his house. After ducking to get through the doorway, Kane took a quick inventory of the store’s interior. Similar instruments were grouped together. Guitars sat near the front window. Violins hung behind a counter. Drums and drum sets stood near the right wall. The pianos were arranged farthest from the door. Kane pushed forward.
Halfway to the pianos, a salesman intercepted Kane’s path. Looking up, he gulped and asked, “May I help you find something, sir? If you’re looking for a guitar, they’re up front.”
“I need a piano,” Kane demanded.
The salesman followed Kane to the largest piano in the store. Without asking permission, Kane pulled out the bench and sat down. The salesman’s eyes grew wide as the legs creaked. Kane hunched over and dropped his hands onto the keyboard. A good fraction of the keys disappeared beneath his thick fingers.
As soon as his massive fingertips touched down on the smooth, flat keys, Kane knew he could play. His fingers moved delicately on their own. The muscle memory for Clair de Lune was hard-wired into his body as if he had practiced it for a lifetime. He did not need to think so he listened to the light, beautiful melody.
The song ended and Kane looked up to find four music store employees standing around him. They applauded with surprised faces.
“That was brilliant,” the first salesman said as he clapped.
“Thank you,” Kane replied in a baritone voice. He smiled and his little audience caught a glimpse of his teeth through his beard. He walked out of the store without anyone asking if he was interested in buying a piano.
Kane drove directly to the mall and lumbered toward the piano at its center. The piano sat quiet and abandoned so Kane pulled out the bench and draped his body over the keyboard. None of the passersby paid attention.
When his fingers contacted the keys, Kane felt the same sensation he had in the music store. His unconscious brain took over. He saw nothing but his fingers and the black and white keys. He heard only the notes.
Five minutes later, as Kane pulled his hands away from the piano, he realized twenty people had gathered around. Each wore a stunned expression. One of them clapped and the others joined in. They had all heard Clair de Lune played on that same piano, but never by someone who looked like Kane. How could a hulk who only seemed capable of smashing the piano to bits produce such delicate and tender sounds? Should they believe their eyes or their ears?
“Play it again!” one listener called.
Kane happily repeated his performance twice more. By that point, the crowd grew to 50.
“Do you take requests?” someone shouted.
“No. That’s what I know,” Kane abruptly answered. He stood up and the people standing behind him scattered. He lumbered out of the building and back to his giant truck. He returned home with a hunger to play more piano and showcase what his hands could do.
Kane pulled out his phone and called half a dozen friends. “Meet me at Joe’s tonight,” he demanded. Joe’s was a combination restaurant and bar and their typical hangout. It was not a fancy place, but Kane knew all the employees by name and remembered they had an upright piano shoved against the wall near the pool table room.
Not all of Kane’s friends showed up that night, but he ordered ribs for those who did. While they were still eating, Kane asked a waitress to turn off the rock music blaring from the overhead speakers. He turned to his friends and said, “Watch this.”
The room grew silent as Kane stomped his way to the piano. Along the way, he grabbed a metal chair from one of the tables and shoved the rickety piano bench aside. Diners and drinkers ignored their plates and glasses. Employees stood still in anticipation.
The magical sensation flowed through Kane’s fingers as they touched the worn piano keys. Clair de Lune trickled out of the long-neglected instrument. The sound was such a contrast to what was usually heard inside the room, patrons and employees guessed it was part of a joke or prank. But no one dared make a peep to interrupt.
The song ended and one of Kane’s friends called out, “Where’d you learn to play that?”
“It just came to me,” Kane bellowed in response.
“You know anything else? Maybe something not so airy fairy? Something rock and roll?”
“That’s all I know. I could play it again.”
“It was nice. But once was probably enough.”
Kane glared with disappointment. The friends at his table frantically blamed each other for not wanting to hear the song again. Kane left some money for the ribs on the table and then left Joe’s. Someone turned the overhead music back on.
The lack of appreciation by his friends stung Kane, so he looked for other public pianos around the city where he might collect more refined listeners. Over the next several weeks, he found pianos in stores, museums, and performing arts centers. Wherever he played, he drew an audience that gawked in wonder. He liked the adoration but began to realize they were not there merely to enjoy the music. They were there because of the surprise and contradiction. They could not believe that someone so huge and rough could create something so delicate and beautiful.
Kane grew conflicted. He liked performing and the sensation of his hands making something wonderful, but he did not want to be seen as a freak. He was tired of questions about why he chose to play Clair de Lune instead of something more rock and roll. He decided he needed a new song. He returned to the mall and found the skinny pianist.
“You got anything newer?” Kane demanded after interrupting another rendition of Clair de Lune.
The pianist looked up with frightened eyes. “Uh, yes sir. Anything in particular?”
“Something rock and roll.”
The young pianist pounded out Bohemian Rhapsody and then songs by Billy Joel and Elton John. Kane watched intently. He returned home and tried to dream, but none of the songs stuck. When he sat down at a piano, the only thing that came out of his fingers was Clair de Lune.
“I heard too many songs,” Kane told himself. “I need to concentrate on only one.”
He found a video of someone playing “Great Balls of Fire” by Jerry Lee Lewis. He stared at the keyboard and fingers. He watched over and over until he fell asleep. He woke up knowing something was rewired in his brain.
Kane drove straight to the mall and sat down at the empty piano. He dropped his enormous hands onto the keyboard. His fingers hammered the keys and out came Great Balls of Fire. Clair de Lune was gone. As Kane pounded away, passersby smiled but continued walking.
The song ended and Kane returned to full consciousness. He looked around expecting to see an audience. No one stared back at him in wonder. Those who saw and heard his performance thought to themselves, “If a leather-clad giant was good on the piano, that’s what I’d expect it to sound like.”
Later that night, Kane played for his friends at Joe’s. Everyone stayed silent and listened. This time, people recognized the song and even sung a few of the lyrics. Someone shouted for Kane to repeat it. Then one of his friends called, “Okay, now play something else.” No one seemed to appreciate how nimbly his fingers worked or how perfectly he kept the beat. To them, he was nothing but a glorified jukebox that could only play one song.
Kane again left Joe’s feeling disappointed. Finding a song that better fit his persona was supposed to bring him adoration and admiration. But people were only amazed when he produced something unexpected.
Kane did not touch a piano while he struggled to understand his strange gift. At first, he decided he should simply keep it to himself. Then he missed performing and the look of delight and surprise on people’s faces. Did he care if they thought he was something of a freak show? If anyone was big and tough enough to deal with a few awkward questions, it was him.
“If they want a show, I’ll give them a show,” Kane said to himself. “I’ll take it up a notch.”
Clair de Lune was a challenging piece of music, but Kane decided he should truly blow people’s minds by playing the hardest song in the world. He did some internet searching and concluded that song was called La Campanella by Franz Liszt. He found a YouTube video of someone playing La Campanella and barely believed his eyes and ears. He looked down at his own fingers and wondered if they were capable of moving at such lightning speed.
Then Kane shrugged and said out loud, “Well, fingers, it’s up to you.” He set aside the rest of the day for watching the La Campanella video. He planned to sleep in late because he needed plenty of time to dream. The shoppers at the mall were in for a thunderstrike. They had better have their cameras ready.
Please remember to subscribe for weekly reminders about new stories. You can subscribe by clicking here: Subscribe. You can also follow new content on any Podcast platform or on YouTube. For the full list of stories, return Home.