Music In Motion | Page 6

found himself submerged in a crowd of cold, wet commuters, all suited up in grey cotton to match the same old, dreary day on the platform they’d been living for months. Ever so typically, the cancellation of a departure sent a ripple of silent misery through the station, echoing off the high ceilings, and tightening the cap of the lightbulb in Kyle’s head. Inspired by his passion for community and arts, he promptly sent a monumental tweet: ‘’Brighton Station needs a piano, I’ll buy one if you like!”.

The post became local news as quickly as you can play the C major scale, rallying support from The Argus to BBC Radio, voicing the enthusiasm of the Brighton community, fuelled by their unsung need for public art and creativity.

It took a surprising 10 months before the proposition was approved and finally brought into effect, though pianos are notoriously awkward to manoeuvre. August the 1st 2014 marked the date that the piano was installed in the station, a delightful summer’s day of musical insurgence, shared by individuals from all walks of life, from train staff to passengers, who became performers and spectators.

Even today, even in the blistery winter months, it’s difficult not to crack a smile when you arrive upon daring performers sharing their tune. Such an experience is invariably uplifting in its uniqueness, as the keys have been played hundreds of times before, but one impromptu performance is enjoyed only by the ears around to hear it.

Kyle, Labour MP, fondly reflected on many magical moments he had encountered since the introduction of the piano. One of them sticks to mind. On a particularly unremarkable day, after arriving at Brighton Station, he recounts approaching the barriers, and hearing a charming melody, before even catching sight of a crowd gathered around a seated gentleman wearing a high-vis jacket. Next to where his feet were playing the pedals, rested a plastic bag full of rubbish that he had collected off the last train. His role at the station was vital in more ways than one. He would collect what was left behind by the passengers (who usually offered him no regard at all) and then take his place at the keys in between departures, bringing together a gleeful concourse of people, a community, gathered to share in the moment where this anonymous gentleman had become the centre of applause. Retrospectively, it’s a wonder why it took so long for Network Rail to get on board with the idea. According to Kyle, they initially put up a lot of resistance, expressing many concerns regarding ‘health and safety’, as they argued that the noise of the piano could overpower the tannoy in the case of an emergency. If this was a genuine concern, then surely train stations would be enforced to be as quiet as a library, hushing even the stifle of a conversation. He offered to pay for acoustic tests in order to address this theory, but they still weren’t convinced. They continued to push back, using Kyle’s position in politics to their advantage, and resisting on the grounds that they don’t allow political campaigning on their property. They were running out of reasons, until eventually admitting over a phone call that they just didn’t want to go through the trouble, and they didn’t know how to make Kyle go away. But the MP had made a promise to Brighton, and with gratitude to his persistent nature, he was able to arrange a meeting with Network Rail, Southern Rail, the station master, and anyone else who would be associated with the plan. In making sure to consider any issues that arose, he managed to charm the board, and with the help of Brighton Piano Warehouse, the first of many pianos was installed within the year.

Since the closure of Bagelman, I rarely find myself in the great halls of the station, but I have a few times encountered the same pianist. He has a seemingly familiar face, a canvas of tattoos and eyebags, grown from the tribulations of a life on the streets. He tells me that he comes to play the piano every day, navigating his way through the white keys, before he builds up enough confidence to integrate the sharps and flats. He has no musical knowledge, but he’s entranced by its beauty and reassurance, as he learns how to tell his story through experimentation and intuition.

I am in awe of this real-life example of the power of music, and compelled by what we can learn when we are given the freedom and tools to share our individual expression. Music and art adds flavour and meaning to our everyday experiences, it arises in the most unexpected circumstances and is never the same twice. I would encourage anyone and everyone to take advantage of any opportunity to share in these moments, as I can assure that they will be treasured for life.