This one goes out to all the ladies.
Pay no attention to titles. They rarely have any significance to my audience, and only feed my hunger for ambiguity.
I've heard true and false statements about the guitar and playing the guitar just as I have heard true and false statements about life and living it. Two conflicting pieces of wisdom come to mind. Neither is the most important piece of advice I've ever had. The most important advice regarding guitar, or music in general, is a rather simple two parter. My first guitar teacher told me relax, and Les Paul himself told me to practice. No-brainers. Tonight however, I have my mind on connecting synapses and introspection and seeking truth.
The first is both true and false. I was told once by a very famous guitar teacher, a man I greatly respect, to play louder because I am playing the quietest instrument in the world. Well, he was right. The classical guitar, the best kind, really is pretty darn quiet, but only in the literal sense. We'll get to the flip side of this juicy morsel later.
The second spotlighted tidbit comes from the great poet Carl Sandburg. In a piece called "The Guitar: Some Definitions," he referred to the instrument as "a chattel with a soul, often in part owning its owner and tantalizing him with his lack of perfection." That last part, tantalizing him with his lack of perfection. That's the kind of insight that only comes from the wisest men, and I won't dare question his accuracy or validity.
Now I'm brought back to the first statement. Of course it's true. The teacher knew it. Segovia knew it. Sandburg knew it. Anyone who has ever listened to the guitar knows it mostly whispers. That's part of it's charm really. To be overly poetic, it's a bit like a late night lover, but only to the audience. If you really sit down to play the thing, the real beast is unleashed.
The guitar is unforgiving. It's like making lemonade out of lemons. You'll know you've made a mistake as soon as the string is plucked and probably beforehand. The common misconception is that the string is plucked, and the vibrations are sent through the bridge and body and then outward towards the audience. That's only half the journey. The sound travels through the musician and into his brain, where the experience is amplified. Is the guitar quiet? No way. It screams. Pick it up and it screams. Put it down and it still screams. Look at it wrong and it'll scream. "Tantalizing him with his lack of imperfection." Sandburg's guitar must've had a much kinder disposition than any guitar I've ever owned. No, none of my instruments "tantalize." Mine hate me.
So if you ask me whether or not you're twelve year old son should take guitar lessons, don't be surprised when I answer, "Get out while you still can."
And never, ever text message me.
I've heard true and false statements about the guitar and playing the guitar just as I have heard true and false statements about life and living it. Two conflicting pieces of wisdom come to mind. Neither is the most important piece of advice I've ever had. The most important advice regarding guitar, or music in general, is a rather simple two parter. My first guitar teacher told me relax, and Les Paul himself told me to practice. No-brainers. Tonight however, I have my mind on connecting synapses and introspection and seeking truth.
The first is both true and false. I was told once by a very famous guitar teacher, a man I greatly respect, to play louder because I am playing the quietest instrument in the world. Well, he was right. The classical guitar, the best kind, really is pretty darn quiet, but only in the literal sense. We'll get to the flip side of this juicy morsel later.
The second spotlighted tidbit comes from the great poet Carl Sandburg. In a piece called "The Guitar: Some Definitions," he referred to the instrument as "a chattel with a soul, often in part owning its owner and tantalizing him with his lack of perfection." That last part, tantalizing him with his lack of perfection. That's the kind of insight that only comes from the wisest men, and I won't dare question his accuracy or validity.
Now I'm brought back to the first statement. Of course it's true. The teacher knew it. Segovia knew it. Sandburg knew it. Anyone who has ever listened to the guitar knows it mostly whispers. That's part of it's charm really. To be overly poetic, it's a bit like a late night lover, but only to the audience. If you really sit down to play the thing, the real beast is unleashed.
The guitar is unforgiving. It's like making lemonade out of lemons. You'll know you've made a mistake as soon as the string is plucked and probably beforehand. The common misconception is that the string is plucked, and the vibrations are sent through the bridge and body and then outward towards the audience. That's only half the journey. The sound travels through the musician and into his brain, where the experience is amplified. Is the guitar quiet? No way. It screams. Pick it up and it screams. Put it down and it still screams. Look at it wrong and it'll scream. "Tantalizing him with his lack of imperfection." Sandburg's guitar must've had a much kinder disposition than any guitar I've ever owned. No, none of my instruments "tantalize." Mine hate me.
So if you ask me whether or not you're twelve year old son should take guitar lessons, don't be surprised when I answer, "Get out while you still can."
And never, ever text message me.