Profile Piece - working title

Small paper squares litter the stage. Some lie crumpled on the floor, others are strewn across the top of the piano; each carries the name of a popular song and its accompanying artist. Tim sifts through the requests with his right hand, while his left hand runs the bass line to “Lady Madonna.” His legs are restless – one sits on the electric pedal at his feet, pumping up and down in rhythm with the song. The other moves haphazardly in no sequential order, bouncing anxiously in preparation for his set. Tim shoots a glance around the room, then at the drum set to his left. He half smiles at the drummer and turns his gaze towards the second baby grand across the stage. The song ends. The crowd applauds and whoops. The other player meets his eyes and leans in towards the mic.

“Alright, folks – Tim Cutting,” he says in introduction.

Tim smirks and drops his head. He looks at the scribbled requests one last time, then peeks out at the crowd and pounds the first, heavy chord. This is Tim’s last night as a dueling pianist in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Better make the most of it.

Tim stands about five feet ten inches tall. He’s thirty years old with dark brown hair eyes to match; an angled nose rests above his permanent five o’clock shadow. The only way you’d know his age was if you were taller than Tim – his hair’s started thinning in a cropped swirl atop his head. Even though he’s got a beer onstage all night, he’s still sittin’ pretty at 150 lbs. Tim gets to wear his everyday clothes to work – loose-fit blue jeans with any number of assorted t-shirts, and a pair of suede Puma Cabanas. Monaco Bay relaxes the employee dress code for its musicians; not so much for the rest of the staff, who work in black pants and collared shirts. The pianists are the mainstays, the venue’s attractions; a little personality in their outfits is good, and Tim’s outfit screams . . . well, it doesn’t really scream anything. On the street, Tim is just another guy. Seated behind a piano, however, he’s an expert, a virtuoso, an artist.

Seven years ago, Tim auditioned for a job at Monaco Bay Piano Bar and Grill. As a former composition major at Western Michigan University, the job seemed like an easy fit. The only issue was playing songs and singing simultaneously; that took some practice. After working his way through the likes of Ben Folds and other contemporary musicians, it seemed as though Tim had it down.

After a several weeks, Tim had become a staple of the show. His co-workers remarked on his exuberant personality – easy-going offstage, energetic onstage. He knew how to work the crowd on different nights; he knew how to cater to their needs, to get them dancing or singing or drinking or head banging to his cascading glissandos and fervent vocals.

“Tim is just so easy to talk to, to get along with,” said a waiter at Monaco Bay. “For me, I guess I’d say that Tim is the face of the bar, and now that he’s leaving,” the waiter pauses, looks at Tim onstage, and shakes his head. “Now that he’s leaving, we need to find that face again.”

Tim’s parents were piano majors. They both make a living as professional pianists. Tim began playing when he was seven years old; he shared an obvious affinity for their instrument of choice. When he was in high school, however, things began to sour.

“When I was a kid, I practiced six hours a day. I never did my homework,” Tim muses, “I just played piano. Didn’t get the best grades.”

After so many years of practiced repetition and performance, Tim called it quits. For an entire year, he didn’t touch a piano or play a song. Then, one afternoon while driving with his father, Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathetique” came on the radio. Tim listened. He liked what he heard, and realized he missed piano. After playing for the remainder of his high school career, Tim joined Western Michigan’s music department as an incoming compositions major. He never finished his degree – after taking a semester off during his sophomore year, Tim was forced to re-audition. He passed easily, and began studying choral arrangements and performance. Soon enough, however, Tim took another break – this time, indefinitely. Monaco Bay was his next stop. He’s been there ever since.

But Tim won’t be an employee of Monaco Bay for much longer. In two weeks he’ll be leaving for Chicago; he’s got another job lined up as a dueling pianist for a larger chain, Howl at the Moon. They’re corporate, they’re legitimate, they’ve got restaurants in every major city, and plenty of employee benefits to go around. After seven years on the same stage in the same bar in the same town, Tim is ready for a change.

“I’m lookin’ forward to the Chicago scene ‘cause it’s part of the reason I’m going down there,” Tim said. “It’s the same kind of concept, but I’m gonna be the new guy. I’m gonna have to step up my game a little bit.”

His new job, however, is more or less the same as his current one. Same instrument, similar setup, same kind of people to request the same kinds of songs – the setting is unmistakably familiar. There will undoubtedly be new experiences, new types of big city energy to channel, new songs playing on the radio, ripe for his onstage interpretations; as the “new guy” – the little fish in the huge, metropolitan pond – how could there not be? For Tim, however, it’s all about avoiding stagnation, the promise of change.

“I think that’s what I’m looking forward to the most – that it’s gonna challenge me again,” Tim said. “After awhile, it all sort of starts to blend together. So, I’m looking forward to starting somewhere new.”

I asked Tim to make a couple lists for me before he left – Top 5 favorite songs to play onstage, and its inverse, Top 5 worst songs to play onstage. His favorites are as follows: (1) Possum Kingdom by the Toadies, (2) My Hero by the Foo Fighters, (3) Ice Cream Man – Van Halen, (4) Africa by Toto, and (6) New Age Girl by Dead Eye Dick. Tim said there are a couple Pearl Jam songs in there, but he didn’t place them specifically. He says the order’s different on different days – just depends on the day and the mood. His least favorites include Great Balls of Fire, Sweet Caroline, Piano Man, Don’t Stop Believing, and Brown Eyed Girl to name a few. These are the songs that get requested every night without fail, over and over again. And that’s when things get stale, that’s when things get boring.

Sometimes Tim will watch the Tigers game while he’s playing a set. He’ll almost forget he’s got lyrics coming up, then he’ll catch himself and belt them out in time. Other nights when he’s waiting for a song to end, he stares off into the distance at nothing in particular. His gaze is heavy; he’s just going through the motions. After playing the same songs umpteen nights in a row for the past seven years, who can blame him?

“I see a couple older guys doing this stuff, and they hate their lives,” Tim frowns. “Sometimes I feel like I just can’t connect with anybody in the crowd.”

Besides these brief instances, these slight lapses in mental fortitude, Tim is full of energy and enthusiasm. Sickness, physical or mental exhaustion, bad break-ups, and tired songs be damned – Tim packs his troubles up and gets onstage, ready to perform. That kind of perseverance can’t be taught. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the shots, maybe it’s the crowd and the fans, the regulars and the fellow employees, maybe it’s the feeling he gets – the stage high, the flow – whatever the reason, Tim doesn’t know how to have an off night; he brings his A-game every time he gets onstage.

It’s one o’clock in the morning on Tim’s last night as a Monaco Bay pianist. It’s also the weekend of Western’s graduation, the only time Tim gets nervous for a show. Strange that both events coincide on this night. The bar is packed, the college kids are out, and Tim is moving with the crowd, electrifying them, engaging them, inviting them to celebrate his final songs. Sweat glistens on his brow, his fingers glide effortlessly through songs he’s played a million times, beer’s at the ready beside the leg of his piano – Tim is in his element.

“I can promise you / You'll stay as beautiful / With dark hair / And soft skin . . . forever / Forever,” Tim sings into the microphone. The Toadies’ lyrics carry through the bar. He looks out at the crowd and rails out a few more chords before continuing the verse. In this moment, in this place, and although he’d modestly disagree, Tim is absolute; he is the face of Monaco Bay.