I’m not sure who precisely is to blame for the cursive apocalypse, but Halsey and Adele are likely contenders. It’s bad enough I have to listen to someone banging away on the same few chords for 15 minutes straight, but then the singing starts. Like me, most punters aren’t exactly Mozart-level prodigies. There should be a list of songs outlawed for at least the next 10 years Only my close confidants are privy to the torture of those same five chords again and again, and that’s the way it should be – you’re welcome Heuston Station. I’m 24 years’ old, played piano for three years growing up and all I can play is Treasure by Bruno Mars. I don’t care to satisfy the ego of an 8-year-old playing Beethoven – we get it, you’re literally a genius. If it’s not already clear, I can’t stand public pianos – the ones they drop into public spaces for the passing public to vent their creative skills upon. From the moment Mad World was remixed on piano in Donnie Darko, the edgy teenage piano scene has never been the same. Then they proceed to pout dutifully and play the third rendition of Coldplay’s The Scientist since I’ve arrived at the train station. It’s as if they stroll up to those keys, thinking: “These guys are gonna love this one”. Save me the facade, I see through your ruse. You know the type: They sit down, crack their knuckles and launch into a painfully slow rendition of River Flows in You, as if they’re here to brighten up your day. There’s something about public pianos that seems to attract the worst kind of amateur musicians.
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