Ode to Guitar
If I taught a class in guitar, I'd be the fiendish instructor a la Ben Stiller's turn as a nursing home attendant in Happy Gilmore.
guitar_whiner: "My fingers hurt!"
guitar_maser (me): "Your fingers hurt!? Well, guess what? You just pulled lawn duty. Now, your back's gonna hurt, too. Anyone else's fingers hurt? ...I didn't think so."
For some reason, right then, I thought of Annex's fantasy sequence as a dominatrix whipping her little man-boys into shape. I'm gonna stop just shy of that level of commitment to my student's success with the guitar, but nevertheless, let it be known: [drill sergeant mode on] I will motivate you, and you will improve!
(Disclaimer: All for just five easy payments of $99.99)
ruby_Reader: What!? What was that!?
guitar_maser: Huh? Oh, nevermind that. Say nothing to no one.
Back to what I was saying. You're fingers are supposed to hurt. As the myth met the man that was Stevie Ray Vaughn, some people claimed that he used to play until his fingers bled and his callouses came off. Then, just when common sense tells most of us to stop and regroup, he'd glue them back on with superglue and play some more. Right...
Don't get me wrong. Stevie is a good reason to pick up a guitar. Just, please, don't delude yourself into believing in overnight success of that caliber, but don't go believing that isn't within your reach if you want it badly enough.
I've seen infommercials on television that paint suspicious tableaus where smiling, neophyte guitarists strum imitation guitars while awe-struck family and friends look on with infinite pleasure and enjoyment. I've always been somewhat offended by them. As if to sell their second-rate wares, they needed most to stroke their customers' latent, egotistical desire to be in the spotlight all while telling them they can have it all now.
They typically couple such lovely pictures with those of people taking lessons and getting nowhere. Their overly-theatrical frustrations illustrated in their slumped posture and negative body language while some voice-over personality tells you it doesn't have to be like that.
Aside: If I was going to buy a guitar and video lessons from an infommercial, I'd want the guitar to be made out of chocolate. That way, I could nibble on it between songs. Eventually, instead of changing strings, you could go out and buy another Hershey's Guitar Bar and start all over again.
Anyway, where was I.... They say it doesn't have to be like that. Well, guess what... it does have to be like that. I don't want to be touchy about it, but I don't want to see people duped into buying a shoddy product for the wrong reasons either (or even the right reasons if you lack the determination to see it through)... unless it's edible, in which case, go ahead. If all you wanted was "chicks and money", the brass ring at the end, the destination without the journey, you will never be anything more than a competent fake when it comes to guitar.
(Disclaimer: All this advice is coming from a competent fake when it comes to guitar)
ruby_Reader: What!? There is was again. I thought I heard something.
guitar_maser: Hmm, I didn't hear anything. Better watch that hearing. You'll need that if you want play guitar.
Hehe, alright, I can't help but break out and talk about the guitar in terms of what is has done for me. I've taken a year of piano lessons. All it ever did was warm me up for typing class, and I love to listen to piano. I just never found the motivation to stick with it.
I've taken three years of saxophone in middle school. All it ever taught me to do was blow hot air. I'm great at that. Again, though, I "blew it" when it came to practicing (spelled correctly this time, Ms. Somebody).
However, by the end of high school, my father, daddy_maser, had been pushing me to get involved in guitar. He was a guitar pusher. It was crack to him, and I was just another impressionable kindergartener with a bankroll large enough to finance a burgeoning habit.
At that point, he'd been playing guitar for twenty years or more. He never delved so deep as I into the technical aspects (and there is far deeper one could go), but he has been enjoying writing, playing, and, uh, singing (?) singer/songwriter type material for as long as I can remember.
After several years thereabouts of just saying "No" to him, he finally got me hooked. I marvelled at my stupidity at daudling around when I could have been that much further along. From then on, I began to graduate through the ranks of junkiedom. Metaphorically, it's just like Michael Keaton told his son Kenny in Mr. Mom: "Now, listen to me. I understand that you little guys start out with your woobies, and you think they are great...and they are. They are terrific, but pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough. You're out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, maybe even a quilt. Then the next thing you know, you're strung out on bedspreads."
[standing up in audience]
My name is ruby_maser. I have a problem.
Not really. I've owned at one time as many as three guitars. But daddy_maser, ever the wise guitar pusher, warned me never to have more than three. From Fear and Loathing, "Once you get locked into a serious [guitar] collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can."
For one thing, and get this, you can't play them all at once. I've tried. I've also ended up looking like a deflated accordion after a marathon game of Twister. Ouch.
Another thing, unless you're buying your guitars at Target, (We sold two for a while when I was serving time there -- a three year sentence all for just applying for a job with them, go figure.) they can be fairly expensive. Baseball cards are a far cheaper alternative for the average collector, and if you are bummed out about not getting musical fulfillment from them, you can put them in the spokes of your bike tires and ride around. Sheer bliss!
Personally, I have never officially played in a band. Not even through the college years. I was close when rooming with two friends I went to high school with. One was a virtuoso that could translate musical ability to any damn instrument he wanted (prick). He excelled at bass and guitar with a minor flair for keyboards, violin, and later the drums.. The other was a newbie to the scene that started out with guitar not long after I started, moved to bass briefly, and then finally found that he was almost a natural with the drums.
We had a trio, minus a qualified singer of course, that could have gone out and had a really good time of performing. We were in college. Life was good.
What happened? Yoko Ono happened. Just kidding. She was the best thing that could have happened to him, I would say. And he damn well better agree; he married her. But not before he moved off to SC to be with her. It was serendipity that they met, and I'm glad he's happy. But what the hell is in South Carolina for you, buddy? Oh, her parents are out there. Hmm, I see.
The other is still hanging around Houston, squandering his talent with apathy. A good friend he is but inexplicably nonchalant when it comes to the music he excels at so much. Maybe, it came too easy. With a bit more fire, we could have built a nice little hobby, and we still can. He only recently told me that he is going to turn a room of his house into a recording room. I told him I knew a guitarist that would be happy to join in. We'll have to wait and see.
In the meantime, I continue to pick. I play a range of things from Stone Temple Pilots to Led Zeppelin, Metallica to Dave Matthews. I rarely play songs to completion, and I prefer to make up riffs and solos. Ironically, though I've written poetry for years, I've never tried to combine that with the music.
To sum up (and I'm pressing because it grows late), I recommend it to anyone who wants to play. It has been a great hobby for me. And it keeps you learning, even after graduations say stop.
I wanted to post a pic but couldn't because I was unable to get access to a working scanner (ahem!) today. Maybe tomorrow I'll do a follow-up post. I imagine I could go on at length about guitar and music, but my eyes grow drowsy. I'm melting. MELTING!
:) Goodnight all.
guitar_whiner: "My fingers hurt!"
guitar_maser (me): "Your fingers hurt!? Well, guess what? You just pulled lawn duty. Now, your back's gonna hurt, too. Anyone else's fingers hurt? ...I didn't think so."
For some reason, right then, I thought of Annex's fantasy sequence as a dominatrix whipping her little man-boys into shape. I'm gonna stop just shy of that level of commitment to my student's success with the guitar, but nevertheless, let it be known: [drill sergeant mode on] I will motivate you, and you will improve!
(Disclaimer: All for just five easy payments of $99.99)
ruby_Reader: What!? What was that!?
guitar_maser: Huh? Oh, nevermind that. Say nothing to no one.
Back to what I was saying. You're fingers are supposed to hurt. As the myth met the man that was Stevie Ray Vaughn, some people claimed that he used to play until his fingers bled and his callouses came off. Then, just when common sense tells most of us to stop and regroup, he'd glue them back on with superglue and play some more. Right...
Don't get me wrong. Stevie is a good reason to pick up a guitar. Just, please, don't delude yourself into believing in overnight success of that caliber, but don't go believing that isn't within your reach if you want it badly enough.
I've seen infommercials on television that paint suspicious tableaus where smiling, neophyte guitarists strum imitation guitars while awe-struck family and friends look on with infinite pleasure and enjoyment. I've always been somewhat offended by them. As if to sell their second-rate wares, they needed most to stroke their customers' latent, egotistical desire to be in the spotlight all while telling them they can have it all now.
They typically couple such lovely pictures with those of people taking lessons and getting nowhere. Their overly-theatrical frustrations illustrated in their slumped posture and negative body language while some voice-over personality tells you it doesn't have to be like that.
Aside: If I was going to buy a guitar and video lessons from an infommercial, I'd want the guitar to be made out of chocolate. That way, I could nibble on it between songs. Eventually, instead of changing strings, you could go out and buy another Hershey's Guitar Bar and start all over again.
Anyway, where was I.... They say it doesn't have to be like that. Well, guess what... it does have to be like that. I don't want to be touchy about it, but I don't want to see people duped into buying a shoddy product for the wrong reasons either (or even the right reasons if you lack the determination to see it through)... unless it's edible, in which case, go ahead. If all you wanted was "chicks and money", the brass ring at the end, the destination without the journey, you will never be anything more than a competent fake when it comes to guitar.
(Disclaimer: All this advice is coming from a competent fake when it comes to guitar)
ruby_Reader: What!? There is was again. I thought I heard something.
guitar_maser: Hmm, I didn't hear anything. Better watch that hearing. You'll need that if you want play guitar.
Hehe, alright, I can't help but break out and talk about the guitar in terms of what is has done for me. I've taken a year of piano lessons. All it ever did was warm me up for typing class, and I love to listen to piano. I just never found the motivation to stick with it.
I've taken three years of saxophone in middle school. All it ever taught me to do was blow hot air. I'm great at that. Again, though, I "blew it" when it came to practicing (spelled correctly this time, Ms. Somebody).
However, by the end of high school, my father, daddy_maser, had been pushing me to get involved in guitar. He was a guitar pusher. It was crack to him, and I was just another impressionable kindergartener with a bankroll large enough to finance a burgeoning habit.
At that point, he'd been playing guitar for twenty years or more. He never delved so deep as I into the technical aspects (and there is far deeper one could go), but he has been enjoying writing, playing, and, uh, singing (?) singer/songwriter type material for as long as I can remember.
After several years thereabouts of just saying "No" to him, he finally got me hooked. I marvelled at my stupidity at daudling around when I could have been that much further along. From then on, I began to graduate through the ranks of junkiedom. Metaphorically, it's just like Michael Keaton told his son Kenny in Mr. Mom: "Now, listen to me. I understand that you little guys start out with your woobies, and you think they are great...and they are. They are terrific, but pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough. You're out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, maybe even a quilt. Then the next thing you know, you're strung out on bedspreads."
[standing up in audience]
My name is ruby_maser. I have a problem.
Not really. I've owned at one time as many as three guitars. But daddy_maser, ever the wise guitar pusher, warned me never to have more than three. From Fear and Loathing, "Once you get locked into a serious [guitar] collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can."
For one thing, and get this, you can't play them all at once. I've tried. I've also ended up looking like a deflated accordion after a marathon game of Twister. Ouch.
Another thing, unless you're buying your guitars at Target, (We sold two for a while when I was serving time there -- a three year sentence all for just applying for a job with them, go figure.) they can be fairly expensive. Baseball cards are a far cheaper alternative for the average collector, and if you are bummed out about not getting musical fulfillment from them, you can put them in the spokes of your bike tires and ride around. Sheer bliss!
Personally, I have never officially played in a band. Not even through the college years. I was close when rooming with two friends I went to high school with. One was a virtuoso that could translate musical ability to any damn instrument he wanted (prick). He excelled at bass and guitar with a minor flair for keyboards, violin, and later the drums.. The other was a newbie to the scene that started out with guitar not long after I started, moved to bass briefly, and then finally found that he was almost a natural with the drums.
We had a trio, minus a qualified singer of course, that could have gone out and had a really good time of performing. We were in college. Life was good.
What happened? Yoko Ono happened. Just kidding. She was the best thing that could have happened to him, I would say. And he damn well better agree; he married her. But not before he moved off to SC to be with her. It was serendipity that they met, and I'm glad he's happy. But what the hell is in South Carolina for you, buddy? Oh, her parents are out there. Hmm, I see.
The other is still hanging around Houston, squandering his talent with apathy. A good friend he is but inexplicably nonchalant when it comes to the music he excels at so much. Maybe, it came too easy. With a bit more fire, we could have built a nice little hobby, and we still can. He only recently told me that he is going to turn a room of his house into a recording room. I told him I knew a guitarist that would be happy to join in. We'll have to wait and see.
In the meantime, I continue to pick. I play a range of things from Stone Temple Pilots to Led Zeppelin, Metallica to Dave Matthews. I rarely play songs to completion, and I prefer to make up riffs and solos. Ironically, though I've written poetry for years, I've never tried to combine that with the music.
To sum up (and I'm pressing because it grows late), I recommend it to anyone who wants to play. It has been a great hobby for me. And it keeps you learning, even after graduations say stop.
I wanted to post a pic but couldn't because I was unable to get access to a working scanner (ahem!) today. Maybe tomorrow I'll do a follow-up post. I imagine I could go on at length about guitar and music, but my eyes grow drowsy. I'm melting. MELTING!
:) Goodnight all.
posted by ruby maser at 7/05/2005 12:18:00 AM
10 Comments:
I liked the post very much and LOVED the side humor.
But...
how
does
it
make
you
feel
when
you
are
playing
?
I "feel like the whole world is encased in a bubble of glass, and [I am] rubbing up against it like a bad windshield wiper."
That is not mine. That is from Killing Zoe. Nevertheless, it still makes no sense. :p
Playing for other people's enjoyment probably has more rewards than playing for yourself. Their enjoyment is yours.
Kind of like (I'm imagining here) when a parent gets to experience the wonder of Christmas through their children's enjoyment. It's a vicarious experience.
It's a nice thing to share. The exchange between people who have that mutual interest, be it an audience or a contemporary.
My father and I will always have that interest and can bond from that even if our approaches to it and musical tastes differ.
It takes quite a number of years of practicing to be able to separate yourself from the effort and concentration of doing it in order to just enjoy it.
You can get that in other people's reactions easier, but after awhile, the instrument doesn't dominate your focus and you can enjoy it more.
Once I was able to play a song, or even a piece of a song, eventually it lost its magic. I'd start looking for something else to learn.
The accomplishment was not as satisfying in completion as was the desire to get there.
In the end, I don't think the feeling of playing is as important as the feeling of sharing that with others. When you're young, it may be about who is the most technically proficient or whatever, but as you get a little older, that childish b.s. fades. (maybe a little)
:D
I hope I haven't exhausted my reserves. I'll try to post more about it soon.
how about, are you at peace when you play?
Very much at peace, yes. And I've played in front of family and friends without any concern.
However, I'm sure if I had to perform in front of an expectant audience, I might be a little nervy.
I've not got much experience there. But they'd probably all be drinking anyway. I know I would :p
But you don't sing, right?
Do you hum!!?
Oh, there's singing. Like an American Idol audition gone terribly wrong. Must be like dreams dying at the speed of sound .
Hehe, it's probably not so bad as all that. I've gotten away with being the singer when our little trio has played. Some songs sounded alright and others didn't fit my range.
I don't know if you caught in my list of offenses from a few posts ago that I've done karaoke a few times.
Once, I requested a song. Got up there to sing it, and it either wasn't the song I remember or they simply put on the wrong track to throw me off. I actually sight-read and sang a song I'd never heard before :D
Painful, no doubt. I have repressed all memory of the actual experience of singing it, so I don't know.
I went to a cousin's wedding about a month ago, and they'd hired a girl to sing Ave Maria with an organist backing her up. I could have listened to her all day.
But I was amazed that they never approached for the job. :D
Ahhh, I forgot about the undocumented Karoke indulgences (sp?)
Right, you were amazed they didn't approach you for the job.
I was at a wedding where her friend sounded terrible. I asked the bride later if she had been nervous. "Yes, quite."
MORB LOG
MORB LOG
MORB LOG
:)
Come on. It's only been eight days since my last blog. We're already half-way too the next one :p
Actually, I'm working on two separate ones right now. I'll be answering the call of "Morb log" sometime later this evening.
[shaking head] I'm such a slut for blogging.
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