Amish Guitar

My friend Akelda the Gleeful over at Saints and Spinners uses the term Tenor Rush to describe that emotional reaction one has to music. That reaction where, despite whatever mood you are in, you become mush--your eyes well up with tears, your nose runs, your hair rises on your neck. It is the music that gives you goosepimples. I had never heard this term before and, being a good librarian and an English major, I've been trying to track down the term and get a authoritative definition or an example of the phrase being used in a publication. So far I've not been able to which leads me to believe it is not a common term.

No matter.

Today I ran across a link that a friend posted to her Facebook profile. I may not be able to define the tenor rush in words, but I experienced a powerful example when I followed the link.

Susan Boyle, a 47 year old contestant on Britain's Got Talent has quite recently made many people rethink their preconceived notions of people by their looks. Her common looks and accent belied an incredible singing voice. And, she chose to sing I Dreamed a Dream from Les Miserables--a song guaranteed to jerk a tear or two even when sung badly. Put that song, with her voice, and then realize that she is making a dream come true while she sings of a dream dying...well, it is more powerful than words can share. All I can say is that, hearing that song expressed in the way she performed and the surprise she dropped on the audience and the judges just made my day in a way that has carried me through the evening.

Here is the link to the youtube video (the embedding link has been disabled). Enjoy. I did.

I've not had much time or inclination to post here over the last few weeks. Real life has gotten quite interesting and I've alluded to some of it already. My wife's health continues to be a concern, though she is clearly on the mend. Beyond that there is several lessor stress inducing events going on that have had my attention. At the top of that list is the fact that we're trying desperately to sell and be rid of this house during a miserable housing market. That, plus having a flooded basement during our first showing last week really took the wind out of my sail.

It's not that I haven't taken the time to play. It's just that I don't know what I'd write about it. Thankfully spring has finally come to northern Indiana and I've taken advantage of the warmer weather. Last Wednesday I was able to take Patrick (my Oscar Schmidt) out to the library's picnic table and just wail away a lot of my frustrations. Nearby to the table the library has erected a bird feeder and I was not alone in my song making. It was a little unreal in hearing birdsong alongside my passionate, hard strumming. But the end result was my becoming a little gentler and I was struck at how the two sounds merged and meshed. I even fancied that the birds were somehow reacting and echoing my guitar. How much of that may have been true, I don't know. I'm just saying that I was struck with the beauty of birdsong and I was truly inspired that half hour.

Stress will ever be a part of our lives, but if I can find those half hours every now and again, I'll be ok.

It has been a long week. An incredibly long week. I've spent the past 10 days taking care of house and home by myself as my wife recovers in hospital from a sudden illness. Well, lets say a lingering illness that suddenly got worse. At any rate, it's been a long week.

Tonight, however, and with my wife's blessing, I spent the evening with a friend playing guitar and cracking wise. My in-laws came to town and, naturally, they wanted to see their daughter at the hospital. Quite honestly, I was pleased for the break. My parents took the kids for the evening leaving me free to spend time with Doug.

Doug and I have been trying to get together to play for over a year now. Just never seemed to work out. As it was, I couldn't have asked for a nicer time. We sat in his kitchen playing songs, drinking beverages (him:beer, me: Diet. Dr. Pepper--but I really wanted a beer--damn low carb diet) and just generally catching up with each other. It isn't often he gets an evening away from his family either, but his daughter had a swim meet in Indianapolis and he couldn't get away from work obligations.

It was a good mix. I can't play to his level and he can't sing to mine, so we either sounded great or we sounded like crap. But we had fun.

And I feel so much better.

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.

Fall has gripped my little slice of Northern Indiana with a beautiful weekend and mild temperatures. I wish I had time to enjoy it. It frightens me how quickly this year has passed by and can scarce believe October is around the corner. Cross country meets, church business, work, homework, housework, diet, exercise, family obligations, money, money, money. It's all taking a toll. Well, that sounds rather drastic. I'm just feeling pulled a hundred different ways and none in the direction I want to go.

One of the things shoved to the side by these bulldozing aspects of modern day life has been time spent with my guitar. I just haven't had the time to really play. I get a few moments at work with Patrick, but precious little at home with Jane. I look back at my calendar and I have had meetings or work every evening for the last three weeks. When I get home, I'd rather spend time with my kids and wife. Silly me.

Tonight I got out Jane, sat by an open window and played to my heart's content. I asked my youngest daughter to choose a song book for me from the piano room. She brought me two books of Broadway tunes. Hmmmm.... it had been awhile since I cracked those two volumes. They were too advanced for my skills at the time, about 6 months ago. But, I was in a good mood for a challenge and jumped in. Now, most tunes I don't even know, and the ones I do know are still too advanced with keys in sharps and flats. Sorry, I don't have the Bbm7add9 fingering down yet.

Still, two songs that I found impossible 6 months ago seemed very easy tonight. The first was Memory from Cats. I've written about this before, but this arrangement is much more challenging than that. The second was Try to Remember from The Fantasticks. Not a difficult song in terms of chords, but I could never get the rhythm before (plus I struggled on a few of Major7 chords). Both were so much fun! And my evening was so relaxing. Just me, sitting by the bay window as the sun set.

Ah, summer's end and autumn's birth in Northern Indiana. It is my favorite season. I want time to slow down so I can enjoy it like this as long as I can.

Today marks one full year of Amish Guitar. I suppose it is cliche to review the last year, but I'm going to do it anyway. The reasons for continuing with my blog are roughly the same as they were a year ago. I'm still a hack guitarist looking to bring music back into my life. I still have no inclinations to going pro or learning hot licks. I still have paper thin skin when it comes opening up my songwriting and playing to other people's critique. And I still worry at times at whether I am a musician, or just a guy who knows the mechanics of playing but has no soul. This does not surprise me in the least, as it all jives with my introverted nature and my perpetual self doubt.

However, I look back on the year and I see success as well. I play with the church praise team regularly now. I've played accompaniment for my daughters in church. I've learned some Travis style finger picking, many new chords and feel oh so much more comfortable with chord changes. I've learned to keep my guitar playing in perspective. That is, I've learned to stop obsessing on my playing when I have so many other things I enjoy or have responsibilities for.

I suppose my grandest moment is when I felt I could begin thinking of myself as a player instead of someone learning how to play. That was a huge hurdle to overcome. In many ways, having made that transition has made it more difficult for me to think of subjects for this blog. I conceived of this blog as a journal of my journey toward becoming a player. What do I talk about now? Well, there's still plenty to discover. If I haven't been too active here in the blogosphere, you can be sure it is only because life gets in the way. Its not that I've given up on my playing and enjoyment.

As I look back on the year, the posts that really strike a chord (sorry) are the ones involving me, my guitar and some emotional troubles I've worked through. Picking up the guitar in the first place was to be an exercise in pouring my negative energy into something constructive. It has been more effective than I've ever imagined possible. Like many, I'm sure, I've got a lot locked away in this head and heart that I don't even know about. My guitar has been my key in letting some of that out. I can hear it in the harmonies, in the rhythms, in the tone and in (oh Lord, this is corny!) the music.

Amish Guitar will continue after this brief interruption...

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