I sat at the piano. I started playing random notes and chords. I had no idea what I was doing. But the big black grand piano in the room of the dark old convent begged for my attention. Mom and Dad were talking with my sister. I was bored, and, being only seven years old, I decided to play the piano.

I had never played the piano before, or any musical instrument for that matter. But I was acting like a concert pianist – using both hands to play notes and made-up chords up and down the entire keyboard.

Soon, I began to pick out a melody of notes. I repeated them with a tempo and a cadence. I didn't know what I was playing, but I thought it sounded nice. I made sure to hit only the keys that were in tune - mostly the white ones for the full notes and one or two black ones for, what I later learned, were the sharps and flats. But to avoid being out of tune, I hit only the keys that sounded right the first few times until I found a pattern or a melody.

Surprisingly, Mom, Dad, and my sister did not even notice. Nobody offered any praiseworthy comment, but neither did they tell me to stop making noise. Was my "music" a seamless background that went unnoticed, like elevator music, or were they so engrossed in conversation that they ignored the noise?

A few years later, when I was about 13, I started playing an old Gibson guitar that my brother discovered in the basement. It belonged to Dad, who gave up playing long before we were born. My brother didn't have any patience for the instrument and handed it to me. I took to it immediately and began taking music lessons soon after.

The Beatles had just released their Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album that summer (1967), and it became my biggest inspiration. I took guitar lessons for about a year and continued to play a bit, but I was never exceptional at it. Instead, I preferred the visual arts – painting and drawing.

Years later, I was a freshman in college. A little student union building near my dorm had an open lounge area accented by a piano in the center. One day, I went into the building. When I noticed I was the only one there, I decided to play the piano. At that time (1972), my favorite album was Who's Next by The Who. I loved Nicky Hopkins's piano intro to The Song Is Over. It seemed simple enough, so I thought I'd give it a go. I was just getting the hang of it when my girlfriend walked in. Startled and a little embarrassed, I immediately stopped playing.

I say "girlfriend," but we had recently broken up. The song was extra meaningful to me at the moment. She looked at me quizzically and said, "I didn't know you played."

I replied, "I don't."

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2023 by Michael DeFrancesco