Amish Guitar

It is best to not take guitar lessons from online sites that leave spam in the comments section of my blog. Not necessarily because they are scammers, but because spammers are the scum of the online world and should not be encouraged. Then again, it is probably no coincidence that scammers and spammers rhyme.

I've been away for the weekend enjoying myself at our church's annual winter retreat. I apparently looked like I was angry the whole weekend because people kept asking me if I was ok or what I was pissed off about. It was rather surprising as I didn't feel angry. I was, I'll admit, quite stressed. I am an introvert by nature and find it very stressful at these retreats. Being around people, even people I love and think the world of, drains me and can get me pretty sour.

Why was I sharing this? Oh yeah, people kept asking me if I was angry. I wasn't. I've been lost in thought a lot lately. I recently remade contact with an old friend from high school. She was a close friend that meant a lot to me, more than she'll ever know. She was closer than any male friend I've ever had. She was simply a best friend. And I deserted that friendship 15 years ago after a spat that is way too complicated to explain here.

I tried to apologize once over the last 15 years, but I think both of us knew it was a half assed apology. I've been wrestling with my guilt over that dissolution now that we're back in contact. It was that guilt that others were reading on my face.

Saturday evening of the retreat, the common area where we had the talent show had fairly well cleared out. There was a fire in the hearth and the dozen or so members who stuck around were playing games or reading. I had been avoiding playing guitar in the common area partly out of modesty and partly out of not wanting to annoy. But, my mood was getting the better of me and I needed to play. I got out my guitar, sat by the fire and strummed. I played some of my favorite progressions as well as some Travis picking that I'm always trying to do better at. Mostly I just noodled while watching the fire and felt my mind go blank for a while. A friend pulled up a chair next to me and pulled out a book. I asked if I was bothering her after a while and she said no. I got the impression that she was enjoying the music.

The combination of the guitar, the fire and the friend was joy to experience. It was exactly what I had been looking for. It was a time to reflect and make some decisions. It was restoration. It was relief. It was release.

Apparently I still looked pissed off because people still kept asking, but, really, I was just lost in thought.

I've written to my friend from my youth. I decided to offer a full apology in place of the half assed one. I'm afraid that bringing up the past will undo the tentative connection we've reestablished. On the other hand, I know that I have offered myself in sincerity and can now live with myself for finally admitting that I was wrong.

1/26/09 Follow Up for anyone who made it this far: I am forgiven. And another troubling chapter of my past is at peace.

The library was closed today so that staff could have an in-service session. One of my colleagues brought a guitar as part of his presentation. I thought that was pretty cool. Until he played it. It sounded awful. I asked him why it sounded so tinny, when did he last change the strings?

OMG.

He's had this Epiphone for 4 years and has never changed the strings. In fact, he bought the guitar used so he has no idea how old they are.

Why change them when they stay in tune?, he asks.

Well, for one thing, they didn't stay in tune. Every chord was a banshee shriek of agony. Second, playing in tune isn't the only thing that makes a guitar sound good. You have to produce good tone--that pleasing guitar sound that one can recognize as a guitar. As in, what's that sound?--oh, it's a pleasing guitar. Your goal should not be: what's that sound?--oh a female yak in heat...whoops, not a yak, just a cheap bastard with a guitar.

People! If others are telling you that your guitar sounds like a rutting, cattle-like mammal, change your strings!

Sadly, he is not the person mentioned in Guitar Lesson #8.

Honestly, though his skill was good, I had to leave because it was just on that last nerve, ya know?

Today I returned to my High School to watch my daughter perform at the annual Music Booster Auction. The auction lasts all day interspersed with performances from all music groups from grades 5 through 12. It is the first time I've attended since graduating 20 years ago. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

Music was a very important and prominent part of my high school career. I was in band, choir and the show choir, every musical, took music theory and a self directed history of music. I was Drum Major, Vice Pres of the Band, Choir President and Band Librarian. Everyone expected that I'd go on to major in music and teach--probably choral. Little did they know how much I hated it.

I hated how it defined me and how it limited me. I hated how so many kids band, choir and drama cared so deeply and passionately for these programs--how they invested their whole identity in being a "Band Geek". I hated how I continued to find myself being looked up to by friends, underclassmen and even parents as a leader. I had a modicum of talent, a flair for the dramatic and the willingness to make a fool of myself. For this I was put on a pedestal. I was Mr. Music, class of '88.

Yes, I have demons from my high school days.

It is still so frustrating thinking back on those days. I loved making the music. I long for playing in band or in a choir again. I miss it so much. I don't miss the expectations and the pressure. I don't miss tyring to push my defining boundaries beyond what others perceived. I don't miss trying to get others to understand me as someone other than Mr. Music. Sure, close friends and family knew, but you know how easy it is to be labeled in high school. Of course, little did I realize everyone was chafing against this pigeonholing.

So, fast forward 20 years and now I have a daughter that is entering into this world I have tried to put behind me. I am excited for her and her self confidence. I'm happy to see her enjoying alto sax and choir. I am fighting my demons for her sake. But, at the auction today, I found myself wanting to crawl out of my skin. Too many memories. Too many old, familiar faces saying that it figured I'd have a child involved in music. New worries about the expectations that will be on my daughter. Too many calls from the boosters for my time and money.

I am still burnt out on high school music.

I realize that this post is a whiny, petulant piece of drivel. Completely irrational and woefully egotistical. I share this because it is out of these feelings that my adult musical life has been shaped and molded. It is why I took up the guitar so I could make music on my own terms.

I'm not sure what to do. I want and need to support my daughter. But I just don't have the energy to involve myself back into that world.

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.
-- Victor Hugo, French dramatist, novelist, & poet (1802 - 1885)

Last evening was a rather tough one for me. Without going to much boring detail, I have been dealing with a friendship that is slowly dissolving. It is very hard on me as I have a lot of affection for this friend. I had to decide if it was worth it to continue pouring my energy into this friendship when I have felt this person's reciprocation diminish for almost a year now. Last night I reluctantly decided it was not.

I was at a real loss as to what to do to keep myself busy. As you might have guessed, I picked up my guitar and started strumming to a chord progression my teacher had taught me Tuesday night. The progression is E, B, A, B, E x2 then B, A, B, A, B, A, E. Now, A and B are a different voicing. Take the E shape and slide it up so you have 099800 for B and 077600 for A. Since it is an open chord, it provides a nice drone on the low E and the high B and E strings.

From the very first strum I was shocked at how angry my guitar sounded. Rage just kept pouring out of it. I kept the strumming on the treble side for the A and B, smacking that low E when I returned to the E chord. The droning treble rang in my ears filling every space with a hot white sear. Yet the subtle chord changes between A and B moved like a dove, bringing some measure of peace to my heart. I played with the strum posted yesterday. I must have played that progression over and over for a good twenty minutes.

And then it was time to stop.

I put my guitar away and felt a hungry emptiness. My anger was gone, my hurt assuaged. I was hollowed out, but the nothing felt better than the anger that had been there-anger I didn't realize I had nor how deep I felt it. That is perhaps the single most magical part of making music for me. Whether I play for myself or for other people, I find my most basic emotions singing in the music--feelings I may not even be aware of. It can restore, it can heal.

I set my guitar case beside the piano and climbed into bed with my wife. Her first question was "are you ok? That sounded angry and sad at the same time." I talked with her about my friend for awhile, a conversation that was an equal to the playing in restoration.

*edited 6/19/08 11:30 PM EDT