Piano, Out Loud!
by Andrew Reilly
April 7, 2009 - 12:32am

Despite its versatility and extensive history in its own right, the piano occupies perhaps the strangest position in rock music. Its fullness of sound and infinite chord possibilities make it the most musically scalable of instruments, yet its most common role is as the province of full-on throwback outfits, starkly arranged singer-songwriter tunes or hard rock acts bent on being taken seriously. What's more, the keyboard family enjoys the furthest-advanced technology of all, yet this most versatile of instruments is still often unfairly relegated to the background (or, in the case of those power ballads, embarrassingly to the foreground). The simple answer is that the piano simply doesn't rock as loudly and as obviously as, say, the guitar or saxophone or any other more common lead instrument. Where the electric guitar is free to move with its performer, the bulk of a piano or keyboard reduces it to something just a notch above noisy furniture; where the sound of a distorted electric or tastefully plucked acoustic lends itself to full-force belligerence, the piano's longer-standing association with more tasteful genres holds it back while the keyboard boasts such a limited number of decent lead tones that so many of them, quite literally, sound exactly the same. Yet as so many performers have proven, from Jerry Lee Lewis to Elton John to Keith Emerson to Roddy Bottum, it is entirely possible to play a tasteful-by-nature instrument with the same authority usually only handed those more savage musical implements. All of which begs the question not of "why," but one of "how." How does one turn a rhythm instrument such as a piano or keyboard into a musical centerpiece? How does a tasteful genesis become an over-the-top execution? How hard can a non-rock instrument rock? Fortunately, the answers are not nearly as complicated as their end results might suggest. For starters, much of the perceived energy of guitar performance stems only partially from what is played, while the rest comes from how it looks while being played. One could, for example, watch any number of aspiring Steve Vais play note-for-note recreations of the famously brilliant solo from "For the Love of God" and be totally unimpressed, yet then be blown away by grainy footage of The Clash stomping out three chord anthems. The latter delivers its message in immediate, visceral terms while the former reveals itself only through careful study of the music behind it; put another way, one tells you it is important while the other shows it. The incorporation of wild body language was a main driver for the early success of Jerry Lee Lewis. Legend tells of "The Killer" and his smashed benches, broken keys and frenetic hopping behind the piano, delivering the kind of spectacle reserved for leaping frontmen and swiveling guitars, yet Lewis did it all while still playing a stationary instrument. Of course not every instrumentalist likes to sit while they play, and for those people time has developed but one innovation, heralded in some circles and gleefully mocked in others: the keytar. Campy 1980s videos may have cemented the keytar's image in lameness forever, but what's often overlooked is the full-fledged might of its onboard power, sometimes rivaling some very high-end synth modules in capability (and price). Often favored by prog bands looking to spotlight a keyboard solo, the instrument has recently made inroads into metal by way of Alestorm's Christopher Bowes and Dream Theater's Jordan Rudess. But body language can really at best convey half of the rock pianist's intentions, and where the motions end the sound absolutely must continue. While there's no set model of "rock piano," there most certainly is the endless possibility of outboard gear, be it analog rigs with an acoustic piano or heavy processing on a keyboard or synth. Imagine a piano playing a tasteful D major melody. Now imagine that melody picked up in a microphone and run through a speaker system, a scenario not uncommon for live pianists. But imagine that speaker system is not a conventional PA but actually a guitar amp with the gain turned all the way up. Whether this type of sound is unconventional or merely hipster irony depends who you ask, but its deviation from the source cannot be denied. Tori Amos used this to great effect in 1994 with a cover of Jimi Hendrix' "If 6 Was 9," rendering the rhythm section only barely recognizable as piano. Then again, configuring a piano to an outboard amplification unit is not only insanely expensive but extremely difficult: not only must such a configuration avoid destroying the amplification system with the loudness of the source signal, it must do so while also drowning out the original piano. No small task, mic'ing processed sound over live, audible sound, and what might be easier for less patient engineers is the simple merging of an electronic keyboard with an electric guitar rig. With the keyboard using standard, 1/4" cables for all its outbound signal processing, the possibilities suddenly present themselves in all their unrestrained glory. String patches with digital delay? Synth leads with more distortion? Pads with a wah pedal? As the likes of Lewis, Amos and Rudess show, the piano's assumed graceful nature doesn't mean it must be played gracefully; rather, one could view its stately history as a precursor to its industrial-strength future. One could also argue rock piano has come far enough as it is, but fifty years of playing compared to the instrument's three-hundred year history suggest there are still countless unknown frontiers to explore. Keytars at the ready, let the journey begin.
















