12 minute read
ART&CULTURE
A Man and His Piano: The Musical Diaries of Brian Kinler
BY MELISSA-MARIE MARKS
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PHOTOS BY: ANNIE SACKMANN PHOTOGRAPHY
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sk any successful person the secret to their success, and you’ll likely be in that conversation for the long haul. Answers often vary widely from person to person, usually taking the form of some kind of lengthy, redundant “How To” list.
But for Brian Kinler, a Los Angeles-based jazz pianist originally from New Orleans, success takes the form of a much simpler formula. For Brian, Success = Authenticity + Perseverance + Love. This formula has worked for Brian time and time again, and he’s written the jazz songs to prove it.
It all started with a guy who loved jazz and a girl who could play it. Brian’s mother, Margaret, was a Southern Belle from a tiny Cajun town in Louisiana, and happened to be really good at playing piano. Brian’s father, Robert, was a self-proclaimed sports guy from New Orleans and didn’t have a musical bone in his body, but he did boast an impressive jazz record collection. It was a match made in heaven, and sometime later, Brian Kinler was born.
Naturally, Brian loved music from day one, and because “drummers were cool,” he dreamed of being a drummer. His mom, a respectable piano teacher by day, had zero desire to teach her own kids piano, so she was, initially, very supportive of his drumming aspirations.
Unfortunately for Brian, his dreams of becoming a drummer just weren’t meant to be.
“I sucked at drums. And my mom was super encouraging; she was great. One day she just laughed and said, ‘Okay, look, maybe I’ll teach you a few basics on piano, ‘cause you’re a terrible drummer.”So began Brian’s love aff air with piano. He hammered out notes all through grade school, refusing to learn how to read music and playing mostly by ear. And at the ripe, old age of 15, Brian began writing his own music.
Then, on September 11, 1992 when Brian was a freshman at LSU in Baton Rouge, his musical destiny changed forever. He went to see Tori Amos performing live in the French Quarter in New Orleans, at a little venue that seated only 200 people.
“It was just Tori Amos and her piano. It was the fi rst time I had seen a signed artist perform like that, just the singer and their piano. She would talk to the audience about each song before she played it, and that was the moment that I thought, “Yes! This is totally what I need to do! This is it.”
Brian doesn’t save concert tickets, but he saved that one.
Not long after, Brian started busking at coff ee shops.
“Back then, Starbucks wasn’t a thing, and all the good coff ee shops in the French Quarter had musicians playing. So there I was, lugging my heavy keyboard all over the French Quarter, performing at coff ee shops. It was super fun.”
In 1996, fresh out of college with stars in his eyes, Brian decided to move to Los Angeles and turn his busking into a career. Back then, his goal was the same as every other musicians: to get signed with a record label.
“I tried hard to get signed off and on for about 5 years. I was literally pretending to be a courier—going to offi ces, pretending to deliver packages, totally making it all up. And then one day in 2001, I actually got a bite! It was a pretty big classical label, and I was jazz and they were branching out to jazz. So they fl ew me all the way out to Cleveland, I auditioned, and I totally tanked.”
Brian remembers feeling extremely nervous at the audition, and not just because he was going to be playing in front of folks who had won Grammys. He was worried that they would fi nd out he was gay.
“So I just didn’t tell them. I didn’t tell them I was gay. I didn’t say I wasn’t gay, but I didn’t say I was. And the reason why—remember this was 1998—I thought that if they found out I was gay they wouldn’t sign me.”
When Brian auditioned, he played his set and he played it well. But he didn’t speak. At all. He didn’t share the story of each of his songs, and the performance refl ected the lack of authenticity.
“After the audition, I knew I messed up. I knew I should have told them. Not just to say, ‘Hey, I’m gay!’ but because when I perform, it’s instru-
mental, and each song has its own story, and you need to tell that story for the performance to ring true. A lot of my music is about my experience as a gay man—it’s about relationships, it’s about exes. And I didn’t do that—I didn’t tell the stories, and that’s what messed up my performance.”
That moment was pivotal in his music career. When the record label called him a week later to tell him they were going to pass, Brian turned to his husband and told him that he would never do that again. From that point on, he would always be true to his authentic self.
Soon after that, CD Baby came out, Apple iTunes came out, and Brian decided to forgo getting signed and start putting out his own albums.
“My fi rst big CD came out in 2010—I was already 35. I knew I couldn’t keep wasting my time trying to get signed. If somebody wants to sign me, sure, they can sign me. But I’m not waiting around to get signed anymore. I do it myself now. I’ve done six full albums to date.”
Brian is a self-proclaimed CD guy and expresses dismay at the thought that artists these days are focusing more on making singles and aren’t really putting out complete albums anymore.
“I still buy CDs. I like the whole package—I want to see the liner notes and listen to the songs and understand what the artist wants us to get from their project. I guess I’m kind of old school.”
Brian himself still dedicates his time and energy to making his own complete albums. Each album is like a diary of his life. Brian loves to travel, and travel inspires his music. He enjoys mixing genres, and it’s not unusual for him to showcase a Latin number and a gospel number on the same album. It may not be traditional, he says, but it’s how he expresses himself musically.
“There was this guy, he was pretty reputable in the jazz industry, and he heard my second CD, and he told me I was mixing too many genres on one album. But that’s what I really like. And that’s the beauty of not having a label—I can do whatever the hell I want. And hopefully other people will like it, too.”
In general, though, Brian doesn’t make music for an audience—he makes music because it’s just something he has to do. Something he does for himself.
“If I die tomorrow, all anyone would have to do is listen to my albums. Right there is the story of my life.”
In 2015, 2016, and 2017, both of Brian’s parents became severely ill. Margaret was diagnosed with dementia, and Robert, though he was also sick, was Margaret’s main care-giver. Brian would regularly fl y home to help his dad take care of his mom.
“My mom was everything to me. I’m a total mama’s boy. When she got dementia, it was terrible. I would go to New Orleans for months out of the year, but she didn’t know who I was anymore.”
And then, in late 2017, Brian’s dad had a stroke and passed away two months later, an experience that shook him to his soul and challenged his spiritual beliefs.
“My dad was this big macho sports-loving dude. He probably didn’t know one gay person in his life. When I was 14 or 15, he picked me up from school one day, and we’re driving home. Obviously, he knew I was gay, but I hadn’t come out yet. So, he picked me up from school, and we’re driving, and we hear Elton John on the radio. My dad loved all kinds of music. And so we hear Elton John, and my dad says to me, “What do you think about Elton John? You know, he’s gay, but he’s awesome.”
Brian says his dad was a quiet guy who didn’t really have a lot of profound moments, but he will always be grateful that his dad said that.
“I didn’t offi cially come out until four years later, in 1992, but I knew that when I did come out, it would be okay with him because of what he said… and it was.”
Brian’s dad died during the height of his mom’s dementia, and he had to tell his mom day after day that her husband had passed away. Each evening, around dusk, Margaret would sit by Brian on the piano bench, and he would play the piano to calm her. And he felt that his dad was somehow watching and getting ready for his mom to join him. This thought shone light on some of Brian’s darkest hours.
Margaret passed away seven months later.
“My mom was absolutely hilarious. She was this crazy old Southern lady, and she’d sing with me during some of my shows. She wasn’t a fantastic singer--she was a piano player, you know? But she’d ham it up on stage. She’d tell dirty jokes and everything. The people just loved her. When she was singing with me, we’d sell out.”
After Margaret died, Brian didn’t play piano or write music for almost a full year.
“I was just numb. It was clearly depression, though I didn’t know it at the time. I did absolutely nothing with music. I literally couldn’t touch the piano. Because for me, the piano represents my childhood. The piano represents my mother.”
And then, one day, the piano called and Brian answered. He started playing for enjoyment. He started writing again. He called his producer in Nashville and said, “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Brian wrote and recorded his sixth album “Bragging Rights” to document his journey as he witnessed both of his beloved parents passing away, an experience he describes as the worst years so far in his life, and to show the world that he made it to the other side.
“Everyone has their struggles. It took me a full year to get through mine, but you know what? I got through it. I’m back.”
In 2001, not long after ending a messy, long-distance, 5-year relationship, Brian met Steven Parker, the man who would stand strong by his side throughout those tumultuous years when Brian would lose both his parents. The two of them were at a restaurant right off the outskirts of West Hollywood, both attending two diff erent birthday parties for two diff erent friends. Neither of them was looking for love.
“I felt like crap. I looked like crap. But we just started talking, and that was it.”
They talked for close to two hours before Steven had to go. Brian didn’t have a business card, and nobody had cell phones back then, so he wrote his name and number on a napkin and gave it to Steven before he left. The couple fell in love and began living together in 2002.
“Ten years later, we’re having a garage sale because we were getting money together so we could take a trip to Europe. And so we’re clearing out stuff and there’s this box under Steven’s nightstand. Now, I’m not a snooper. It’s just not my thing. The box had been there for ten years, but I’d never looked inside. So I fi nd the box and ask Steven what’s in it, and he told me to open it, so I did, and the only thing in the box was that napkin.”
Brian says it’s a rare thing when someone makes your heart melt like that. But he wasn’t the only one falling for Steven.
“In 2001, my mom picked Steven up at the airport and she’s like, ‘God, Brian, you hit the jackpot!’”
In 2015, after gay marriage became federally protected in all 50 states, Brian’s friends and family began encouraging the couple to tie the knot. Initially, the thought of marriage seemed foreign to Brian and Steven. After all, they were already living together, sharing everything.
“Obviously, I was pro-gay marriage. But I came out in ’92, and it just never dawned on me that I could actually be married one day. And then when our families began encouraging us to get married, we gave in and said we could maybe have a small ceremony, and they said no way, that we needed to do it for real. And so we did it.”
Brian and Steven set the date of their wedding to take place on a Saturday, on their 17th anniversary. The date happened to fall a mere fi ve weeks after Brian’s mother had passed away.
“It was an intimate backyard ceremony. We wrote our own vows. Everyone was crying. My parents had just passed away—it was all so personal. It way exceeded our expectations. It was really kind of amazing.”
Brian and Steven have been together for almost 20 years now, and they’re still going strong.
“My proudest accomplishment by far is my relationship with my husband. Never in a billion years could I have imagined being in a serious, monogamous, loving relationship, and I’m shocked and surprised still. It’s like we just got married yesterday. And I get angry when people say that gay guys can’t be monogamous. That’s total bull. It absolutely can be done.”
Brian recognizes how fortunate he is and is adamant that he does not take his life for granted.
“I have three awesome siblings, and we’re still super close. I have an amazing husband. My parents were loving and supportive. Even when I fi rst moved to LA and I was hounding record labels and I was totally broke…my parents, and especially my dad, wouldn’t let me give up. They told me to just keep doing it, just keep doing it.”
And so that’s just what Brian Kinler does. He keeps making music, through the good times and bad, because it’s something he feels driven to do. Because it’s in his DNA. He doesn’t care about being rich. He doesn’t care about being famous. He writes and plays for the pure enjoyment of writing and playing. He writes and plays because he simply can’t not do it.
And where does he see himself in 10 years?
“Well, I’m 46 right now, but I feel like I’m 18. I love what I do. In 10 years, I’ll be doing exactly the same thing I’m doing now. Only with a lot more gray hair.”
