Billy Joel – Piano Man Review

Where it may be easy to write off Piano Man as an album reliant solely on its title track, the singer-songwriter charms Billy Joel deploys elsewhere are worth sticking around for. His debut, Cold Harbor Blues, was a charming, light piece of work which would shape up to be his defining style. Breezy numbers with the occasional glimmer of brilliance. Piano Man is the same formula. Banjo thrills and writing spills form Joel’s second album, another release which highlights the disparity between his lyrics and the instrumentals backing him. Americana tinged, country music dependent songs of skill, for sure, but the desire to evade this genre or that cliche turns Piano Man into a volatile project. Joel has not yet caught the ruthless edge, though it shows glimmers of it on the title track. Take an opener like Travelin’ Prayer, a song which feels like parody but maintains an earnest edge. 

It fades in and out, unfocused at the best of times, but it feels like catharsis in motion. Joel marks his breakthrough with an album which, at the time, did little for him financially. Listen to the releases after Piano Man and find none of the rage expected, just acceptance. He is under the thumb of whichever label is hoping to chew him up and spit him out. There is no fire, no rage, and yet he uses it so wonderfully on Piano Man. Overplayed, sure, but there is good reason for that. Incredible observations, fictionalised for the sake of storytelling, made by Joel from his piano in some unexplored bar. But such is the point of the shady details, the experience, the similarity with this person or that in the life of a listener is far more interesting than anything Joel could offer.  

Joel’s greatest strength is exploring microscopic moments without specifics, and yet when he does bring in the lived experience, it is to praise himself, to bask in the compliments given by those who wonder why he is in a bar, playing piano. Joel walks the fine line between keeping himself out of the story and praising himself for abilities which he feels, and arguably is right in thinking, are not credited. But the spotlight is on him, and what Piano Man cannot shake is the smugness. The vagueness of these stories is occasionally sunk by a chance to wax his ego. Ain’t No Crime is tame-sounding piano rock but does a decent job of cementing Joel as a pop music draw. A song which highlights the tones Joel would continually use, the sudden guitar licks, the deeper octave and the gruff-sounding voice to contrast the inspirations which landed him behind a piano. All very nice, all very light. 

At his very best, Joel becomes an opportune and unlikely narrator who can be backed with optimism, for he hopes to profile the everyman. These are occasions of worldwide appeal, and the lack of detail is what makes them wonderful. It does mean, though, that even when Joel paints vivid pictures of his past and the struggle in getting to the studio, it feels ordinary. You’re My Home is a charming song, likely one of the best on the album aside from the title track. At its worst, like The Ballad of Billy the Kid, Joel sounds like a theatre kid who should have been gaffer-taped to the Los Angeles lounge he used to play. Piano Man is where messy meets uneventful as Joel tries writing his way into the hearts of millions, while keeping the details which would cement his status to himself. A bruised balladeer licking his wounds and spitting venom at those without the same hardship. It is a recipe for success, but Joel forgets some crucial ingredients.

Piano Man fails to cement itself as anything more than a follower of trends. Joel has a tremendous voice, he showed as much on Cold Spring Harbor. He makes little use of his writing talents, though. From the musical theatre-sounding The Ballad of Billy the Kidd to the mundane yet well-layered experiments of dreary pop rock on Worse Comes to Worse, the frustration is constant. In his pursuit for a musical sound that suits him, every instrument under the sun is utilised and scrapped with little change to the tried and tested piano style. A little bit Paul McCartney, a splash of Elton John, though none of the writing charms McCartney or Bernie Taupin would provide. Joel fails to stand out because his writing compliments himself, always, rather than the subject. He writes bitterly of subjects on Stop in Nevada, cutting through the soppy, oozing string sections to take a jab at someone following their dreams. He did the same, but Joel foolishly believes the struggle is what makes the reward, and anyone without it is coasting. His disdain is thrilling, his writing does not back it on Piano Man.