Piano

By Larry Shurilla

I didn’t always love the piano. I became pretty frustrated as a ten-year-old fourth grader trying to learn how to play. So, I gave it up, but many years later something changed my mind.

She used to come home from school and play for hours. Can you imagine having to tell your daughter to stop practicing piano so much? That was almost every day with Chelsea. I’d be watching tv in our family room, and Chelsea would be playing and earning her name, Pianopounder, up in the living room, but I really didn’t care very often. It drove her brothers nuts. Nathan once duct taped the piano’s dampening pedal to the floor in hopes of quieting the musical onslaught, but somehow, I knew, this was something special. I had never really heard Chopin, Mozart, or Bach before, but now I was hearing them all the time. Of course, there was also Elton John, Ben Folds, Irving Berlin, Joann Castle, and the original Mario Brothers’ theme song. You name it, Chelsea could and would play it.

Our piano was purchased for $200 from a friend who was going through a divorce-a beautiful 100-year-old upright grand. Not long after we had it in our home, Keaton decided to see what kind of marks a nail would make on its wood finish. Yes, I’m still shaking my head on that one. What kind of marks did he think it would make?! (Keaton has since matured and all we can hope is that the Good Lord will bless him with curious children of his own one day.) We tried to have it tuned, but the piano tuner said it was untuneable. He proclaimed, “In my entire career, I have probably tuned 20,000 pianos and this is the most out of tune piano I have ever heard.” All he could do was tune it to itself. Whatever that means. It had a very sticky key that you hoped wouldn’t work because when it did, it sounded like the padded hammer was striking a sick mouse instead of a piano string. But man, Chelsea could make that old piano sing.

She often played for her grandparents when they came to visit. Played all their old favorites and sang along. When she had just begun to play piano at around age 12, it was her grandfather, Chuck, who challenged her to play Bumble Boogie, an incredibly fast and difficult piece to play. As he smugly slipped her the sheet music, he quipped, “Give that one a try.” Chelsea took the challenge personally. The song didn’t stand a chance. She miraculously played it for her Grandpa in no time at all. We knew right then, this girl’s talent and determination were something special.

I know she got sick of it, but I would have her play for most visitors to our house. Lars would break dance, Nathan would do his world class yo-yoing, Keaton would tell jokes, and Chelsea would play piano. Man, that girl could play. So fast. So loud. She amazed so many. She would play and perform for my schmaltzy Christmas videos with much less resistance than the rest of my family. Chelsea would indulge my eccentricities. She’d sing along and harmonize with my stupid songs at home, in the frozen aisle of the grocery store, or in the bathroom while we were bathing her daughter, Aleah. It just had to be musical. Then she’d play right along. Put up and cover up my off-tune singing with her spot-on harmonizing.

A house window near the piano was often left open during warm weather, which provided the neighborhood with many opportunities for free concerts. One day, as Chelsea concluded a piano set with a rousing crescendo from George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, a team of construction workers from down the block, whistled and applauded vigorously! Needless to say, from that moment on, ever humble Chelsea made sure all windows were closed whenever she played. That didn’t matter too much though. She was the Pianopounder.

There was a time as soon as we came home from church, Chelsea would plant herself in front of the piano and start hammering out jazzy tunes that would shake the foundation of our home. Being the wonderful, diplomatic parents that we were, we politely counseled Chelsea and told her that although we loved her piano playing, perhaps, being Sunday and all, she could bring it down a notch and play, more reverently? Maybe even play a church song? Well, Chelsea, obliged us and proceeded to methodically play Scott Joplin’s, The Entertainer, twice as soft and twice as slow as normal. Over and over again. One point, Chelsea.

Every Christmas Eve, when we’d gather at my sister’s house to celebrate, you could always count on Chelsea to find her way to the piano and play carol after carol in the background, while everyone was sharing stories old and new. Now and then, you’d just stop and let your mind record that happy scene, with Chelsea’s carols of Christmas framing the picture. Her uncle, Don, would always expect the dance music from A Charlie Brown Christmas to be played with verve and he was never disappointed.

After winning a Wisconsin piano competition, she came back from college in the middle of a semester to perform the Prokofiev as the solo pianist with the Wisconsin Philharmonic. She memorized the 50 sheets of piano music and performed magnificently as many friends, teachers, church members and family can attest. After her performance, she told us that she really hated performing in front of crowds. She never really expressed that before, even after all the competitions she’d been through in high school, (except maybe those construction workers), but the hidden world of her mind was beginning to assert itself.

Chelsea played at church when her brothers went off to serve missions. You could always count on her to fill in and accompany whoever needed it. Later, she played in front of all the kids each week as the Primary Pianist when I was the Primary Chorister and we even wrote a song together for the kids, The Good Shepherd, just weeks before she left us.

I don’t hear her play our piano anymore. The scratches are still there. That dang sticky key’s still there. But her chair is empty. I’ll stand close sometimes and picture her there, leaning forward, making pencil marks or erasing them furiously on her sheet music. Then watching those hands become a blur over the keys. It’s hard for me to see or hear a piano now and not think of my all-time favorite pianist.

I will always love the piano.

Chelsea Shurilla Nelson was posthumously awarded her bachelor’s degree in Piano Performance from Brigham Young University in December 2019