During one of my shows last year, I sang the Beatles’ timeless classic “Yesterday” a cappella. The words and emotion of the song were powerful enough without the music. In the video featured above, I recently recreated that performance at a friend’s house. The only difference is that I have bookended the song with the piano.
Over the years, there has often been a gentle push and pull between the music I make with my hands and the sounds I make with my voice. Both sources convey genuine sentiments that are revelatory and organic. Nonetheless, I have often wondered if one should be stronger than the other, like a lead character to a supporting role.
Truth be told, I often hide behind the piano. My love for this instrument and perhaps my lack of confidence in my own voice have subverted many a performance. It feels like a seismic shift to make the piano a secondary element to my identity as a performer, but isn’t it often the shy background singer who deserves the spotlight?
Here is another truth. The piano saved me years ago when I felt lost and alone. A discerning and kind church secretary let me play the magnificent Yamaha upright of her congregation whenever I wanted. I would sneak in there at all hours of the day and night when I knew no one was around and play. It was like gaining a seat at a table where I felt like I belonged when seats at all the other tables were taken. Those 88 keys served a bountiful feast, and I was starved and famished for something more than the rest of the world could give.
Of course, that was yesterday, when I was desperate for comfort and care. Today, the piano is still a lifelong friend and confidante—the Sam to my Frodo, as it were, lifting me up the whole time when I was too scared to know it. But now, I dare to claim a bigger space for myself.
A voice that can sing on its own is a thing of grace. It is inherently pure and rich and will always be more than enough.
I understand this now, and this deeper truth guides me forward.
UPCOMING SHOWS FOR FALL 2024:
During a recent stay in Hawaii earlier this month, there was a failed attempt to visit a Japanese garden. Apart from our work, it was the only thing I wanted to do, and the complete lack of parking at the venue barred us from entry.
However, as luck would have it, the Honolulu International Airport has a garden of its own. They call it a Culture Garden because it is divided into three sections. Two smaller parts, Japanese and Chinese gardens, flank a central and much larger Hawaiian garden in the middle of it all. Thankfully, we arrived for our departing flight at the airport early enough in the morning that I had time to soak in this magical place. Seriously, every airport should have a garden. Sigh.
A Piano, a Song, and a Voice