Did I mention I like instructions?
In one of my Internet forays for more information about my bourgeoning guitarist ways, I found About.com’s guide to guitars. While my blind-stumbling-wild method of teaching myself guitar held a certain amount of charm, I’m very happy to have found Mr. Dan Cross and his font of guitar knowledge featured at about.com.
It’s everything a new guitarist could want: beginner lessons, chord library, tuning guide…all in clear, easy-to-read instructions with illustrations. I especially appreciate the MP3 sound files, which let you know things like what the heck E is supposed to sound like anyway. There are even occasional words of encouragement for the weary-fingered.
I now know how to tune a guitar to itself and how to play six distinct chords, two scales, and a ridiculously simplified version of “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”
Yep. Rock star.
The most pleasant surprise I have discovered since beginning this guitar voyage: I really like playing guitar. Remember, mostly I’m playing finger exercises and limited chords, and yet, I really want to play them. I see my guitar and pick it up just to practice that C Major chord one more time. I keep playing that chromatic scale for the nth time even as my fingertips go numb. I’ve even trimmed down the fingernails on my left hand so I can play clearer chords. My fabulous lovely fingernails are a source of vanity for me (and they’re much prettier than yours). I trimmed them down! More than once! Seriously, this is a big deal for me. (This is also a good time for us all to consider just exactly how Dolly Parton manages to play her guitar with her long brightly-colored nails.)
I like when one of my experiments turns out and trying something new really does bring a sense of accomplishment, of joy. Maybe, someday, I really will sip my morning coffee as I strum my latest poetic folk song. Until then, I kind of like sipping my coffee along to the strains of G, G, G, G, C, C, C, C, D, D, D, D, D, D, D, D. (That’s the “kiss me and smile for me” part, in case you didn’t know.)
Showing posts with label Guitar Goddess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guitar Goddess. Show all posts
December 2, 2009
November 11, 2009
A Little Love
My guitar was made in a small village near Patzcuaro, Michoacán, Mexico. My father bought it during one of his travels with the intent of teaching himself to play. He never did get around to the playing part and the guitar ended up sitting on one of his bookshelves, looking quite artistic if a bit dusty. When I mentioned that I had always wanted to learn to play guitar, my father was only too happy to pass it on to me. I think, perhaps, he grew tired of the artistic nature of a guitar propped on top of his bookshelf, or thought to himself, “That thing is really getting dusty,” or he felt bad that no one had gotten around to playing the guitar.
Musical instruments should be played after all. I’ve seen quite a few of them end up as dusty decorations in various places. Restaurants, especially, seem to have a fondness for parts of dented trombones and splayed accordions. It seems a shame. That wasn’t their purpose after all. I’m not sure anyone went to the trouble to make a functional instrument with the hopes that some day, just maybe, it’d grace a Chili’s. I imagine that several years ago, an older Mexican gentleman polished the new lacquer on my guitar with a slight smile of pride. A simple but nice guitar. Not so cheap to be a child’s toy, not so expensive to be passed over by the Americano who thinks he might like to learn to play. My father wiped all the dust off that guitar and happily handed it to me.
I didn’t know what to do with it, besides not put it anywhere near my bookshelf. (It’d just be embarrassing if we both let it become a dust catcher.) Luckily, I have friends who know about guitars. I gave it to my friend Ess and asked for his honest opinion. After restringing it, he propped the guitar on this knee and played. (Effortlessly. Just a random little song.) “It’s got a nice sound,” he announced and suddenly by guitar was a musical instrument again.
He did advise, however, that if I was going to play this guitar seriously, that’d I’d have to replace the nuts. (That’s what he called them.) Well, I have every intention of playing this guitar seriously so I determined it was time to go to a music store. First, I looked up online to see if those things were actually called nuts or was Ess just messing with me. I did find a couple of other websites where musicians referred to them as nuts so Ess isn’t full of it, he’s just one of those musician types. However, according to official encyclopedic-looking diagrams of guitars, the first fret is called the nut and the nuts are called tuning keys. Thus armed with new knowledge, I walked into Guitar Center and asked for turny-nobby-thingies for, you know, the strings.
The nice Guitar Center man sighed a little.
“What type of guitar is it?” he asked.
“It’s from Mexico,” I said.
“Is it classical, acoustic, electric?”
“Um…” (Did you know there was a difference between classical and acoustic? Me either.)
“Does it have a plug?”
“No,” this one I knew! “It does not have a plug!”
“I don’t suppose you brought it with you.” He sighed again.
“Yes, it’s in my car.”
A glimmer of hope gleamed in the nice Guitar Center man’s eyes.
“Okay, go get it and I can help you.”
After retrieving my guitar, telling its colorful past, and explaining that it was actually my friend who knew about guitars that told me I needed new turny-nobby-thingies, Mr. Guitar Center looked over my guitar and began turning the tuning keys.
“Did your friend say what was wrong with them?” he asked just as one of the keys came off in his hand. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I think that was it,” I said, very helpfully.
Mr. Guitar Center took me over to the counter told them what I needed and left me in their care. Behind the counter, the wall was covered with an array of guitar parts in plastic packaging. A very young man began pulling parts down and holding them up to my guitar. He would squint a little and then pull another part down and hold it up to my guitar.
“You have to find one that fits,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. I looked up the unending wall of parts and got a little dizzy.
The very young man was joined by, remarkably, an even younger woman who began to also stare at parts at the wall.
“How about that one?” she would ask and point at the wall towering over her.
The young man would reach to a part nowhere near where she was pointing.
“Yeah, that one should work,” she would say.
It’s at this point they began talking some bizarre guitar language. It reminded me a bit of when Ess told me I should get some new nuts. It was all English yet I really didn’t know what was going on. Remember, I was in a Guitar Center at the time so I was surrounded by cacophony and the towering walls of guitar parts. (In case you didn’t know, Guitar Centers have musical instruments that they just let people play willy-nilly. They’re quite noisy.) There was just too much going on to really pay attention to what they were saying. Instead, I just smiled and nodded and considered the child labor laws.
“Here. This should work,” the young man said finally.
“Oh, that’s going to look awesome,” the younger woman said.
I looked at their find. It was a set of some of the gaudiest looking tuning keys I had ever seen—which admittedly is not very many, but still. My guitar is a humble instrument with modest silver and off-white keys. The tuning keys in the package were shiny gold and pearlescent odes to Liberace. I was just about to ask for something less mariachi-pants, when I looked up to see the young people’s faces.
They just seemed so pleased with themselves, so proud they could help me so effectively. I realized that when they had been talking in that guitar-speak they had been praising my little dusty guitar. They didn’t see a bookshelf adornment; they saw a musical instrument that was in need of something shiny to catch the limelight.
“That’ll look so good,” the younger woman said nodding.
“It’s a good little guitar,” the young man said, “it just needs some love.”
I realized that gold mariachi-pants enthusiasm is just what this endeavor needed. If you’re going to teach yourself guitar at 30, if you’re a self-respecting feminist buying yourself a new set of nuts, if you’re going to replace tuning keys on a guitar you don’t even know how to tune, if you’re going to rely on the expertise of teenagers—you just have to go with these things. You just have to be a little silly, err on the side of Elvis, and embrace your inner Guitar Goddess.
With new tuning keys and a new attitude, El Senor Pantalones-de-Mariachi and I are ready go.
Musical instruments should be played after all. I’ve seen quite a few of them end up as dusty decorations in various places. Restaurants, especially, seem to have a fondness for parts of dented trombones and splayed accordions. It seems a shame. That wasn’t their purpose after all. I’m not sure anyone went to the trouble to make a functional instrument with the hopes that some day, just maybe, it’d grace a Chili’s. I imagine that several years ago, an older Mexican gentleman polished the new lacquer on my guitar with a slight smile of pride. A simple but nice guitar. Not so cheap to be a child’s toy, not so expensive to be passed over by the Americano who thinks he might like to learn to play. My father wiped all the dust off that guitar and happily handed it to me.
I didn’t know what to do with it, besides not put it anywhere near my bookshelf. (It’d just be embarrassing if we both let it become a dust catcher.) Luckily, I have friends who know about guitars. I gave it to my friend Ess and asked for his honest opinion. After restringing it, he propped the guitar on this knee and played. (Effortlessly. Just a random little song.) “It’s got a nice sound,” he announced and suddenly by guitar was a musical instrument again.
He did advise, however, that if I was going to play this guitar seriously, that’d I’d have to replace the nuts. (That’s what he called them.) Well, I have every intention of playing this guitar seriously so I determined it was time to go to a music store. First, I looked up online to see if those things were actually called nuts or was Ess just messing with me. I did find a couple of other websites where musicians referred to them as nuts so Ess isn’t full of it, he’s just one of those musician types. However, according to official encyclopedic-looking diagrams of guitars, the first fret is called the nut and the nuts are called tuning keys. Thus armed with new knowledge, I walked into Guitar Center and asked for turny-nobby-thingies for, you know, the strings.
The nice Guitar Center man sighed a little.
“What type of guitar is it?” he asked.
“It’s from Mexico,” I said.
“Is it classical, acoustic, electric?”
“Um…” (Did you know there was a difference between classical and acoustic? Me either.)
“Does it have a plug?”
“No,” this one I knew! “It does not have a plug!”
“I don’t suppose you brought it with you.” He sighed again.
“Yes, it’s in my car.”
A glimmer of hope gleamed in the nice Guitar Center man’s eyes.
“Okay, go get it and I can help you.”
After retrieving my guitar, telling its colorful past, and explaining that it was actually my friend who knew about guitars that told me I needed new turny-nobby-thingies, Mr. Guitar Center looked over my guitar and began turning the tuning keys.
“Did your friend say what was wrong with them?” he asked just as one of the keys came off in his hand. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I think that was it,” I said, very helpfully.
Mr. Guitar Center took me over to the counter told them what I needed and left me in their care. Behind the counter, the wall was covered with an array of guitar parts in plastic packaging. A very young man began pulling parts down and holding them up to my guitar. He would squint a little and then pull another part down and hold it up to my guitar.
“You have to find one that fits,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. I looked up the unending wall of parts and got a little dizzy.
The very young man was joined by, remarkably, an even younger woman who began to also stare at parts at the wall.
“How about that one?” she would ask and point at the wall towering over her.
The young man would reach to a part nowhere near where she was pointing.
“Yeah, that one should work,” she would say.
It’s at this point they began talking some bizarre guitar language. It reminded me a bit of when Ess told me I should get some new nuts. It was all English yet I really didn’t know what was going on. Remember, I was in a Guitar Center at the time so I was surrounded by cacophony and the towering walls of guitar parts. (In case you didn’t know, Guitar Centers have musical instruments that they just let people play willy-nilly. They’re quite noisy.) There was just too much going on to really pay attention to what they were saying. Instead, I just smiled and nodded and considered the child labor laws.
“Here. This should work,” the young man said finally.
“Oh, that’s going to look awesome,” the younger woman said.
I looked at their find. It was a set of some of the gaudiest looking tuning keys I had ever seen—which admittedly is not very many, but still. My guitar is a humble instrument with modest silver and off-white keys. The tuning keys in the package were shiny gold and pearlescent odes to Liberace. I was just about to ask for something less mariachi-pants, when I looked up to see the young people’s faces.
They just seemed so pleased with themselves, so proud they could help me so effectively. I realized that when they had been talking in that guitar-speak they had been praising my little dusty guitar. They didn’t see a bookshelf adornment; they saw a musical instrument that was in need of something shiny to catch the limelight.
“That’ll look so good,” the younger woman said nodding.
“It’s a good little guitar,” the young man said, “it just needs some love.”
I realized that gold mariachi-pants enthusiasm is just what this endeavor needed. If you’re going to teach yourself guitar at 30, if you’re a self-respecting feminist buying yourself a new set of nuts, if you’re going to replace tuning keys on a guitar you don’t even know how to tune, if you’re going to rely on the expertise of teenagers—you just have to go with these things. You just have to be a little silly, err on the side of Elvis, and embrace your inner Guitar Goddess.
With new tuning keys and a new attitude, El Senor Pantalones-de-Mariachi and I are ready go.
"A Modest Guitar" by Anne
"El Senor Pantalones-de-Mariachi " by Anne
October 21, 2009
Whole Lotta Love
How does the saying go, “Life is what happens when you make other plans”? My little projects are generally more fun than laundry or dishes, but they don’t start to smell if I neglect them for a week. Consequently, it is my little projects that suffer. Occasionally I need to remind myself why it’s important to make time to devote myself to a project and not just to going to the grocery store.
My cool friend Mr. A.C. invited to me go see It Might Get Loud. It is a documentary featuring Jack White from the White Stripes, The Edge from U2, and Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin. The three talk about their favorite electric guitars, their love of electric guitars, how guitars changed their lives, and then they play some guitar. I mean, they play some guitar. It’s a guitar love fest and a love fest of three great guitarists and if you have ever liked listening to any rock song ever, you’ll enjoy this movie.
My favorite part is when Edge gets up and walks around the stage so he can get a closer look at Jimmy Page playing the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Love.”
I want to make time to teach myself guitar because I love this stuff. I love music. I love creation. I love that one good guitar story makes me itch to go home and strum a guitar.
No matter how many dishes there are in the sink.
My cool friend Mr. A.C. invited to me go see It Might Get Loud. It is a documentary featuring Jack White from the White Stripes, The Edge from U2, and Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin. The three talk about their favorite electric guitars, their love of electric guitars, how guitars changed their lives, and then they play some guitar. I mean, they play some guitar. It’s a guitar love fest and a love fest of three great guitarists and if you have ever liked listening to any rock song ever, you’ll enjoy this movie.
My favorite part is when Edge gets up and walks around the stage so he can get a closer look at Jimmy Page playing the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Love.”
I want to make time to teach myself guitar because I love this stuff. I love music. I love creation. I love that one good guitar story makes me itch to go home and strum a guitar.
No matter how many dishes there are in the sink.
October 2, 2009
Did She Really Get That Wigged Out by a Capo?
My blog is not real time. I wrote a few entries before I began posting so I would always have some banked and could post in a regular and timely manner. This plan worked brilliantly, until I went out of town. I could have posted right before I left and right after I returned so no one would be the wiser, but I did not. Instead, my little blog sat all alone with no updates. Today, I was embarrassed to discover that while I was away it sat on an especially silly entry.
You see, in real time, I moved past the capo incident quite quickly and went on to bigger and better guitar things. If you were just going by my blog, however, it seems I was thwarted by a bit of Italian.
Rest assured, the next day after I had gotten some sleep, I realized that capos are good things. They actually make playing a guitar easier. It is also really easy to MacGyver your own capo using rubber bands and a pencil.
Thus, I moved on with my guitar lessons till I went out of town. These exploits will be posted soon. No really. I intend to do it in a timely manner.
Really.
You see, in real time, I moved past the capo incident quite quickly and went on to bigger and better guitar things. If you were just going by my blog, however, it seems I was thwarted by a bit of Italian.
Rest assured, the next day after I had gotten some sleep, I realized that capos are good things. They actually make playing a guitar easier. It is also really easy to MacGyver your own capo using rubber bands and a pencil.
Thus, I moved on with my guitar lessons till I went out of town. These exploits will be posted soon. No really. I intend to do it in a timely manner.
Really.
Photo by AnneSeptember 19, 2009
Guitar Lesson Four or Five-ish or Who’s Counting?
So, I’ve got a song picked out—“Bookends”—and a will to learn it. My task the past few nights has been to learn the three chords of the song.
That’s it.
Baby steps, baby.
All I have to do is learn these three chords and I figure I’m halfway to Nashville (or Cleveland if you want to be a little bit Rock n’ Roll).
Each night I get a bit more sure of myself. D minor, my old friend, can be easily changed to C. And by “easily” I mean with a little counting and craning of the neck. F is nearly impossible to play for anyone of normal finger length, but I think I’m faking it pretty well.
I’m there. I’ve got my three chords. I’m ready to sing a moody folk song like nobody’s business.
Except…well…I’m pretty sure this song is a tad more complicated that just the three chords. At some point, and I’m fairly certain of this, Paul Simon uses his other hand in the song.
Time to return to my trusty songbook. Surely therein lies the answer.
Dots on grids. Hmmmm. That probably means something. And what’s this?
Capo fourth fret
What does that mean?
Okay, this is cool. I know my frets (they’re clearly illustrated in my Guitar Chord Bible). I know which is the fourth. All I have to do is figure out what a capo is.
Merriam-Webster Online
capo: the head of a branch of a crime syndicate
Okay, that’s not it.
A general Google of capo leads me to
Cyberfret.com’s compelling explanation.
Oh crap.
How does anyone learn to play the guitar? How did they ever invent the guitar in the first place? Why? Why would they do this?
I think it’s time for me to take a break again.
That’s it.
Baby steps, baby.
All I have to do is learn these three chords and I figure I’m halfway to Nashville (or Cleveland if you want to be a little bit Rock n’ Roll).
Each night I get a bit more sure of myself. D minor, my old friend, can be easily changed to C. And by “easily” I mean with a little counting and craning of the neck. F is nearly impossible to play for anyone of normal finger length, but I think I’m faking it pretty well.
I’m there. I’ve got my three chords. I’m ready to sing a moody folk song like nobody’s business.
Except…well…I’m pretty sure this song is a tad more complicated that just the three chords. At some point, and I’m fairly certain of this, Paul Simon uses his other hand in the song.
Time to return to my trusty songbook. Surely therein lies the answer.
Dots on grids. Hmmmm. That probably means something. And what’s this?
Capo fourth fret
What does that mean?
Okay, this is cool. I know my frets (they’re clearly illustrated in my Guitar Chord Bible). I know which is the fourth. All I have to do is figure out what a capo is.
Merriam-Webster Online
capo: the head of a branch of a crime syndicate
Okay, that’s not it.
A general Google of capo leads me to
Cyberfret.com’s compelling explanation.
Oh crap.
How does anyone learn to play the guitar? How did they ever invent the guitar in the first place? Why? Why would they do this?
I think it’s time for me to take a break again.
September 16, 2009
Unwarranted Optimism
Guitar Lesson, Number Two. Okay. Here goes.
After my first attempt at guitar, I’ll admit it, I was a tad discouraged. Apparently, I’m not an intuitively gifted guitarist. I comforted myself with the knowledge that out there in the big big world are people who teach guitar. While, “I taught myself how to play guitar,” sounds much cooler than, “I learned how to play guitar at community college night classes,” I feel better knowing that I have a solid plan B available.
Thus reassured, I took another look at my songbook. I found The Little Black Songbook: Paul Simon on sale at Barnes & Noble. I love Paul Simon dearly. My subtitle is a quote from “Can’t Run But” off his The Rhythm of the Saints album. I bought his songbook because (a) I want to be the sort of person who buys the songbooks of musicians they love, (b) I love Paul Simon, and (c) I know most of his songs so well that I’ll be able to tell if I’m playing them correctly or not.
After calming down from the initial shock of “How many chords are there?!” I was able to see that the chords of each song are clearly labeled in the songbook, much how they are clearly labeled in my borrowed chord bible. I got out my iPod and began listening to Paul Simon songs for the simplest one I could learn. After calming down from the initial shock of “Why did I choose such a talented musician’s songbook?!” I found the perfect song: “Bookends.” I checked the songbook and, sure enough, there are only three chords! Plus, its one of those sad introspective Simon and Garfunkel songs so I can change chords really slowly. I can totally do this song!
Thus rearmed with completely unwarranted optimism, I began guitar lesson, number two: the easy song!
I started with D minor and I got that chord down cold. I even branched out to F and C. At the end I even tried changing between them, but only a couple times before I decided I could save “changing notes” for another lesson.
As I sit down to lesson three, I’m pretty sure the only thing that stuck from lesson two is that D minor chord.
I feel like a rock star.
Farncombe, T. (Ed.) (2008). The little black songbook: Paul Simon. New York: Fall River Press.
After my first attempt at guitar, I’ll admit it, I was a tad discouraged. Apparently, I’m not an intuitively gifted guitarist. I comforted myself with the knowledge that out there in the big big world are people who teach guitar. While, “I taught myself how to play guitar,” sounds much cooler than, “I learned how to play guitar at community college night classes,” I feel better knowing that I have a solid plan B available.
Thus reassured, I took another look at my songbook. I found The Little Black Songbook: Paul Simon on sale at Barnes & Noble. I love Paul Simon dearly. My subtitle is a quote from “Can’t Run But” off his The Rhythm of the Saints album. I bought his songbook because (a) I want to be the sort of person who buys the songbooks of musicians they love, (b) I love Paul Simon, and (c) I know most of his songs so well that I’ll be able to tell if I’m playing them correctly or not.
After calming down from the initial shock of “How many chords are there?!” I was able to see that the chords of each song are clearly labeled in the songbook, much how they are clearly labeled in my borrowed chord bible. I got out my iPod and began listening to Paul Simon songs for the simplest one I could learn. After calming down from the initial shock of “Why did I choose such a talented musician’s songbook?!” I found the perfect song: “Bookends.” I checked the songbook and, sure enough, there are only three chords! Plus, its one of those sad introspective Simon and Garfunkel songs so I can change chords really slowly. I can totally do this song!
Thus rearmed with completely unwarranted optimism, I began guitar lesson, number two: the easy song!
I started with D minor and I got that chord down cold. I even branched out to F and C. At the end I even tried changing between them, but only a couple times before I decided I could save “changing notes” for another lesson.
As I sit down to lesson three, I’m pretty sure the only thing that stuck from lesson two is that D minor chord.
I feel like a rock star.
Farncombe, T. (Ed.) (2008). The little black songbook: Paul Simon. New York: Fall River Press.
September 14, 2009
I’d play the Blues, but apparently that has a lot of chords.
Guitar lesson, number one: I’ll read the book!
I’m good at books. I love instructions. (Seriously, you need to put together something IKEA® and I’m your gal.) Okay, the Guitar Chord Bible starts with “Introduction.” Well, that’s handy seeing as how I’m new to this whole guitar thing. Next, “How to use this book.” Numbered lists, arrowed illustrations, color coding—I’m in instructional heaven! Next, “The fingerboard.” Um, wow. A lot of stuff goes on with these guitars, but I’m still okay. Let’s keep going. “Chord Directory.” We start with C.
This is fret one so finger one goes here and finger two goes over here and finger three—we’re stretching a bit now—goes here and strum. And strum. Is it supposed to sound like that? Strum. Something’s off. Strum. My hand kinda looks like the picture. Strum.
Then I turn the guitar over.
Hey, that’s much better!
Apparently, it helps when you hold the guitar the right way.
Okay, let’s move on to…C. There are five C chords. No wait there’s ... flipping ... flipping ... flipping ... according to this book there are at least 90 variations on the C chord!
How does anyone play guitar? How was the guitar ever invented? Why? Why would they do this? There are two to three chords on each page and the book is 253 pages long?
I look at my songbook as though some answers might lie there. I can in no way relate what is printed in the songbook to what is being illustrated so clearly in the Guitar Chord Bible.
Clearly, I’m tired after my first guitar lesson. I’m sure guitar lesson, number two, will be much better.
Capone, P. (2006). Guitar chord bible: Over 500 illustrated chords for rock, blues, soul, country, jazz, and classical. London: Quarto Publishing PLC.
I’m good at books. I love instructions. (Seriously, you need to put together something IKEA® and I’m your gal.) Okay, the Guitar Chord Bible starts with “Introduction.” Well, that’s handy seeing as how I’m new to this whole guitar thing. Next, “How to use this book.” Numbered lists, arrowed illustrations, color coding—I’m in instructional heaven! Next, “The fingerboard.” Um, wow. A lot of stuff goes on with these guitars, but I’m still okay. Let’s keep going. “Chord Directory.” We start with C.
This is fret one so finger one goes here and finger two goes over here and finger three—we’re stretching a bit now—goes here and strum. And strum. Is it supposed to sound like that? Strum. Something’s off. Strum. My hand kinda looks like the picture. Strum.
Then I turn the guitar over.
Hey, that’s much better!
Apparently, it helps when you hold the guitar the right way.
Okay, let’s move on to…C. There are five C chords. No wait there’s ... flipping ... flipping ... flipping ... according to this book there are at least 90 variations on the C chord!
How does anyone play guitar? How was the guitar ever invented? Why? Why would they do this? There are two to three chords on each page and the book is 253 pages long?
I look at my songbook as though some answers might lie there. I can in no way relate what is printed in the songbook to what is being illustrated so clearly in the Guitar Chord Bible.
Clearly, I’m tired after my first guitar lesson. I’m sure guitar lesson, number two, will be much better.
Capone, P. (2006). Guitar chord bible: Over 500 illustrated chords for rock, blues, soul, country, jazz, and classical. London: Quarto Publishing PLC.
September 9, 2009
Project #3: Become a Famous Musician
Actually, I’d settle for being any type of musician. My only real qualification for this goal is that I can recognize a song when I play it. Oh sure, like anyone listening to his or her iPod while typing away in his/her cubicle, I have dreamed about my moment on stage belting out my latest heartfelt rock ballad from my best-selling album, but I’ll start small.
In my youth my Mom gifted me with piano lessons. (It was a gift. I remember enjoying the experience.) On one birthday I received a harmonica and, as I recall, thought I was terribly gifted at the time. I also had a brief run in with French horn in school band but that experience is too intertwined with junior high awkwardness to ever be mentioned again.
Otherwise, my musical experience has consisted of coveting others’ musical genius and dreaming of making something so enjoyable and stirring myself. In my favorite daydreams I strum my acoustic guitar over my morning coffee while humming my latest poetic folk song.
I blithely mentioned to my friend CiCi that I had always wanted to learn to play guitar. It’s the sort of thing you say after all. It ranks with, “I’ve always wanted to try acupuncture” or “I hear kayaking is fun.” You say things like that and the other person smiles and nods and the conversation continues. Except with CiCi. She started sending me community class schedules and suggesting where to look for cheap guitars online. Ludicrous, I know! I told my Dad about my crazy friend who actually expected me to act on a lifelong inclination, and he said, “You know I still have that old guitar. You could have it.”
What is up with the universe?! The very idea of just going out and learning guitar just because I want to and owning a guitar so I can learn and…what is going on?! I’m much more comfortable with just talking about these things and the universe expects me to act?
If that weren’t enough, my other friend Rae has a fiancé, Ess, who turns out to be an actual musician. He not only taught himself guitar but can actually play music on a guitar! He restrung and tuned my out-of-nowhere free guitar in his spare time just ‘cuz. He told me my guitar (he actually referred to it as “your guitar” like I owned a guitar or something) had a nice sound. Rae lent me a chord bible and Ess suggested I get a songbook and practice. Practice. Practice. (Apparently, this is the solution to everything.)
So, here I am with a guitar, a guitar bible, a songbook, and a desire to be a musician. I think I’ll teach myself to play guitar.
What do you think? Two weeks?
In my youth my Mom gifted me with piano lessons. (It was a gift. I remember enjoying the experience.) On one birthday I received a harmonica and, as I recall, thought I was terribly gifted at the time. I also had a brief run in with French horn in school band but that experience is too intertwined with junior high awkwardness to ever be mentioned again.
Otherwise, my musical experience has consisted of coveting others’ musical genius and dreaming of making something so enjoyable and stirring myself. In my favorite daydreams I strum my acoustic guitar over my morning coffee while humming my latest poetic folk song.
I blithely mentioned to my friend CiCi that I had always wanted to learn to play guitar. It’s the sort of thing you say after all. It ranks with, “I’ve always wanted to try acupuncture” or “I hear kayaking is fun.” You say things like that and the other person smiles and nods and the conversation continues. Except with CiCi. She started sending me community class schedules and suggesting where to look for cheap guitars online. Ludicrous, I know! I told my Dad about my crazy friend who actually expected me to act on a lifelong inclination, and he said, “You know I still have that old guitar. You could have it.”
What is up with the universe?! The very idea of just going out and learning guitar just because I want to and owning a guitar so I can learn and…what is going on?! I’m much more comfortable with just talking about these things and the universe expects me to act?
If that weren’t enough, my other friend Rae has a fiancé, Ess, who turns out to be an actual musician. He not only taught himself guitar but can actually play music on a guitar! He restrung and tuned my out-of-nowhere free guitar in his spare time just ‘cuz. He told me my guitar (he actually referred to it as “your guitar” like I owned a guitar or something) had a nice sound. Rae lent me a chord bible and Ess suggested I get a songbook and practice. Practice. Practice. (Apparently, this is the solution to everything.)
So, here I am with a guitar, a guitar bible, a songbook, and a desire to be a musician. I think I’ll teach myself to play guitar.
What do you think? Two weeks?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
