Mattias Krantz stood in front of a live fish market in Sweden, staring at rows of octopuses destined for dinner plates. Most people would see seafood. Krantz saw potential. He purchased one small octopus, took it home, and began one of the strangest musical experiments the internet has ever witnessed.
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Six months later, that same octopus would pull levers with its tentacles to produce musical notes. Videos of their sessions would rack up 22.7 million views on Instagram alone. People around the world would watch in fascination as man and cephalopod made something that resembled jazz together.
But getting there required failed experiments, escape attempts, custom engineering, and a breakthrough involving an elevator made for crustaceans. What Krantz discovered along the way raises questions about intelligence, consciousness, and the boundaries we draw between species.
Rescue Mission at a Fish Market

Krantz named his new companion Takoyaki, shortened to Tako, after the Japanese dish made from octopus. Irony hung heavy in that choice. He had rescued an animal from becoming food, yet named it after the very fate he had spared it from. “I almost forgot sometimes that Tako was destined to become someone’s dinner and now we’re making music together,” Krantz later shared on YouTube.
Why an octopus? Krantz had long harbored an unusual ambition. “I’ve always wanted to teach an animal piano,” he explained. Among aquatic creatures, octopuses possess capabilities that border on uncanny. Scientists rank their intelligence at the level of a human three-year-old. Each of their eight arms contains its own cluster of neurons, creating what researchers call distributed intelligence. Krantz saw this as an advantage. Eight arms meant eight potential pianists working in coordination.
Most people teach their pets to sit or fetch. Krantz decided to teach his students to play an instrument.
Eight Arms, Eight Mini Brains
Before building a single piece of equipment, Krantz needed to understand what he was working with. Octopuses have earned reputations as the escape artists of the aquarium world. Zookeepers tell stories of octopuses unscrewing jar lids, solving puzzles, and squeezing through impossibly small gaps to reach food or freedom. Research has documented their ability to distinguish between different humans, remembering who feeds them and who simply walks by their tanks.
Recent genetic studies reveal something even more startling. Octopuses share certain intelligence genes with humans, despite our evolutionary paths diverging hundreds of millions of years ago. A Brazilian research team has gathered evidence suggesting these creatures may even dream. When scientists observe sleeping octopuses, they notice color changes rippling across their skin, possibly reflecting some form of internal experience.
Tool use among octopuses has been well documented. In the wild, they carry coconut shells and use them as mobile shelters. In laboratory settings, they manipulate objects to reach food rewards. All of this suggested to Krantz that piano playing, while absurd on its surface, might fall within Tako’s cognitive range.
Building an Underwater Piano

Engineering presented the first major hurdle. Pianos and water mix about as well as electronics and swimming pools. Krantz needed to create an instrument that could survive full submersion while remaining playable by an animal with tentacles instead of fingers.
Traditional piano keys require downward pressure. Octopus anatomy works better with pulling motions. Krantz designed a lever system where Tako could grab and pull to trigger each key. Each lever connected to a mechanism outside the tank that would press the corresponding piano key. Waterproofing every component took weeks of testing and refinement.
But hardware alone would not solve the bigger problem. Tako had no ears. Sound meant nothing to an animal that navigates by touch, taste, and sight. How do you motivate a deaf creature to care about music?
When Nothing Works
Krantz tried every trick he could imagine. He installed light-up keys, thinking visual stimulation might spark interest. Tako ignored them. He placed fake crabs inside the piano, hoping predatory instinct would drive Tako to interact with the keys. Tako remained unimpressed. He even created vibrations in the tank, attempting to give Tako some sensory feedback that might represent the music being produced. Nothing worked.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks stretched into months. Tako would approach the piano, examine it briefly, then swim away. Sometimes he would sit on the keys without pulling the levers. Other times, he tried to eat parts of the equipment. Once, he simply stared into empty water, apparently contemplating anything but music.
Krantz began to doubt the entire project. Depression crept in during those long stretches where Tako showed zero interest in his carefully crafted instrument. Hours of engineering and preparation seemed wasted on an animal that could not have cared less about becoming a keyboardist.
Crab Elevator Changes Everything

Frustration breeds innovation. Krantz went back to basics and asked himself what Tako actually wanted. Food. Octopuses in the wild spend most of their time hunting. Tako’s predatory drive remained strong even in captivity. If Krantz could link that drive to the piano, maybe he could break through Tako’s indifference.
He built what he called the crab elevator. Each time Tako pulled a specific lever, a tube would lower a small crab slightly closer to him. Pull one key, and the crab descends an inch. Pull another in sequence; it comes down another inch. Complete a simple melody, and the treat reaches grabbing distance.
Results came almost immediately. Tako began pulling levers with purpose. He learned which sequences brought rewards. Repetition built familiarity. Over time, the behavior became less mechanical and more fluid. Tako started hitting multiple notes in succession, creating something that resembled musical phrases.
Whether Tako understood he was making music remains an open question. But he had learned to play his instrument, and that achievement alone defied what most people thought possible.
Six Months of Jazz Sessions
Bonding happened gradually. Krantz spent hours sitting by Tako’s tank, guitar in hand, playing along as Tako pulled levers. Some sessions produced what Krantz generously called jazz. Other times, Tako hammered random notes with all eight tentacles at once, creating chaotic noise that held no musical value whatsoever.
But patterns emerged. Tako learned simple sequences. He demonstrated a preference for certain lever positions over others. During some sessions, he would accidentally produce a chord, multiple notes sounding simultaneously as several tentacles grabbed levers at once. Pure chance created those moments, but they suggested potential for more complex playing with additional training.
Training an octopus differs vastly from training a dog or cat. Mammals respond to social bonding and hierarchy. Octopuses operate on different principles entirely. They are solitary by nature, meeting other octopuses primarily to mate before returning to isolation. Building any kind of relationship with Tako required patience and consistency rather than dominance or pack dynamics.
Krantz documented everything, sharing failures alongside successes. Viewers watched Tako’s journey from disinterested captive to engaged player. Comments poured in by the thousands. People marveled at the dedication required for such an absurd project.
What Octopus Intelligence Teaches Us About Being Human

Tako’s story resonates beyond novelty. Scientists studying cephalopod intelligence believe these creatures offer windows into understanding consciousness itself. When we find intelligence in animals so physically different from us, it challenges assumptions about what minds require.
Nikolaus Rajewsky, scientific director of the Berlin Institute for Medical Systems Biology, studies octopus brains to better understand human neurology. “The octopus is a special invertebrate. By studying how the brain functions in octopuses, we can maybe learn new tools to interfere with our nervous systems or to understand our nervous system better,” Rajewsky explained.
Octopuses evolved intelligence through completely different evolutionary pressures than mammals faced. They have no internal skeleton, no prolonged parental care, and lifespans measured in years rather than decades. Yet they solve problems, use tools, and demonstrate behaviors we typically associate with much longer lived social mammals.
What does that tell us about consciousness? Perhaps intelligence emerges through multiple pathways. Perhaps the ability to learn, adapt, and create internal models of the world develops wherever survival demands it, regardless of body plan or evolutionary history. When Krantz taught Tako to associate actions with rewards, he demonstrated that musical training requires no special mammalian brain structure. Any sufficiently intelligent creature can learn sequences and patterns.
Questions about octopus intelligence have spawned ethical debates. A growing number of people now question whether eating such smart animals can be justified. If octopuses can learn, remember, and possibly dream, where do we draw lines about which creatures deserve protection from our appetites?
Experiments like Krantz’s push boundaries in uncomfortable ways. They force us to reconsider which animals we classify as thinking beings worthy of moral consideration. Every time Tako completed a musical sequence, he proved that minds exist in forms we barely understand. Each session suggested that consciousness might be far more widespread than we assume.
From Dinner Plate to Duet Partner

Krantz originally planned to release Tako back into the ocean after completing his experiment. But months of bonding changed his mind. Tako had become domesticated, accustomed to regular feeding and the safety of captivity. Releasing him might amount to a death sentence for an animal that had lost its survival edge.
Instead, Tako became a permanent resident and occasional musical collaborator. He lives peacefully in his tank, sometimes pulling levers when Krantz sits down for impromptu jam sessions. Whether Tako enjoys these sessions or simply associates them with treats remains unknowable. But man and cephalopod have formed a relationship that defies normal categories.
Some might argue that the entire experiment proved nothing scientifically rigorous. No controlled study, no peer review, no replication. Just one musician with too much time and an odd fixation. Yet proving something was never really the point. Krantz wanted to see if a connection was possible across the vast gulf between species. He wanted to make music with a creature that cannot hear. In that goal, he succeeded completely.
Why Millions Watched a Tentacled Piano Student
Videos of Tako’s training went viral for reasons that transcend simple novelty. Yes, watching an octopus play piano qualifies as bizarre. But viewers kept returning because the project combined absurdity with genuine warmth. Krantz’s frustration during failures felt authentic. His joy during breakthroughs came through clearly.
People responded to the dedication required. Six months of daily work for a project with no guarantee of success. Hundreds of hours building equipment, troubleshooting problems, and sitting patiently while Tako learned. That level of commitment to something so ridiculous struck viewers as both admirable and hilarious.
Social media thrives on content that makes people feel something. Tako delivered surprise, wonder, laughter, and a touch of melancholy when viewers remembered he was nearly someone’s meal. Comments sections filled with questions about octopus intelligence, jokes about Tako’s musical talent, and requests for updates on his life.
In a digital landscape saturated with outrage and division, Tako offered something different. Pure, uncomplicated weirdness married to scientific curiosity. No politics, no controversy, just a Swedish musician who decided to see if an octopus could learn piano. Sometimes that’s exactly what people need.







