My first public performance on piano was back in 1958 on the Bobolo boat sailing down the Detroit River. I was 12 years old. A young bongo player and I had worked up some improvisations to perform on this summer field trip. The announcer asked what we were going to play and I told him nothing special. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to present Larry Lofquist playing one of his own compositions called Nothing Special.”

Little did I realize at the time that this kind of playing would be putting bread and butter on the table for so many years

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I began playing solo jazz piano, or “cocktail piano,” as it’s known in America, with the notion that the music should sound like what was heard in the exclusive restaurants of Hollywood films. In the early 70s I moved from Detroit to Boston, where I found the East Coast version, with the likes of Teddy Wilson, Dave McKenna, Bob Winter and Ray Santisi filling the plush lounges of the Copley Plaza, The Playboy Club and The Four Seasons with strains of melodious jazz served up their way. It was a music steeped in the traditions of ragtime, swing and stride. The songs belonged to Gershwin, Cole Porter, Earl Warren, Matt Dennis and a host of lesser known songwriters whose hits graced the Top 40 of yesteryear. They played 6 nights a week and we loved it.

Cocktail piano is played so that the audience can either listen to each set as a concert, or can tune in and out as he or she wishes. It is a malleable, plastic art that changes form to fit the changing audience--spontaneous, a conversation with the conversation-at-large.  A gentle swing or Latin pulse usually fits well, although one should be a master of rubato playing. In short, cocktail piano is best described by John Lewis’ definition of jazz—a delicate balance between art and entertainment.

The greatest challenge of playing “cocktail piano” is playing to an audience who for the most part expects you to play as if you weren’t  there, or one who expects the songs to sound like the record. There is a constant coming and going of people, with drinks being ordered, ice being crushed or coffee ground; folks requesting a tune that you’ve just finished playing, or interrupting to ask what it is you’re playing.  Someone always wants to play—usually someone who should be listening. If you get louder, the room gets louder, and when you stop, if it’s not carefully engineered to draw applause, they can get uncomfortable.

While cocktail piano has always been an art form that looks to the past, there was once-upon-a-time a “standard repertoire” that has shrunk considerably in recent years. And while the hush of conversation and the clinking of glasses can enhance a mood, the cell telephone can easily damage it…

My own repertoire includes the aforementioned “American Songbook” as well as the Brazilian songbook, jazz classics, some pop and original tunes and a pastiche of spontaneous improvision in between.

My first engagement playing cocktail piano was at the Officers' Club in Leavenworth, Kansas. My longest was 15-plus years at the Renaissance in Vienna, and the most anticipated was a private party in Manhattan's Upper West Side for New Year's Eve, 2000. My favorite was probably the Clark Cooke House in Newport, Rhode Island. At 9:00 sharp, two waiters removed a tiny out-of-tune spinet from under the cash register, and it was show time!  The place was always alive and bustling. The lighting, the ambience, the atmosphere and the sea-side location made for an outstanding gig.

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In the best tradition of “cocktail piano” the recording was recorded on an out-of-tune Steinway M with no one else present.

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