Concerts in the Fancy Room
When I was a kid, my best friend’s house had one of those rooms—the kind no one ever used. If you grew up in the ’80s, you probably know what I’m talking about. The furniture was pristine, sometimes even wrapped in plastic. The carpet looked like it had never been walked on. It was more display than living space.
In that untouched room sat a shiny black baby grand piano. It looked like something out of a movie. And even though the room itself felt off-limits, my friend’s parents always welcomed me in to play. I didn’t need to be asked twice.
I never had a piano like that. Honestly, I still don’t. So every chance to sit at that one was a little moment of magic. The soundboard, the long strings, the way the whole instrument seemed to breathe…everything about it felt alive. I’d play for as long as they’d let me, and they’d call in neighbors or relatives to sit and listen. No one talked, except for a few whispers about my “talent”. They just sat there, smiling.
That room, meant to be admired from afar, became a place where something real happened. And it stuck with me. That feeling of doing what I loved, just for the joy of it, and seeing other people moved by it in their own quiet way. It made me realize that music isn’t just something I love. It’s something that can create connection, across generations, backgrounds, and experiences.
Those impromptu concerts were never planned. No tickets. No stage. Just a kid, a piano, and a few kind people who chose to listen. But I think about them often, especially now as I start to play out more in my new community here in Wendell.
There’s always a little voice that creeps in with self-doubt. Will people care? Will they judge? Am I doing too much/not enough? But when I come back to those early memories, I remember what really matters. Most people aren’t listening to critique. They’re listening to feel something.
So that’s what I’m chasing again. Those quiet rooms that turn into something more when music fills them. And if you’re someone who’s looking for a piano player for your event, your venue, your wedding, or even just your home, I’d be honored to bring that feeling to you.
Because sometimes, the room no one ever goes into becomes the place where music lives the loudest.
A black baby grand piano sits in the center of a formal living room with white carpet, white walls, and furniture covered in plastic protectors. Carpet runners lead through the room, evoking a pristine, rarely-used space from the 1980s.
