I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it started, but I know it was in a coffee shop a couple of weeks ago, one of those cozy spots where a laid-back mix of familiar tunes plays softly in the background. You know the type—classic soft rock selections that evoke nostalgia, nothing too avant-garde or unusual, just straightforward adult-oriented melodies designed to create a pleasant atmosphere while you sip your caffeine fix.
As I paid for my coffee, a song caught my ear. It was a track I hadn’t heard in ages, yet it felt oddly familiar. The moment I stepped outside, savoring my drink, I identified the tune: Brenda Russell’s 1988 soulful hit, “Piano in the Dark.” Little did I know, this recognition would spark a maddening experience.
Day 1
The obsession begins subtly. While loading my laundry, the song’s intro starts echoing in my mind—the smooth, polished sound that sets the stage for the song’s intriguing story. A woman questions whether her relationship has lost its spark, but just when doubt creeps in, she hears her partner playing the piano in the dark, reigniting her curiosity. I find comfort in the familiarity of the tune and even catch myself humming along.
Day 2
With the song stuck in my head, I make the regrettable decision to watch the music video for “Piano in the Dark” on YouTube. This only solidifies its grip on my brain, embedding every note deeper into my memory. The video is perplexing; Brenda brews herbal tea in real-time and tosses playing cards into a hat. While there’s a piano, a gigantic harp takes center stage. Why doesn’t she mention the harp? “Greg, why are you always on the piano? The harp’s collecting dust. Can’t we trade it for something useful?” I ponder, baffled.
Day 3
As I replay the narrative, I start to worry about the characters in the song. What if the “he” playing the piano in the dark is terrible? Maybe Brenda’s concern stems from his awful, atonal playing. After 72 hours of this relentless loop, my subconscious starts injecting inappropriate words into the lyrics, and now, in my mind, he’s playing “Piano up His Ass.” I chuckle at this absurdity, realizing I’m laughing alone in an empty room—much like the narrator.
Day 4
I wake up to a blissful silence. The morning sun shines brightly, instilling a sense of calm. But just as I step outside, the haunting lyrics return, pulling me back into the familiar madness.
Day 5
I feel like Job, tormented for reasons I don’t understand. Even the musicians and producers behind “P**** i* t** D***” likely didn’t dwell on it as much as I have these past few days. The worst part is that I can’t share this with anyone; I fear it might infect them too. As I move through my daily routine, I wear a smile while Brenda’s 1988 hit plays endlessly in my mind.
Day 6
I begin to wonder if there’s a hidden meaning in the song. It mentions a “riddle”—perhaps solving it is the key to reclaiming my sanity. Who is the mysterious “he” playing the piano in the dark? The video features a figure who resembles David Lee Roth. Clearly, a deeper game is at play here.
Day 7
I realize that “He Who Plays the Piano” must be a metaphor for something sinister. Perhaps he’s a demonic entity, eternally playing a piano crafted from human bones, captivating lost souls like me who once thought, “Oh, I know that song!” and found themselves ensnared.
In a surprising twist, I discover that Brenda Russell received two Grammy nominations for “Piano in the Dark.” The conspiracy thickens.
Day 8
Hope fades as I become a hollow shell, forever trapped in a cycle of this song that replays every four minutes and 28 seconds. I meet a friend for lunch, but I can hardly focus on his words. I’m a human iPod stuck on repeat. In a moment of desperation, I ask if he’s ever had a song stuck in his head and how he deals with it.
“Oh sure,” he replies. “I just sing ‘Kumbaya.’”
“‘Kumbaya’? The campfire song?”
“Yep, it wipes out the other song, and for some reason, ‘Kumbaya’ never sticks.”
I sit in stunned silence, aware that my friend may have just offered me the solution.
Day 9
Salvation arrives. Every time Brenda and her song attempt to invade my thoughts, I simply revert to “Kumbaya,” and the melody dissipates like morning fog. I look up “Kumbaya” on Wikipedia, and learn it was originally a heartfelt plea for divine assistance. Amen to that.
Slowly, “Piano in the Dark” releases its hold on me. Two days pass without any interruptions from Brenda, and my friend was right; “Kumbaya” comes and goes without lingering. I am free at last. My nine days of torment have faded back to 1988, and for better or worse, I find myself missing it just a little.