Skip to main content

And yet more rambling thoughts on music...

Feeling inspired to write today, so this is what you're getting...

My mind has been, as I'm sure you've already guessed, on music today. Same as any other day. It's my raison d'etre, if you will. A wiser man would have walked away from it by now, but luckily, I'm not a wiser man. I find too much joy in it to simply walk away because I'm not earning great Mammonian piles of cash from it. Every day in music is, to me, a new adventure. No matter what the weather is like outside, or how my body feels, or what is going on around me, my head is filled with music. New ideas, new spins on old ideas, a different arrangement, different voicings, there's always something to keep me happily occupied.

I'm working on putting together a new trio. This one might make some money...then again, it might not. Either way, it's giving me a lot to do; coming up with arrangements, plotting the course I want this venture to take, exploring potential venues, etc. Always something!

This gets me to thinking just how long I've been doing this. Damn, have I really been enveloped in the world of guitar for 36-37 years? I honestly can't recall if I was 11 or 12 when I started. It's been so damned long. This leads me to a question I've been asked, easily, 1000 times or more: Is it easy to learn to play guitar?

Quick answer: NO. At least it wasn't for me or most of the guitarists I know. While I'm sure there are a select few out there who just happened to pick up a guitar one day and were magically gifted, for most it doesn't work that way.

What it takes is a level of dedication bordering on fanatic obsession. Once you start, you just can't stop. There are hurdles. The fingers aren't accustomed to doing the things necessary to play an instrument. You develop calluses. Muscles and tendons that you rarely use are awakened...and they will hurt at times. Sometimes you'll play until your fingers bleed...and then keep on playing. You'll often fall asleep with the guitar. My girlfriend often tells me that I play in my sleep. We've been together long enough that she can tell if I'm playing guitar, slide guitar, or bass in my sleep!

 For a kid as young as I was, and playing the type of guitar I was (an old Silvertone classical...which had a very wide, flat neck/fingerboard), some chords seemed damned near impossible. I still vividly recall the old Learn To Play Folk Guitar book that dad had. The chord charts and fingerings were damned near sadistic in my estimation. To a young kid, they seemed impossible...but that just pushed me harder! "I WILL master the G chord, dammit!", I often thought and even shouted out loud. "A barre chord? Who am I? The Incredible Hulk? How am I supposed to hold all of these strings down with one finger while making a chord under it with the other fingers???" "I don't WANT to use my pinky!" Yeah...that's what it's like. But a budding guitarist does this...because it's all he/she wants to do. They've opened Pandora's music box. They know what could be...what can be...if only they push harder and go farther. There is no end to the learning. No one ever learns all of it. Why?

Because There Are No Rules!

Ask 10 guitarists who they think the best guitarist is, and chances are you'll get 10 different answers for 10 different reasons. It might be a matter of their skill or technique or tone or a combination of all of the above.

There is no right way or wrong way to play. There are basic guidelines...but even those aren't necessarily 'rules'. I've seen people play guitar on their lap. I've seen a guitar played with a spoon. Keith Richards often only uses 5 strings, instead of 6. I did a show in upstate New York once with a guy who only used 4 strings, and a capo. Big Joe Williams used a 9 string guitar! There are 6 stringed guitars. There are 12 stringed guitars. There are 10 stringed guitars. There are baritone and tenor guitars. There are nearly limitless different tunings. There's fingerstyle, slide, picking, tapping, chord melodies, single line playing, claw style...and every decent guitarist at least tries different ways to do things. At least they used to. I hear too many kids today say things like, "That's not how it's done!", thinking there is only one way to do it. It's sad. It says a lot about the mindset these kids are brought up with. A bunch of little future corporate slaves. (Yeah...you knew I was gonna work that in somewhere.)

My question to all musicians anymore is this: Why do you play?

Knowing that your chances of making it "big" are slim, and the financial rewards that used to exist no longer do...why do it at all? Is it a matter of ego? Instant gratification? Some inner need to feel special? Or is it something more?

For me, it's simple. It's a never-ending race to get these ever-accumulating ideas OUT of my head. I've often said that creativity is a form of psychosis. I hear things that don't yet exist outside of my mind. At any given point in time, I have a multitude of symphonies playing in my head. I'm, luckily, able to weed through them and focus on one or two things at a time, as well as temporarily mute them when I have other things to do...like work, or pay bills, or any number of every day things we all do. But give me a minute to myself...and I let them all come flooding back to full volume in my head. It's beyond wonderful!

Some people enjoy the music I make. Some don't. Some couldn't care less either way. Yet, I still do it. I feel compelled to make music. I know how I react to music. I'm pretty sure that most people have an innate reaction to it. There have been studies done as to how and why...but the point is, we do react to music. Even the deaf can react to vibrations. That's one of the reasons I enjoy playing loudly. I know that I enjoy the vibrations from it...and I've seen deaf people have a positive reaction to it. If it's too loud...you're probably too old. Get some ear plugs. You'll be better off in the long run.

If you're a parent, make sure your kids learn music. Don't make it a hassle. It's not like they have to be Beethoven. Just open that door to them. If your kids' school doesn't offer music (sadly...some don't), buy them an instrument. Expose them to all different types of music. You might be surprised what moves them. You might learn something yourself.

It's never too late to learn to make music.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Bluesy Melody and a Scratchy Photograph

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't born in the mountains. Nor had he been raised in a cave. His appearance, though, often led people to think otherwise. A barber's chair was as likely a place for him to visit as the moon. I don't believe he had ever shaved. His hair, long and unkempt, looked even longer thanks to his seemingly endless beard, which was braided and knotted at the bottom. If unfurled, it probably would have dipped well below his waist.  His mannerisms and manner, while peculiar, were so only in that he was almost religiously polite. What at first glance might appear stand-offish was nothing more than his attempts at being inobtrusive. He was almost like some Appalachian monk, raised by a society trapped in the past, who occasionally ventured into town. He was extremely well-read and more tech savvy than most teenagers. Utmost, he maintained his privacy. No one knew just where he lived. He came and went at his own leisure, unnoticed by the world until he mad...

An Old Photo

The photo was old and scratched up. It looked like it had been handled and mishandled for years, and it probably had. Passed from hand to hand, tucked into scrapbooks, displayed in frames, stuffed into drawers, and rescued again. It had been looked at thousands of times. It was still his favorite. It wasn't historically important. Just a photograph of friends sitting in someone's back garden, sharing a few laughs and a few cold beers. The image was every bit as grainy as the memories attached to it. The colors had faded with age, drifting toward reds and yellows. Time had left its fingerprints everywhere. He was the only one left in the photograph. When his time came, would anyone remember those old glory days? Those years when importance itself seemed unimportant. When photographs weren't taken to prove anything, advertise anything, or preserve a carefully crafted image. They were taken simply because someone thought a moment was worth keeping. There was no guarantee the p...

The American

 In his native America, he'd always had a shady reputation. As a young man, he worked as muscle for hire, worked as a bouncer in gambling houses and brothels, and always had a side hustle moving drugs or weapons. He could always be counted on to find a buyer for stolen goods, too. He was smart enough to see the cracks forming in the government long before most. Within days of the First Attack, he'd made plans to leave the country. Some of his cohorts with Sicilian lineage helped him get to Europe. From there he was on his own. He managed to bring along a tidy sum in cash and jewels. This gave him the advantage of time to form new contacts. He was told time and time again that the capital of Bulgaria - Sofia - would be a good place to set himself up. There were gangs there who could make use of his skills, and provided he kept out of trouble and his name out of the local gossip, he would do fine.  And he did. He pretty much became, as he liked to call himself, a consultant. He ...