Back to Square One with the Guitar

Graduate school was one of the most intense long-term experiences I've had in a while. Not that I don't get intense experiences almost on a daily basis. I mean, check out the economy. As I used to say when I started freelancing, homelessness and starvation are great motivators. There's nothing like the realization that I may still end up on a park bench in my old age, huddled under a raggedy-ass thin blanket in the snow. Seriously, I've thought of it. What do you do when the money runs out?

Look back on that first sentence and realize that what grad school was, was long-term. It was a non-stop shot out of a canon where you just kept flying through the air and you never thought you were going to land. I'm reading comments, primarily on Facebook, of people who have started the program at BPT and they are completely overwhelmed, exactly the way I was a year ago. I mean, when do I sleep? When do I see Sue? When do I do anything except study? Even, with all the studying and the completing responsibilities toward your stipend, when do I write? Well, it all came together, you slip into a mean routine and just ride it out.

Now, I'm trying to cobble a life. I'm looking for work, and I'll probably blog about that at some point when I get over the fact that I got hammered on an interview for a job that I thought I had, but didn't really want in the first place, but I had to go for something. I mean, I think I'm done with the corporate world and I certainly don't want to shill for an insurance company, which is what this interview was for. That seriously shows how desperate I am, that I said, Insurance?--no problemo. I'll just check my soul here at the door before I wipe my feet. I never did fit in that well to begin with, and now as I've gotten older and set in the writing world, I fit in even less. I think Sue said it best, It's almost like they can smell I'm an outsider. But the work scene is scary. I want to teach, and teaching jobs are scarce, just like any other job. But I'm...hopeful.

Tonight, though, I got back to music lessons, something I had to give up while in school and something I missed so much. And maybe I'll need the lessons some day in case I need to busk in Park Street. I did have a teacher who once said, in all sincerity, that all musicians should have the experience of playing out on the street or in subway stations. I guess there's a visceral grittiness that happens that leads to the blues. I don't know.

I did get rusty. I was really cruising along, learning and growing as a musician, but then I had to make some real choices and cut things out of my life and just dedicate all my talents and energy to playwriting. Sometimes I wouldn't touch a guitar for a week or two. Or I'd just pick it up and dust it, since that's all it was doing was collecting dust. Or I'd walk past it and run my fingers along the strings like you would a picket fence on the street. That's all changed, and tonight Joe, my old timey teacher, got me started back on square one. Start reading music. Start playing E, F, and G on the first string, and tap it out with my foot. Three notes. It's all back to square one stuff. I don't mind though. I'm back at it. And I want to get into songwriting seriously. I mean, what am I really supposed to do in Park Street?--cover old Lowell George songs? Still, I do love this one.

Colleen and David are Austin-bound

Came home to discover that Colleen Reilly (Reilly, like the life of Reilly is how she introduced herself), my music teacher, is moving to Austin, Texas, a place she called guitar heaven. Boyfriend and her drummer, David, is heading there, too.

So cool. I'm really happy for them. But now I'm once again looking for a teacher. And I won't hear Colleen say anymore, "Hey John, check it out..." then have her ripping through some licks.

I met Colleen (and subsequently David) when just on a whim I ducked into Jack's Drum Shop in Boston. I don't know how many times I passed by, but never went in because, well, it's a drum shop and I'm a geetar picker. But one day Sue and I dropped into the Jack's down in Hyannis, having seen some guitars through the windows, and Sue bought her guitar there so I thought I'd check out the Boston scene.

That first day I was just hanging out and overheard them talking about lessons. I started talking to them and everything seemed cool so right then and there I signed up for lessons, taking my first lesson that night on a guitar I borrowed from the store.

Colleen is pretty cool. Our lessons tended to ramble around a bit, mostly because I think she and I both have a tendency to sort of just follow where things lead. But I learned some pretty cool things about my "instrument" as she calls a guitar, and she got me into song-writing, so I have a lot to thank her for.

Wishing both of them good luck, and hoping some day they get that big record contract.

Guitar gods

Musicians are great people. It seems they just want to have fun and share and make music and joy in the world.

Got this email from my buddy, Jason, today with the title of this blog as the subject line. A list of his all-time favorite acoustic guitar players that he wanted to share with me.

It's like being a kid in a candy store. There's so much to learn.

Here's Jason's list:
Tony McManus [my hands down favorite guitarist on the planet.]
John Renbourn [Brit folkie who with Bert Jansch was in Pentangle in the 60s] Travellers Prayer is some of his best guitar work.
Duck Baker
The name says it all.
Stefan Grossman
Great blues and ragtime player.
Pierre Bensussan
Great fingerstyle guitarist.
Michael Hedges
A little too new agey for me most of the time, but man the guy could play.
Tony Cuffe
Deceased fingerstyle celtic.
Preston Reed
Hedges disciple.
Beppe Gambetta
Never heard him, but heard good things about him.
Tim Reynolds
Furious flatpicker.
Peter Ratzenbeck
Another crazy tuning celticky guy.
Steve Creeder
Don't know if you can find too much about him ~ general guitar genius.
Jerry Douglas
Dobro motherfucker who plays with Allison Kraus ~ does the best version of little Martha I have EVER heard.
And just for fun
Jake Shimabukuro (ukulele god)
Give a listen.

Free-Guitar-Chords.com

This site is really misnamed. It should really be named something more like, Free Awesome Guitar Lessons.com.

I stumbled on this site when I was actually looking for free chord charts. The site is put together by this guy, John Bilderbeck, and I think he's in New Zealand. You get free weekly lessons that explain things like pentatonic chords and all that music theory stuff that completely baffles most new students. This one included.

This site is a great supplement to music lessons, or I guess it could be used in leiu of music lessons.

And for the life of me, I can't figure out how he's making a living from this site, but I'll tell you one thing, every person I've ever met from that part of the world -- Australia/New Zealand -- is a straight, look-you-in-the-eye kind of person, and smart to boot.

Only if you name your guitars after women

Alice has to go into the shop. There's something wrong with her g-string. LOL.

When you play A on the G string, it kind of twangs, making a sound you normally hear in Asian music. Just that one fret. The guitar shop assured me that sort of thing happens all the time.

Music is like sex

First you do it by yourself.

Then with your friends.

Then for money.

I think I can make it

It's Friday. Sue went home this a.m. and I won't see her until tomorrow night when I drive down to the Cape.

Tonight, I'll either be sitting home alone with Alice and a few beers or hanging with good bud, Michelle, with her drum and my guitar.

I think I can make it.

Daddy's Junky Music

Man, there is a dearth of music stores here in Boston. Except for Daddy's Junky Music Store up on Mass. Avenue by Berklee (five T stops from where I work) there isn't one place where a poor boy can walk to at lunchtime to clear his head and get to know a few guitars and be back at his desk for bed check.

And that's kinda sad. Kind of means there isn't a whole lot going on 'round here, doesn't it?

Alice

Was drawn to... Was called... How do you buy something like a guitar? They call to you. You are drawn to one and you don't even know it.

Every one is different. Acoustics are organic, made out of wood that changes, will change some more. Pick up one, it just doesn't feel right. Pick up another one and it feels great. You hold it like a woman. Plays great. The sound resonating in your chest. You not only hear the sound, but you feel it, too. But my wallet says no.

I've been wanting an acoustic to play around on for awhile now. Different sound, different experience from LuLu. Yesterday I looked hard at price tags first. Picked up a used something, Epiphone maybe, for $99. No. The first string around the seventh fret actually would not play. No sound except for this screek. Another, an Olympia. Whoa. Is this what I'm feeling? I played it awhile. Put it down. Picked up another one. Another one. Went back to the Olympia. Who are you, little darling? Solid spruce top made for a rich sound. Set up nice so it was easy for me to play. Omigod. You're the one. You're really the one. Ninety-nine bucks used. It wasn't the Martin I was hoping for, but I've learned you gotta be careful what you hope for.

I brought her home. I was playing her when Sue walked in. She didn't even notice at first that it was a different guitar. Maybe 'cause we look so good together? Sue named her Alice. Good name. It was my mother's name, though Sue didn't realize it at the time.