FINlos reviews…

…learning to play guitar

Apr 04

FINlosdaily life 2 Comments

Growing up, music was a very important part of my life. Every member of my immediate family contributed to what would become my own particular taste in music. But it was not just about listening, we played.

Two siblings played cello in orchestra. Another sibling played several brass instruments in band. My own tastes leaned to the strings and so I followed the path of least resistance and picked up the cello, too. It was difficult growing up in a family of very musically inclined people, the elder cellist a veritable prodigy (he even once played with Yo Yo Ma. Yes, that Yo Yo Ma). And while I was proficient with the instrument, I never assumed such heights. I loved being in the orchestra, I loved being on stage.

I loved performing.

But I eventually put the cello down and pursued other hobbies. My love for music never faded, though, and if anything I think my ear has become more discerning and critical having had the experience of learning to read music and play an instrument. With this love for music, good music, that I have, I often find myself asking why I stopped playing. And the obvious answer struck me: there aren’t many cellos in the music that I listen to. There are of course exceptions to this. Many bands include orchestral accompaniment with their music, and one band, Rasputina, is actually composed of two cellists and a percussionist. But the common denominator in much of the music that I follow is the guitar.

When I was in middle school, in  the midst of my classical music training, my father got me a beautiful Fender jazz bass guitar. The possibility of reaching one of my life’s goals, being in a rock band, had suddenly been thrust into my open arms. For weeks I would put on my favorite songs, power up my amp, and mimic the tones that I heard. And while I could follow along with the simpler bass patterns, and even read tabs, the more technical, and by that I mean better and more interesting songs remained beyond my reach. While my middle school did have a competent musical program, it lacked a guitar class. And so after a month or so of toying around with my prized possession, it eventually found itself back within its hard-shell case, leaning against the wall in my bedroom.

 
(same as my bass, sans scuff marks, and mine is fretless)

In my freshman year in high school, while still in orchestra, there was a fellow cellist who was also a very talented guitarist. He was putting together a band and was looking for a bassist. I mentioned that I owned a bass and had learned some songs and he invited me over to practice. When I got there, he was tearing away on riffs that were way over my head, but the drummer that was there with him didn’t seem to have a problem keeping up. So I plugged in my bass, ashamed at the dust that had gathered on the pick-ups and the fingerboard, plugged it in and began to tune up. He asked me something that I knew, and I rattled off one of the five or so songs that I had managed to put to memory. Without hesitation he began counting off and, accompanied by the drummer, began picking out the notes of the song’s intro. I was in over my head, in a band practice with two guys who knew what they were doing, and the bass line was fast approaching.

I plucked away. And to my amazement, no, I’ll be honest, to my joy we sounded good. If we had played that one song over and over again until the end of time I could have been happy. But at the song’s conclusion by guitarist/cellist buddy flipped through a folder he had with him, set up a music stand, and dropped a dozen or so sheets of bass tabs for songs that I had heads, but never even attempted to play. He called the first one up, counted off, and he and the drummer were playing without me. They got through a couple bars, noticed that I was not keeping up and stopped. I was ready to sit the rest out, but he simply said, “let’s try it again.” And we did, lots. I was really bad, but by the end of the practice, about an hour later, I could play two more songs. I couldn’t play them well, but I could keep up. I was in a band.

(not us, but we looked similar, I’m sure)

He moved a week or so later. I have never been in a band since. We never even got to pick a name. My bass sits in its hard case, leaning against the wall in a closet.

But the truth is I never really learned to play my bass. I could follow along with some tabs, but I didn’t really know what I was doing. I have an ear for music. I understand technically, and intuitively what makes a song good. I just never learned to play.

My wife has a fender acoustic guitar that is, quite frankly, intimidating. One of the things that I love about the bass is that it only has four strings. For a novice, and someone having learned to read and play music on a cello, four strings is just natural. What am I supposed to do with two extra strings? In addition, a pick is just alien to me. How am I possible expected to use a tiny plastic triangle to pick between those six strings? But I have decided that it is up to me to learn.

I have guitar envy, I can admit this now. I always hated it when at a social gathering my friends could pick up their guitars and start strumming away. Within seconds they were leading a chorus in some cliched standard tune, I was left there to sing along with the masses. I fancy myself a decent singer, but what mediocre voice isn’t immediately enhanced when they are playing the guitar?

So I picked up my wife’s fender, googled first guitar lesson, and learned my first three chords. I spent ten seconds getting my too-fat fingers into the right positions only to strum out a chord that twanged and rattled because my fingertip grazed another string. But after a few strums I had my G major chord down. A few minutes (yes, minutes) later the C major followed. And finally the D major. I know I can just call them G, C, and D, but calling them MAJOR just makes them seem that much more significant. And that was the end of the lesson. Strum these three chords over and over again. I did, and it took me ten seconds or so to maneuver my fingers to the proper places each time I switched. I get so frustrated at my own ineptitude at what should be, and what so many people I know make to look like a simple task. Put three fingers where they go. I am struggling with my three chords, but am determined to master them. This is the part where I grow impatient and jump straight to Stairway to Heaven, the classic “first guitar song I ever learned!” But I have resisted the urge and have instead spend the past two days practicing my first three chords. Stairway can wait.

Perhaps, once I have tackled the guitar (and I will) I’ll go back to my bass. I still prefer its four strings and low register. But having learned to play the guitar, will be be a better bassist. But the ultimate goal isn’t to be in a band, so much as being able to pick up a guitar and lead a group of friends in one of those cheesy, overly-sentimental tunes that has been sung far too many times, and love every second of it. It’s going to happen.

I’m still working on a band name.

 

Rated four and one-half stars for doing something that I have wanted to do my whole life. Would have been rated a perfect five stars were it not for the blisters growing on my fingers and the endless frustration that comes with not hitting the right chord.