Dude, I think your music is on fire. The sheet music. Burying your elbows in smoke.
Or, the power of reflection.
Rachmaninoff looks like he was having a really bad case of the Mondays.
The answer usually seems to be:
Show off their hands! Their hands that bring such gorgeous music out of the piano. Their hands that they protect and cherish and love. Their hands that they clasp, hold to their faces, fold together, drape on the piano, or hold in mid-air.
Everybody does it.
(Not all of these photos are awkward individually. Some are actually great. But once you start noticing that every pianist poses with his or her hands on display, it becomes a kind of collective awkwardness. Which we, of course, couldn’t resist.)
He seems to be missing something.
Which would explain why he looks so confused.
“What are they?”
“Well, they’re nice little stands for houseplants. But if we stand around them, maybe have the pianist drape his hands over one since he doesn’t have an instrument to hold, we’ll look cool.”
Like those awkwardly posed school photos from third grade, but with a piano instead of a puzzle piece. Not to mention the vacant stare and unruly hair.