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So, the groom's best friend bitch-slaps his wife right in front of all the in-laws, pink lace or not, during his speech at the wedding dinner--- do I have this right--- who will all meet again in divorce court, where there will be voluble testimony and their wedding videos will be replayed into the court record. The Best Man will be even more sober, and he will pay even higher damages, both actual and punitive (we will set aside child support for the time.) Institutions such as emergency rooms, castles, lathers, hairburners and art restorers will testify.

"...Police were called. The Best Man had swung (literally) from the two chandeliers in the suite and ripped them right out of the ceiling, taking down a lot of plaster with them. Then he kicked in the door of a 500 year old armoire.

"The wife did not press charges, but did ask to be moved to another room. The Best Man sobered up when he saw the police and agreed to behave and pay for the damages.

"The bride... gave the hotel staff a huge tip the next morning. My guess is that she KNEW the Best Man was trouble right from the start..."

I guess she did--- in fact, I'll bet she knows some other evil people, as well. Some evil guest has already posted this to YouTube, so if you have any clues about the keywords, pass it along. Now that we know the backstory, I imagine we can get the gist, even in German.

These small fry of Deportment Court don't usually get picked by by the television services, but this dance doesn't have too many more steps before it becomes a capital case.

Great to see you back, Greg and Ken!

I knew you'd have something to say about the bitch slap incident, Clef! I'll be looking for video and you'll be the first to know should I find it!

Last night's wedding was completely elegant. Oh, the clothes! I played for the cocktail reception and a jazz quartet had the dinner music/dancing gig. I didn't get to hear the band play, but I was pleased the bride didn't go the DJ route and hired real musicians.

I did have a little altercation with the videographer and his assistant, whom I shall call Justin and Jason Bieber—these two were big boys in black, and had more equipment than I've ever seen at a wedding. Lights. reflectors, dolly tracks, and about a thousand microphones. This castle is on the small side—we can't accommodate more than 120 guests in the salon or the main hall—and J & J had enough stuff to film the sequel to Avatar. They immediately started shouting at each other and attaching numerous microphones to the piano. I have learned to just say NO, no microphones on the piano, because it inevitably just sounds bad. What I do instead is offer the video team a CD, which they can then mix into their audio track—sounds much better and I don't have to spend the evening with a team of techies hovering around the piano.

Anyway, J & J wouldn't hear any of it. They were so young, these two, that they probably didn't even own a CD player.

Speaking of which, here is a link to a little essay I wrote about the making of my new CD, Magnolia. It was kind of a family affair.

The Magnolia Sessions: One More Project

Okay, I have to admit it. I went to the Barbra Streisand concert last night here in Cologne. The tickets were a gift from my husband, who knew a bunch of musicians in her 60 piece orchestra. Oh, she had a 50 piece choir as well. They joined her for one Leonard Bernstein number. The concert was over the top and wonderful and everything you would expect. Life affirming. She radiates positive energy.

And when was the last time anyone saw a singer with a symphony orchestra and a 50-piece choir in a stadium? Doesn't happen so often these days. Bless her for hiring all those musicians!

Why do we love her so much, aside from the fact that she has one heck of a set of pipes? I think it's because she's an oddball who found a place for herself in this world by following her passion.

And she sang the most beautiful of all weddings songs: "Evergreen"

Did I cry? Yes. Old cynical Piano Girl lost it, folks. "On a Clear Day" almost killed me. So did "People." But my daughter cried, too (she was with me), and she doesn't carry my musical baggage—I have suitcases full of memories attached to Streisand songs. Julia was just moved by the gorgeousness of that orchestra and the singer, who is, in case you don't know, 71 years old.

Wow. What a career. What a talent. What an inspiration. Go, Barbra, go.

Last night's castle bride was beautiful. So were the guests, including the two toddler-aged flower girls who seemed more inclined to throw gravel from the outdoor path than the petals from their baskets. They girls were tiny—I doubt they hit anyone higher than shin level—so no harm done.

Has anyone ever experienced a flower-girl/ring bearer under the age of five who could actually perform his/her task without causing just a little bit of a scene? I doubt it.

Anyway, it was a peaceful evening—no slapping, no swinging from chandeliers or armoire bashing, no police action or room swapping, no angry brides or middle-aged bridesmaids wearing Dressinis.

Even the weather cooperated, which, with this year's temperamental rain clouds, is somewhat miraculous.

"...Has anyone ever experienced a flower-girl/ring bearer under the age of five who could actually perform his/her task without causing just a little bit of a scene? I doubt it..."

Of course not--- that is why they hire them. If someone is going to cause a scene at a wedding, let it be an adorable little miniature ring bearer and not the bride, the groom, the preacher, or a member of the audience who cannot forever hold his peace.

But we need not go into all that. Some charming little byplay by the most junior member of the wedding will be quite fine, as long as the ring is safety-pinned to the satin pillow--- and no, velcro is not enough.

This precaution must never be overlooked, now that so many churches have air-conditioner vents in the floor.

"Velcro is not enough." Words to live by, Clef.

Tonight's wedding features 120 guests, an Asian bride, and a German groom, both of whom are very attractive (I met them last night at the pre-nuptial feast). Sorry to say, it looks like it will be a very civilized affair. As we approach our 1,000,000 hit on "Let's Talk Weddings" I was hoping for a grand story to help us all celebrate. But who knows? The night is young.

Wedding report from last weekend:

It's noisy. Really noisy. Over a hundred people huddle in the lobby, many of whom haven't seen each other for a long time. Shouts of joy, shrieks of elation and delight echo through the granite-lined hall. The bride has changed from her Gone-with-the-Wind gown into a slinky sequined little dress. She is beautiful and radiant and all of the things brides are supposed to be. The groom is dapper and dashing and shows no signs of excessive alcohol consumption.

Aside from the noise, so far so good.

A Tempest Storm wannabe, wearing a bright white pantsuit, lurks by the piano, her bright yellow hair cranked up on top of her head. There's room for a Slovenian family of four in that hair. Her heels are too high, her pants are too tight, her jewelry too flashy. Joan Collins without the sex appeal. She could be a man, but I don't think so. She is too, too, too everything. All of this is fine, entertaining even, except for her voice. For whatever reason she shouts every single word of her conversation. She has one of those "acoustic miracle" voices—it cuts through the thick air in the castle and grates on my ears, like a soprano singing a quarter tone sharp. It is really bad. Torturous. She insists on standing right next to me, one hand resting on the piano, as if she might break into song at any moment. God help us.

"PLAY CATS," she shouts at me.

I play 'Memory." She starts scream-talking again to her friends, something about a chicken recipe, and I find myself playing louder and louder in an attempt to drown out her voice. It's like I'm making Andrew Lloyd Weber white noise (there's a joke there somewhere, but I'll show some restraint).

"PLAY CATS," she screams again.

"I just did." I'm shouting back at her—it's like a defense instinct.

"WHAT A PITY," she screams. "YOU DON'T PLAY LOUDLY ENOUGH FOR ANYONE TO HEAR YOU. PLAY IT AGAIN AND I'LL SIT RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AND LISTEN."

She shifts her skinny butt onto the bench beside me. And proceeds to yap at me the entire time I am playing round two of "Memory."

"I LIKE THE PART WITH THE OLD CAT, WHEN SHE SINGS THAT MOONLIGHT SONG AT THE END. WE SAW IT IN HAMBURG AND MY HUSBAND DIDN'T LIKE THE SHOW ONE BIT, BUT THEN AGAIN HE'S MORE OF A DOG PERSON THAN A CAT PERSON PLUS HE DOESN'T LIKE SHOWS WHERE PEOPLE DRESS UP LIKE ANIMALS."

It goes on like this for three or four minutes. I play; she shouts. It's me and a seven foot grand piano against a double-spanxed seventy-year old woman with a voice that could be used as a lethal weapon. I am losing.

Finally, finally, the guests are called outside for photos. Still perched on my bench, she touches up her lipstick, pats her high-hair, and adjusts her bra straps.

"DON'T WORRY, DARLING," she bellows. "I'LL BE BACK. AND THEN YOU CAN PLAY THE CAT SONG FOR ME. THE ONE ABOUT THE OLD CAT.

"I just played it for you. The second time."

"YOU POOR THING," she says. "NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU."

It's time for a drink.

Hilarious. I would not be able to show anywhere near the same degree of restraint as you did.

The Medical Examiner notes ligature marks on the murder victim's scrawny neck, which has been wrung. "Catgut," he muses. The glaringly obvious connections (to us) go right over his head, which could point straight to the String section--- I'm thinking, the larger instruments; nothing smaller than a cello--- or really, any musician who plays music with ties and slurs. In other words, all of us.

"And look here!" he exclaims to his Assistant Medical Examiner and the loose handful of police standing by (not too close). "The tongue has been pulled right out by the roots."

The loose handful of police take another step back, lest the ME discover it, and brandish it for their examination. A crime of passion, or a public service? They will never decide; the case file remains open in future years. The culprit never feels guilty enough to come forward to confess.

And there we leave it.

Oh--- yes, the wedding. Well, that turned out ok. In that big, rambling castle, the body was not discovered until the wedding was long over and the bill paid. The newlyweds were well out of reach on a distant tropical island, so it had no effect at all upon them.

And speaking of Storms, today is the date of decease--- some years back; no need to get out the Kleenex--- of actress and singer, Gale Storm (no relation to Tempest, other than as soul sisters of the entertainment tribe). Readers who were watching television in the late 1950's might remember her successful series, "The Gale Storm Show," in which (if I remember) she was the Recreation Director on a cruise liner, with Zazu Pitts as her wing man. No I'm not making this up. It was a fun little show, that's what I remember.

"... Joan Collins without the sex appeal. She could be a man, but I don't think so. She is too, too, too everything. All of this is fine, entertaining even, except for her voice. For whatever reason she shouts every single word of her conversation..."

There are people who talk on their cell phones that way. They'll step away and turn their backs for privacy, then scream every word into the phone. So it's all for nothing. I suspect they scream because they feel that others habitually ignore what they have to say. A neurosis no doubt rooted in childhood experiences; in other words, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

But what I wanted to tell you, is that there was a bar, owned by a militant drag queen, right around the corner on Hyde Street in San Francisco, with that very name: "The Two Two Two Club." Its address--- and how convenient--- but I never thought of it any way other than as "The Too Too Too Club." So emblematic of the very soul of San Francisco, and with a neon sign, too.

Well, to all, be it by ligatures or litigation, bon repos.

A million hits? We should tape a variety show to mark the occasion.

Clef, if I ever make it to your neck of the woods, we will meet at the Two Two Two Bar. That place was obviously named for us.

You've written a lot of very funny posts, but this latest piece is priceless. What a plot for one of those who-done-it television shows. Piano player snaps and goes for the jugular. I'd watch it just for the outfits. And also to see exactly how the Food and Beverage Manager would react. Would he close the place? Would he buy a round of drinks for the witnesses and offer the police a bowl of smoked almonds? Hard to say. As you know from Piano Girl, I've actually watched F&B people handle death. It's not pretty. There's no predicting what one of these guys will do when coping with a corpse in the cocktail lounge.

At last night's festivities I had to do battle with the "Comedy Brass Band," a band title that seems a little redundant if you ask me—there's already something pretty comedic about a brass band playing at a German wedding reception. Their first number was Pink Panther (maybe the bride requested this?), and I have to say they sounded great. Tuba, French horn, trombone, two trumpets. I think the comedy part was the costuming. They were wearing tails with stocking caps and slippers. The female musician (the horn player) was dressed like a hooker from 1940.

I know some of you think I make this stuff up, but it's all 100% true. Too bad the Cats lady wasn't around for the Comedy Brass Band. I'm going back in tonight. Another bride, another musical adventure.

No bride stories from last night. I spent most of the evening NOT playing, as there were many speeches. The Germans are champion speech makers.

And speaking of speeches, I am headed to Berlin on Tuesday to play fifteen minutes of music for US Ambassador to Germany. He is leaving his position and this is his farewell dinner. It seems crazy to fly there to play for such a short time, but that's the way these things work. I played last year for the Chancellor (Angela Merkel), but I only had five minutes onstage, so I guess I'm working my way up. Playing for heads of state seems to be much easier than playing for weddings. There are clipboard ladies involved, but they're more concerned with security than they are with the timing of the bridal bouquet toss.

Wish me luck. What shall I wear? Oh, I know. How about a black dress? I don't think the Tempest Storm ass-less pantsuit would be appropriate for this gig.

Hello Piano Girl RMG,

Good luck indeed!

What is typically on your program/playlist for these state affairs?

Ambassadors are always tired, they meet too many people (from reading autobiography of an ambassador and from a few personal experiences at the embassy of Japan-no pianist in those cases, however). Guests may have their own agendas, hobnobbing, free food, what have you.

Hmm... Black dress is good.

Best regards -

Some years ago I played for the French ambassador to the US.

I wore a tux, and the free food was the best part of the deal. It's been at least 10 years and I STILL remember how good it was!

Now I'm hungry and it's not even 0900!

Hi Phacke—when I played for the Chancellor last year I played two original tunes, composed for the occasion. I took a singer with me, because there were 1000 people there and I didn't think I was "big" enough to handle that kind of crowd solo. The singer, Peter Fessler, is a star here in Germany, and has one of those amazing voices that adapts to any situation. We were threatened with our lives if we went over the 5 minutes allotted to us. We were a hit, but it's pretty easy to be good for 5 minutes.

Last December Peter and I went back and played for the Canadian Ambassador. We performed three blocks of music, for a total of 13 minutes. We played a two songs by Canadians—Hallelujah (solo piano), Heart of Gold (piano and guitar), The Man from Ottowa (a scat thing we wrote that had bossa feel), "Never Gonna Change My Love for You," and an original song called "Passage." Heart of Gold was a request from the Ambassador—we gave it a little Celtic twist and it worked quite nicely.

In contrast, tomorrow's gig will be very different. My husband's band (a sextet for this occasion) will be the headlining music act. They are bringing me in to play the cocktail set at the start of the evening, when the guests are being seated for dinner. I have no idea what I'll play. It's a 15 minute set, so I will gage the mood of the room and go from there. For background music jobs I prefer to work off the room rather than plan anything in advance. If you have enough music in your head (and fingers) this tends to work out. Tomorrow's event is a farewell dinner, so I will keep that theme in mind while playing.

My husband, who is in the hot seat tomorrow night will be playing:

How about You?
Every Time We Say Goodbye
Unforgettable (request)
Travel the World (a Brazilian 3/2 original composition that really grooves)
Bye Bye Blackbird (a funky version)

The band has 14 minutes onstage.

Yes, Tim! I'm hoping the food is good. At the last two events the musicians were seated with the guests. I didn't much enjoy the dinner though, because I had to get up and play, and, being somewhat of a girly-girl, I hate the thought of smearing my lipstick right before I go onstage. Tomorrow I play at the beginning—so I'll be able to enjoy the dinner.

I'll report back here on Thursday, assuming everything has gone as planned and there are no international incidents. Traveling with six jazz musicians you never know what's going to happen.

I'm back. What an event. If you want to see some photos you can take a look here:

https://www.facebook.com/robin.melo...4781200.1073741826.1158033342&type=1

The schedule was changed at the last minute, so I ended up playing 4 pieces, ending with "The Music of Goodbye" (the Out of Africa theme). Nice.

Food report: Excellent. I am a vegan (no jokes, please, it's for health reasons!), but the real eaters had some sort of gorgeous German fish first course and then the very American Surf and Turf as the main course. The wines were a German Riesling and a Napa Valley Cabernet. Flying dessert buffet. I love the term "Flying Dessert." Conjures up all sorts of Animal House-Three Stooges scenarios.

Lots of security. Lots of government VIPs. Some NATO generals. Lots of pretty people in fancy clothes. The Ambassador was very gracious to the musicians. It was a good night.

The Event Planner hired for the evening, I must say, was top notch. He really had his act together and not once did I see him with a clipboard. And what with all the security and everything, this was NOT an easy event to coordinate. But you'll be glad to know that he came to me at the end of the evening and asked for my contact info. "You'd be perfect for weddings," he said.

"Weddings?" I asked. "You do weddings?"

"More money in weddings than in politics," he said.

There you go.

"...The Event Planner hired for the evening... was top notch... not once did I see him with a clipboard. ...He came to me at the end of the evening and asked for my contact info. "You'd be perfect for weddings," he said.

"Weddings?" I asked. "You do weddings?"

Do you play, "At Last (My Love Has Come Along)"? That would be a nice number for weddings, with the right singer.

Yes, Clef—that's a perfect wedding song. Alas, I rarely work with a singer. I just go it alone and play instrumental wedding music. Some of these tunes do not hold up well without the lyric, but this one just might make the cut. I can always summon Beyonce if someone wants to hear the words—I believe she sang it at the first Obama inauguration.

Back to the House of Brides this evening. Enough of this ambassador stuff.

I'm thinking Stephen Stills's "Love the One You're With" might be a really bad choice.

Oooh... I can see a thread coalescing... "Worst songs to play at wedding gigs."

Um, "50 Ways to Leave your Lover?"