GUITAR PLAYERS OF THE PAST

My guitar friends say guitar players are the same from every era.

Unlike current critics of the NBA who say past greats played against milkmen and plumbers and wouldn’t survive in today’s game, musicians from the past are just a request away.

Or a documentary.

I recently saw The Wrecking Crew.

One music teacher said it like this: “Learn your guitar, learn to read music, and you can play in any band. Wing it with a bunch of guys and you’ll always need them.” (Shout out to Rolling Stones)

For most people, doing music time is a slow process.

Then they quit.

My first guitar lessons started in 1967 learning Down In The Valley.

My fingers hurt quite a bit on the steel strings.

Lesson #2 came thirteen years later with a cracked top classical guitar with nylon strings and no finger pain.

Back then the pain was watching my neighbors burn stolen cars at the end of my dead end Brooklyn street and dance in the shadows.

I was hurt to think I was not invited.

The guitar came from my recent break-up. Lost the girl, but got her broken top guitar. Is that a score, or what?

The crack gave it an over-driven sound, which was cool while I thumbed the low E by the window with the car fire view.

 

“Expressway fire, burning tires, windows all smashed out,

Take the parts, burn the rest and leave no trace or doubt.”

 

2

 

After I discovered the Fender Strat and I share the same birth year, I needed a 40th Anniversary special.

My happiness was at stake. Check out the chart for the most glow. It’s happiness and playing music makes people happy.

Sounds good, right? I turned forty and rewarded myself with an American made Stratocaster.

So, like every halfway decent married man with an adventurous wife, we shopped guitars together.

A purple one caught my eye, Midnight Wine, and it played just right.

It didn’t make me a better player, but playing it was exciting.

 

Wife: You like the eggplant guitar?

Me: Yes.

Guitar store guy: Should I wrap this eggplant up and bag it?

 

I got it on one condition: I had to play it or sell it, not just store it.

Twenty years later I sold it to a kid in a church band for $666.00

It was a good deal.

 

3

Plucking that rough sounding low E with flames reflecting in my window felt badass, like blues.

So I plucked the next string down, the A, and the whole history of music opened up.

Back in ancient history, pre-recorded history (trust me on this one), some man or woman witnessed some weird shit and started tapping.

They tapped rocks, wood, or clapped hands.

How do I know this? I’ve played my guitar for the grand babies and my babies and they all have a rhythm response.

Which makes me an expert? Of course.

One thing leads to another; in my case it led to a tuning fork.

I tuned up and sang a song:

 

“Expressway fire, burning tires, windows all smashed out,

Take the parts, burn the rest and leave no trace or doubt.

That’s life on my own mean street, and it lasts all through the night,

On 33rd and 4th Street without a cop in sight.”

 

If you’ve never played guitar you’re in luck. Why?

Because you won’t have the memory of sucking at it earlier haunt you like so many others do.

Instead, you get a clean slate to suck now, and suck is just your opinion, man.

As all long-time guitar players say, being a bad guitar player doesn’t last if you keep at it.

It’s impossible to suck if you keep playing, if only one song.

Eventually you’ll grow your confidence and start annoying people.

If you’re lucky, and you will be since you read the lucky blog boomerpdx, you’ll find someone to play songs with and start feeling the guitar players’ vibe:

‘Pack the van and let’s hit the road, man. We’re ready to tour.’