Lessons Learned from a Decade of Dueling Pianos

Dueling pianist – what an odd phrase. If you’re wondering what it means, basically, it’s a phrase for people who trade piano solos back and forth, trying to “out play” one another – hence, dueling. Nowadays, it’s more of a phrase reflecting the set-up of our shows – two piano players that take turns singing and playing requests of popular songs and feeding off each other’s energy.

I’ve been a part of this niche music world for 10 years, played 500+ shows, and learned a ton of lessons. And not just about music – I’ve had to stretch and adapt to a variety of situations; from playing in front of thousands of people at famous venues, to playing in someone’s living room to an audience of 12, intently and silently staring and every move you make while a dog sleeps under the piano.

As I wind down my tenure as a human jukebox of sorts, it’s been fun to reflect on just what I’ve learned along this wild and wonderful journey.

Lesson one: Just go for it.

When I graduated from Indiana University in 2012, I was at a crossroads. Being at a world-renowned music school for four years allowed me to explore endless possibilities in music, even if it wasn’t my major.

But when asked to join “the real world” upon graduation, I was faced with a difficult decision – do I give up on music, if I wasn’t ever intent on pursuing a full-time music career?

Since I was living near Indianapolis, I used to visit Howl at the Moon frequently. It’s a dueling piano bar in the heart of the downtown area. I remember (admittedly after a couple of vodka sodas) watching the musicians and thinking, I can do that.

So, when I moved back to Chicago after college, I thought, why not apply? The worst they can say is no. I submitted my online application and got a reply from a very nice man shortly after, with an audition time and date. When I realized I couldn’t make the audition because I’d be out of town, I sent a very detailed, four paragraph response of how sorry I was and that I’d be willing to cancel my trip if the audition couldn’t be moved.

Lesson two: Communicate clearly, concisely, and don’t assume the worst.

It’s funny to look back on that email and read it with my husband, who happened to be the very nice man that replied to me and set up my audition. I assumed I wouldn’t get the job because I couldn’t come to the audition and was already fired before I was hired. So, I tried to over-communicate to alleviate my stress.

Well, spoiler alert – it all worked out. We met shortly after the easily rescheduled audition, after which he offered me the job, trained me, and spent a lot of time building my skillset as a dueling pianist.

Lesson three: Sell what you got.

Early on, the process was difficult for me. Having only completed a few years of piano lessons in high school, I wasn’t really invested in being the next Billy Joel. But walking into Howl at the Moon and playing with some of the best piano players I’d ever heard make me feel extremely intimidated and self-conscious.

I’d spend days listening to songs, trying to copy every single note, and ending up extremely frustrated with myself. I was trying to play as well as musicians who had been playing for, in some cases, 20+ years. And I just couldn’t do it.

So, I remember walking into one training session with my now-husband / then-trainer who I thought just wanted to make my life miserable by making me learn 300 songs – with my “I quit” speech prepared.

When we got to talking, he said something I’ll never forget, that changed my perspective on not just that job, but all jobs I’d take in the future. He told me: I didn’t hire you because you were the best piano player in the world. I hired you for the skills you have – you can sing, you’re funny, and you can work a crowd. So, stop trying to be like everyone else -- build your own show around what you’re good at.

And the rest is history.

Lesson four: Empathy + Boundaries = Connection

To say that being a musician and performer gives insight into human behavior is the understatement of the century. It is a microscope that uncovers the DNA of the human experience.

I have seen the best of people: Crowds screaming your name, completely enchanted by the show; little kids that just want to hug you because they’re so excited; an entire room of people singing along to songs you’re playing in blissful unison.

I have seen the worst of people: Being spilled on; being heckled; being treated like an extension of a piano bench, for people to sit on while they take their time not remembering lyrics into your microphone.

When you’re the performer, leading a crowd through a celebration in which their inhibitions are released, you become a part of their existence in that moment. In that moment, they are free, and they want to celebrate with you, in whatever way that means to them. It could mean dancing; drinking; watching; singing; yelling; being aggressive; being pensive; whatever flashes of emotion are coming into and out of their spaces.

So, I’ve learned to combine empathy, patience, boundaries, and respect into an experience that works for both me and the people on the other side. And it’s completely shaped the way I think about my communications work -- communicating with people, for people, but in a way that can be respected by everyone.

And now we’re here, and – to quote Boyz II Men – at the end of the road. And – to quote Boyz II Men – it’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday. I am so endlessly grateful for my time in this beautiful, bizarre world of dueling pianos that gave me a creative outlet, a clear communication style, and – oh yeah – a husband.

I don’t know what’s next, but if it’s even half as great, I can’t wait.