Howard Bulson never sang. Seattle's most beloved piano man believed people should recognize their limitations, although his own tolerance for those who failed to do so on vocals was legendary. Ever a gentleman, he accompanied off-the-clock divas from the Seattle Opera as well as rank amateurs beyond hopeless at carrying a tune, transforming the city at night with his music for nearly 40 years. His repertoire was vast, his style smooth, his suits sharp. (He was said to personally favor Verdi and Puccini.) Years ago, he played at the Firelite Room in the Moore Hotel, the 111 Yesler, Gim Ling, the Silver Dragon, Simonetti's. He was pianist in residence for years at Sorry Charlie's on lower Queen Anne; when it became the Mirabeau, he played there, too.
On Monday, May 7, Howard Bulson died after a brief illness. On Friday, May 11, he was scheduled to play at Martin's Off Madison, one of his regular gigs—except that this also was to be his own 73rd birthday party. Instead, a proclamation from the mayor's office declaring May 11 Howard Bulson Day stood on a music stand near the piano, and at the keyboard, other players did their level best in his honor.
His friends and fans packed the place to the gills, eschewing eulogies in favor of song—maybe a few tears, but also laughter, and bottles of champagne in ice-filled silver buckets, and more and more song. The list for a table was long; people fit themselves in where they could, sitting with strangers, leaning against walls.
In sartorial memorial, the septuagenarians in the room put everyone else to shame; the women were glamorous, the men, dapper. A lady named Babs with a platinum-white ponytail, wearing a silk jacket and massive jewelry, seemed to actually glow. Howard had told her three days before he died that he'd never seen her not look beautiful, she offered happily. A gentleman with a white beard, a raspberry beret with matching vest, and one eye bandaged rakishly gave a more than creditable rendition of "O Sole Mio." He'd known Howard for 20 years—in this room, a newer friend. One of Howard's admirers from the opera performed "If I Loved You" from Carousel and "Kiss Me Again" from the operetta Mlle. Modiste, both to thunderous applause. A tiny woman wearing a gorgeous red pantsuit with an impressive, sparkly brooch sang "A House Is Not a Home" with a beautiful soprano trill. She'd known Howard for 40 years.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"Seattle's sorry," she replied.
Tonight, though, Seattle was celebratory in its sorrow. Another petite woman wearing a spangled top refused the microphone, wandering through the room while belting out "Bye Bye Blackbird" with extraordinary style and at an extraordinary volume. When a man bumped into her among the standing-room-only crowd, she turned and embraced him, never stopping her song.
The Triple Door hosts another tribute to Howard Bulson on Wed May 23.
