BILL’S AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS
Sometime during the third year of my life (1956) we got our first TV set – one day between the soap operas my mother was watching, on came a man named Liberace who sat and played the piano for one half hour. I was mesmerized; I loved what I heard and saw and begged my father to get me a piano. He went downtown to W.T. Grants department store and brought home a little tinkley toy piano. I immediately began to pick out tunes – I would hear something and go replicate the melody on the piano (to this day I still prefer to listen to a song to learn it, rather than read the music). Very shortly I “ran out of keys,” and my dear old father (a mailman) found a beautiful old upright for $50 dollars and with a few of his friends hauled it home on the back of a borrowed truck. The person from whom he bought the piano also gave him a lovely RCA Victrola crank up record player with stacks and stacks of old 78 rpm records. I listened to and learned every one of them over time. Nursery rhyme tunes – learned ‘em – sing me to sleep tunes – learned ‘em – patriotic songs – learned ‘em – Christmas carols – learned ‘em; anything I heard that I liked, I learned it, all by ear. And never forgot them.
At age five, I entered kindergarten. Back in those days, grammar school teachers taught a little of everything, including music. When it came time for the music period on this first day of school, Miss Marion Spurling, my beloved old grey haired kindergarten teacher, went to the spinet piano in the corner of the room, sat down and began to play some little song. I raised my hand and said “Miss Spurling, Miss Spurling, you’re not playing that right”, to which she stood up and replied; “And I suppose, Mr. Trowell, you can do better?”; to which I stood up and replied “Yes, Ma’am”, to which she retorted, “Then why don’t you just march yourself right up here to the piano and show me and the rest of the class!” And I did. After I finished she responded, “Well I guess we know who’ll be doing the piano playing in THIS school from now on.” So began my public performing career.
When I turned six, my father took me to the local convent of the Sisters of Mercy to meet with Sister Mary Andrea, the piano teacher. When she found that I was only six years old she said “I shan’t take him on because his hands aren’t big enough yet.” My father said, “Sister, would you at least listen to him play?”, which she did – and I did – and she took me on. I’m certain I hastened the poor woman’s demise by many years. I was a terrible student. I had already been playing by ear for quite some time; now someone puts this sheet of paper in front of me with black squiggley marks on it and tells me that THIS is music and that I need to learn how to read this stuff to play music. What??? I faked my way through lessons. I would take the printed music home, struggle to read it until I got the tune in my head, then play it by ear. Exponentially easier, for me. Still is. But I shall be eternally grateful to this wonderful, kind and above all patient woman. Many teachers won’t take on individuals who play by ear; they’ve already learned so many “bad” habits that need to be unlearned. Plus it’s intimidating to a teacher who needs to read to have a student who can just sit down and play. This selfless lady chose to ignore all of that and assume the attitude “I’m going to teach this incredibly gifted kid whatever I can, however I can. And she did for six years. From her I learned to love classical music; she taught me timing; six years of scales and chords (do you know how boring and difficult that is?) But today, I play fluently in all keys. What an asset this has been for me. She was wonderful. I shall be forever grateful. That having been said, I quit when I hit twelve years old! Couldn’t stand it any longer! But I never stopped playing. And I remembered everything she taught me.
At age 8 I was sitting in church with my family one Sunday morning. The church organist for the past hundred years, Miss Isabelle Carlin, failed to show up that
day. So the old Monsignor said to his aide, “Go get the little Trowell boy.” I was plucked from the pew and ushered to the organ. The organ. Looks like a piano with more than one keyboard; COOL! And so I played it. So began my forty years playing in churches.
All throughout grammar school I played in the orchestra; I played for the chorus; I played in church; I played for various special occasions, St. Patrick’s Day shows, Coffee Parties, anything and everything that required music, I played. Tons of sacred music, secular music, old sing-a-long favorites, tap dance music, choral music, show music, etc. Tons of music. Learned it all by ear. Never forgot it.
At age 13 I entered a private Catholic school for grades 7 and 8. When I arrived on the first day, I was taken upstairs to the auditorium. All the school singing groups were assembled and we began immediately. More shows. More performances. More music to learn. Learned it all by ear. Never forgot it.
At age 14 I entered a private Catholic High school. At 8:05 AM on the first day I was summoned to the office over the intercom. Great. When I arrived at the office, Sister Claude-Marie was waiting. “You’re Mr. Trowell?” “Yes, Sister.” “Come with me.” “Yes, Sister.” I was led in stark silence down a seemingly endless corridor, finally reaching the music room. We went in. She slammed the door behind us. (Echo, echo, echo.) “I understand you play the piano.” “Yes, Sister.” “Then play for me.” “Yes, Sister. What shall I play for you?” “I care not what you play, JUST PLAY!” “Yes, Sister.” So I began to play. After about 7 seconds she abruptly closed the keyboard cover, nearly skinning my knuckles. “I am the director of music in this school; you will be my accompanist for the next four years.” “Yes, Sister.”
She was tough. She was demanding. She was not a happy person. She was not nice. I didn’t like her, and she didn’t like me. The time I spent with her was not pleasant. One day in a rage she screamed at me – “You’ll never be any good until you get beyond the point of having to think about what your hands are doing.” I was so angry. What a ridiculous thing to say. How can a piano player think about anything BUT what his hands are doing? But once I got beyond my anger and figured it out, she was of course right. One needs to get beyond the mechanics (many never do) before one can play from the heart, from the soul, with all one’s emotion. I got it. I am able to play as I do today because this person got through to me.
During my sophomore year, she died. The school was undergoing hard times. The church hierarchy decided not to support it any longer; it was transitioning to a non-church connected private school. It had no money to hire a music instructor. The principal asked me if I thought that I were capable of continuing the music program myself. I said yes. And so as a sophomore (with faculty disciplinarian in attendance) I took over the music program. At one point I had 172 voices in the entire assembled chorus. Multiple concerts, yearly Broadway musicals, etc. Tons more music to learn. Tons. Learned and remembered it. I graduated in 1972, but stayed on for ten more years.
Still a sophomore in high school. Became the organist for a very large cathedral style Catholic church with a huge and very old pipe organ. The Catholic church at that time was really just at the beginning of incorporating congregational singing into its services, some more, some less depending upon the outlook of the current pastor. In this case, the pastor was quite old and very old fashioned. On the day he hired me, this is what he said to me; “I hate music – I don’t want to have anything to do with the music – YOU take care of anything that has to do with the music and send me a bill at the end of the month.” Perfect!!! I worked for the man for twelve years, maybe we spoke a handful of times. So at age fifteen I was running the music program for the high school, running the music program for a church with a congregation of 1500, and working nights at McDonald’s, all while attending high school. I can tell you, I didn’t do much attending. A typical weekday for me ran like this: a 7am church service; a 7:45am service; school for an hour or so; back to church for a 10am funeral service, sometimes another at 11am or 1pm; back to school until 2pm dismissal; chorus, glee club or choir practice after school; McDonald’s 5pm – 1am; home to sleep until 6:30am, repeat. Saturdays, one or two weddings, two late afternoon services; Sundays, services at 7, 7:45, 9:30, 11am, 5pm. This schedule was my life for the next three years, until I graduated. Imagine the immense amount of music to learn for all of the school and church commitments. Learned it. Played a lot. As a matter of fact, I played all the time.
Age 18 – graduated high school, continued all my work at church and school, quit McDonald’s and went to work selling pianos and organs. Wasn’t much of a
salesman, but the position got me a lot of private performance work. One evening I was performing in one of several banquet rooms in a large resort. In another room a trio was playing for some other function. On a break, the bandleader came into my room and listened to me for a while. A few days later he called me and asked if I were available to play with him for a certain date. I told him I had the date open, but that I had never played with a dance band before. He said, “Don’t worry about that. You just do what you do and we’ll play around you.” Which we did. Had a wonderful time. We played together for 8 years. He was a generation older than me, and he knew a million old songs that I did not. Over the course of those years, I learned most of those million old songs. Someone would ask us to play a particular piece; he’d say to me, “Do you know that one?” I’d say, “Nope.” He’d say, “It goes like this…” Then he’d play it quietly into my ear once around, and off we’d go! Great fun. Eight years with him. Tons more songs. Learned them too.
In 1982 I got a call one day from a guy who was a drummer/singer I knew by reputation. He had been in several rock and roll and top forty bands in the area. He
told me that a new night club was about to open, and that he had been asked by the owner to play in his new lounge, which would cater to a more mature crowd. He said to me, “Bill, I don’t know enough of the older music and standards for this gig, but I know that YOU do. If you help me with the older stuff and I help you with the newer stuff, I think we could put together a dynamic duo that would be perfect for this new place.” And so we did. I played a Hammond organ, two synthesizers, bass pedals on the floor and a baby grand piano. He played drums. We both did vocals. We met and rehearsed twice a week; each time we would put together ten songs, five old and five new. After three weeks, we opened the club and stayed there for ten years. TONS more songs. Learned ‘em all. By ear.
In 1997 I answered an ad in the local newspaper which read: “Wanted – Pianist two nights per week – Apply in person – Bluenose Inn”. So I did. Went to the front desk and asked to see the owner about the ad for a pianist. They told me that he was somewhere on the property, they would locate him. Have a wait in the Great Room. While waiting I of course sat down at the beautiful piano and began to play. I waited. And waited. And waited! Eventually the janitor came into the room and went behind the bar to take out the trash. As he was passing by the piano, he said to me, ‘Gee, Sir, I wish you were staying here with us all season; you play beautifully.” I said to him, “I’m not a guest – I’m waiting to talk to the owner about the ad in the paper for a pianist – can you help me find him?” He put down the trash and said, “I’m the owner – you’re hired.” After I recovered, I asked “which two nights would you like me to play?” He answered, “I want you here EVERY NIGHT of the season, starting TONIGHT.” And so I did. And so I have been. Every night of the season, May through October.
I try to speak with every person who comes into the Great Room. I offer to play for everyone a piece of their choice. Can you imagine the number of pieces I have been asked for over these many years? If I am asked repeatedly for something that I don’t know, I figure that I should know it, so I learn it. The music I play and record is the music I am asked to play by people from all over the world who come here and stay with us. Their requests have broadened my expansive repertoire, and continue to today. Because you see, for me, it’s all about the people I play for. When I can touch someone with a song that is special to them, bring back a memory, perhaps evoke a tear, that makes what I do worthwhile and wonderful.
I am humbled by heartfelt compliments nightly. I cherish and appreciate every one of them. I am often asked, “What are you doing here!? You could play anywhere in the world!” This is my answer.
Maine is my home. Living here I am surrounded every day by the spectacular beauty that millions vacation here to enjoy for a brief moment. I live in a cabin in the woods which I built with my own two hands on a pristine lake with my loved ones. During the day I work in my gardens, I tend to my chickens, I sit on my dock and enjoy nature. During the evenings, I come to this gorgeous hotel and perform on this lovely instrument for adoring fans, many of whom return year after year to see and hear me. As Jimmy Stewart said, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” And so here I am. Home. And here I shall stay.
The year is now 2020. At age 66 I am embarking upon the most exciting phase of my musical career; I am building my own private music channel!! My lovely old baby grand in my home has 5 cameras focused on it from different angles; everything I play is captured on those cameras. I then send all takes to my producer in Hollywood, Jake Tremblay, who works his artistic wizardry and turns them into exquisite videos along with touching imagery. This undertaking is funded by my fans and followers, you. In return for their support, my music videos are available to them anytime they wish, in the privacy and comfort of their own homes. Many people wonder what they might do to occupy their time productively during their advancing years.
NOT ME!
This project will take the rest of my life, for it has no end. I intend to play for as long as I live, continuing to build an ever increasing library of the beautiful music that we all know and love. Take my card. Visit my website, www.billtrowellmusic.com and sample the experience.
I hope you will make the journey with me and become part of my musical family. We shall travel the road ahead, bonded together by our mutual love for the great music of this old world.
I wish you Love and Peace. They are the answer.
Keep them with you always, yet share them with everyone you touch in this life. They are the answer.
Bill Trowell