Book Report: Player Piano by Kurt Vonnegut

Annamaria on Monday

I have a penchant for re-reading books by my favorite authors.  This past week I started in on the the too-long-neglected early works of one of my absolute all-time favorites, Kurt Vonnegut.

Vonnegut in my house

I began with his debut novel: Player Piano, published in 1952.  I found it more delightful, more inspiring, and mirabile dictu, more prescient than it was when I first read it in 1964.

The setting is what was then imagined to be the near future, a dystopian America, where machines have displaced just about the entire workforce, except the engineers and managers.  The story follows two central characters: Dr. Paul Proteus, a top engineer who develops doubts about the dehumanized society men of his ilk have created and the Shah if Bratpuhr, spiritual leader of six million in an imaginary country.  Who would have thought then how a Middle Eastern potentate in a story would resonate as he does today?

By Vonnegut's own admission, he "cheerfully ripped off the plot of Brave New World, whose plot had been cheerfully ripped off from Yevgeny Zamyatin's We."  He was disteressed when reviewers called the book "science fiction," a genre he felt was "shoved into drawer which most reviewers regularly mistake...for a urinal."  That rule of thumb to the contrary not withstanding, the book got some great reviews.  It was nominated for, but evidently did not win, the International Fantasy award in 1953.

For me, it is amazingly relevant to our times. Look carefully at the first edition cover above.  "America in the Coming Age of Electronics" it says.  The domination of the world by electronics was not on most people's radar sixty-seven years ago.  Today talk shows and podcasts regularly discuss the dehumanizing  effects of people staring screens all day long. But in the 1950s, so soon after WWII, mass proaction was seen as an unalloyed blessing, considering that the might of US manufacturing had won the war for the Allies.

Vonnegut's  story is prescient in other ways too.  My favorite this time around is his portrayal of the President of the United States.  In Player Piano, he is described as a man who "had gone directly from a three-hour television program to the White House.  In giving a speech, he reads “order out of chaos” as “order out of koze.”

Then there are the insights into the human condition and the prose style.

This:

“Well, you know, in a way I wish I hadn’t met you two. It’s much more convenient to think of the opposition as a nice homogeneous, dead-wrong mass. Now I’ve got to muddy my thinking with exceptions.” 

And this:

"The machines and the institutions of government were so integrated that trying to attack one without damaging the other was like trying to remove a diseased brain in order to save a patient."

And this:

“Bodies lay everywhere, in grotesque attitudes of violent death, but manifesting the miracle of life in a snore, a mutter, the flight of a bubble from the lips.” 

And... Oh, heck!  Read the book.  

Personal Aside:

"Joe Taylor"

I have been completely in love with Kurt Vonnegut since the first of his books that I read - The Sirens of Titan.  (I am rereading it now and loving it again the third time through.)  One morning in 1973, I came face to face with my idol. About a year into starting my own consulting practice, I became a charter member of the nascent New York Women Business Owners Association.  At our first Breakfast Gala, we honored three women - Gloria Steinem,   Eleanor Holmes Norton, and Jill Krementz (who I knew was married to Kurt Vonnegut).  At the reception before the meal, mimosa in hand, I strolled over to a round table to collect some crackers and cheese. There across from me, doing the same, was a man with an an unmistakable face and head of hair.  But his name badge said "Joe," something - maybe Taylor.  He looked at me.  I asked, "Truth be told, Joe, who are you?"  He pointed to his badge and said, "Joe Taylor."  I said.  "Would you do me a favor, Joe?"  He said, "Sure."  I pointed to my badge and said, "If you ever meet Kurt Vonnegut, would you tell him that Patricia King loves him?" He promised he would.

What's Life Like as a Piano Player in a Bar?

Jeff—Saturday

Mykonos’ legendary Montparnasse Piano Bar closed for the season Friday night, giving all of its fans the chance to say adieu to its proprietors, Jody Duncan and Nikos Hristodulakis.  They’re responsible for bringing Broadway quality singers and pianists to the island, such as Kathy “Babe” Robinson and Mark Hartman who performed on its final night.

All of which inspired me to share insights I’ve gained from years of conversations with its singers and pianists.  Those impressions are incorporated into the story line of my Spring 2019 Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis novel, but I think they’re worthy of a bit of time in the spotlight on their own.  So, here goes….

Playing piano in a bar requires a certain mindset.  Think of it as trying to gain your balance on a surfboard...while playing a piano.

As the piano player, it’s up to you to read the room, and adjust on the fly to make sure everyone has a good time.  It could be the same crowd as from another night, but this time they show up with a completely different vibe.  The other night might have been their first night on the island, and everyone was up for a hell-raising good time. But when it came to their last night, it’d be all about nostalgia.

Unlike concert-goers, bar patrons show up with a mix of interests and expectations regarding the music: celebrants might come looking for upbeat tunes; friends on a night out might shout out song requests; business people might ignore the music as long as they can hear each other talk; and, of course, any alcohol-fueled seduction requires a background of romantic music.  Then there’s the solitary, glad-handing, over-imbiber who can’t resist trying to transform his evening alone into a communal sing-a-long

.

Whatever the mix of audience members, the piano-bar player faces the ever-present background chatter of customers, waiters, and bartenders exchanging orders and quips, all searching for the right volume at which to conduct their discussions, above or below the rattle of glassware and din of competing conversations.

If you work long enough in piano bars, you develop a mindset to cope with all of that.  Or you go crazy. 

When starting out in the business, some shut their eyes as they play and drift off into the sounds of the room, listening for the evening’s competing tones and rhythms, crescendos and diminuendos, bursts of staccato laughter, trumpeting shouts, and unexpected bits of silence.  Whether working with a singer or alone, they view their job as something like an orchestra conductor’s: to unite all those disparate sounds into a unified, symphonic performance. And ideally to draw the audience into an appreciative, tip-giving state of mind in the process.

As I said, that’s their thinking when they start out in the business.  But, over time, they come to learn their true role in a piano bar, and with that realization achieve a Zen-like understanding of the meaning of their life’s work.  It’s so simple, so obvious, and so intrinsically calming to an artist’s soul:

Their job is to sell drinks. Period, end of story.

I’ll drink to that.  Thank you, David Dyer, Mark Hartman, and Bobby Peaco for all those wonderful tunes.

David

Mark

Bobby

PS. I'd be woefully remiss if I didn't mention the two brilliant vocalists in addition to Babe who bring their Broadway level talents to bear in making The Piano Par the place to be in the Cyclades for high end entertainment--Phyllis Pastore, who's been wowing audiences here for 27 years, and Sara Mucho, the youngest member of the Montparnasse musical crew.  Thank you all!

—Jeff