Guitar Noise

From George

My story begins several years ago when I was wandering around in a mall in San Antonio, Texas, and came upon a small music store at one end. It had been several years since I had touched a guitar but I saw a Yamaha FS-350S on display. The salesman encouraged me to take it in the back room and play it a bit to see how I liked it. Being a little weak and vulnerable I sat down and tuned it and was amazed at the sound that came out of that little guitar (the Yamaha FS-350S is a ¾ size guitar). To make a long story short I fell in love again. I bought the guitar, took it home, and shoved it under the bed, where it stayed for a long time.

Our church got a new minister of music who played guitar. I got to talk to him about guitars and told him I had played a little bit. He suggested that I meet him and a gentleman I will call “Doc” at the nearby nursing home the next Sunday morning. I was nervous as “a cat on a hot tin roof” because I really was not that good and had not touched the guitar for several years. But I got my courage up, strung the guitar with a fresh new set of strings, tuned it up and sat down with it on Saturday for an hour or so.

Sunday morning I loaded the guitar in my truck and traveled to the nursing home. There are no words to describe the feeling of looking into the faces of the residents when they saw us walk in with the guitars. We opened the cases, set them aside and begin to play and sing old time gospel songs. We played for about an hour. Doc invited me to join him the following Sunday morning for another session.

That began six years of my having the privilege of enjoying Doc’s company. We spent time making music to spread the gospel to many people who were unable to attend a church or any other activity because of their health. Many of the people confined to nursing homes do not ever have visitors of any kind. For just an hour or so Doc and I were able to take them on a journey that let them forget their depressing surroundings.

To see their eyes light up when we did a familiar song that jogged their memory was an indescribable “joy.” One song that would bring many a chuckle from the residents was “The Preacher and the Bear.” Another song that brought forth memories was “Jesus Loves Me,” and a few that Doc had written himself whose titles I don’t remember.

Doc and I shared a relationship I will cherish forever. He is a clinical psychologist and motivational speaker but also a real down-to-earth person.

Time came for me to move to another city, so we went our separate ways. I started my own circuit of nursing home entertaining for a while until my work schedule prevented my continuing.

When speaking of the “Joy of Guitar” and “Joy of Music” as the years go by I find that the “six string tranquilizer” carries me through tough times. Sharing music with people who are less fortunate brings with it rewards that I cannot put a price on. I consider myself fortunate to have found Guitar Noise, where I enjoy and learn from the talent of others. I hope that you and Paul continue to provide the quality education material we have seen in the past. My only regret is that I did not get more motivated thirty or forty years ago.

I have been visiting Guitar Noise since this past summer and have always found the site to be informative and inspirational. I especially enjoy your beginner lessons, as I am somewhat of a beginner myself.

About two years ago my daughter acquired a neat little Yamaha acoustic in exchange for some housework she did for the father of a friend. The instrument was basically collecting dust in her bedroom, so I picked it up and started strumming out some chords I had learned as a teenager. I played around with the guitar as a kid, but never took it very seriously. Now, as a forty-something grown-up with the responsibilities of a job, mortgage, kids, dog, house projects, etc., I found myself trying to really learn to play.

I began lessons, then stopped when I returned to graduate school (which was one more BIG responsibility). I received an excellent Martin from my wife for graduation – bless her heart – and am now taking lessons again.

Despite the fact that school is no longer a part of my routine, I still have trouble finding, making or otherwise creating time to practice. Frankly, I am becoming somewhat frustrated. I know almost all of the open chords, and can move barre chords pretty freely around the neck. And thanks to your lessons, I have learned some bass fills and (gasp!) a little theory. But, my playing is still not coming together. I struggle with keeping time, hearing songs in my head as I play them and learning to play a song well from start to finish.

Last night, I think things began to change. I invited myself over to my good friend and neighbor Billy’s house for some pick time. Billy has been playing since he was eight and shares his experience with me freely. He’s now playing out with his friend Becky on a regular basis. Becky is a beginning guitarist, but sings like an angel. As it turns out, Becky was practicing with Billy when I arrived and they invited me to play along with a few of the simpler songs they we were working on. What an experience! Becky was singing and strumming, Billy was playing lead and whispering the chord changes to me.

I found myself playing (on some of the songs at least) and actually adding depth to the music, with two rather accomplished musicians. Not only that, but I, the rank beginner, showed Becky, the musician, a couple of tunes. Billy and I did a pretty cool rendition of Ohio (CSN&Y) before we quit for the night. I learned two or three new songs and now can’t wait to sit down and work on them.

For me, the sharing made all the difference. Becky’s voice helped to keep me in time and Billy’s excellent lead playing covered up for me when I missed a change, or a whole chorus in some instances. I can’t wait to sit in with them again.

The experience showed me the beauty of sharing one’s talents and even one’s naivetes. There are great players, but they don’t know everything. There are learners, who may not know much, but are willing to try. When these two come together, energy and inspiration are created.

I’ve only recently discovered the Guitar Noise site. No pop-ups, printer-friendly material, and good advice. Great. I thought I’d make a contribution, for what it’s worth, from sunny England.

I started to play guitar as a teenager in the mid-1970s. How that happened is a story in itself! Well, I formed a band with a couple of school friends, and opted to play bass guitar. But I strummed away at my six-string in the evenings.

The years came and went, and so did school, university, career, marriage, son, and a new career. (The last three stayed, I’m pleased to say). Son took up both trumpet and French horn and found a fondness for little jazz pieces on the trumpet. Wife discovered that hiring instruments is not too expensive, and had a bash at clarinet and then saxophone. These were life-long ambitions for her. Before long I was being pressured to dig out my long-neglected guitar and play along.

I started to brush up on my rock ‘n’ roll, and blues. I then started studying jazz about eighteen months ago. I went a bit Imelda Marcos and acquired some new guitars (just a few, nothing ostentatious). Now I’m back into the swing of it and have found a new way to relax and develop playing skills that I never had as a teenager. Things get better.

One day, young Jamie (a friend of my son) comes over to play and asks about the guitars. He was learning guitar at school but getting a bit fed up after a year of constant theory and “Jimmy Crack Corn.” He wanted an electric guitar, but his dad said no, they were nasty, noisy things. I spoke to his mother and advised her to buy him a Squier Mini and a Digitech RP100 pedal with headphones — it makes anyone sound good (even me). He has taken to it like lemon oil to a fretboard. I’ve given him a few lessons and tips, and he is calmly inventing amazing, original little riffs of his own, purely by experiment. In a few years time, he’ll be someone to listen out for.

Meanwhile, I was boring a colleague and close friend of mine with my guitar stories one day when he says, “I wish I had learned electric guitar when I was younger. I always wanted to.” Why not start now?” I asked him. He has his wife, kids and house, and has just turned 40 and is therefore ready to begin his second (improved) childhood. Well, he had just moved to a new house so cash flow is an issue; he can’t afford an expensive instrument or lots of books. No problem.

Between us, we buy three Kramer Focus guitars over the Internet, and he has started with a pre-amp built by me, a loan of my old guitar books, and the Guitar Noise site. I’m rebuilding another Kramer for fun. And we meet up every few weekends to exchange playing and woodworking ideas over a beer, and we are both more relaxed than we have been for several years. In another couple of months and he’ll be up to speed for jamming, maybe with another guitarist, trumpet, sax, and me on bass. And we have a woman colleague at work who plays her son’s drum kit. We’ll all make music, which is the coolest thing.

Last year I was preparing for a busy musical season. I was singing the baritone solo “Fantasia on Christmas Carols” by Ralph Vaughan Williams with chorus and orchestra. (If you’d like to hear a bit let me know.) I was also preparing for a number of other small engagements, an acting bit, getting the house ready for family, buying a thousand gifts, etc. Just to make the season a bit brighter, I had the head cold from hell. I was not in a very jovial mood.

In the midst of this I happened to pick up a Christmas angel from the tree at church. The angel has a child’s name on it and some of the things they needed/wanted for Christmas. I went out and got the stuff on his list: Harry Potter Book, skates, socks and winter hat. But I was so busy I missed the drop-off date at my church.

This was just one more thing gone wrong. I called the Salvation Army, which organized the drop-off, explained how terrible I felt that I missed it and asked if I could drop it off at their office. “Well, no” was the answer. “But you can drop it off at the warehouse.”

So I drove to their warehouse. It wasn’t actually theirs. Somebody donated the space to them for the Christmas Angels program. I pulled up, grabbed the bag of goodies and headed into the main garage door. Then I just stopped dead in my tracks.

The warehouse was about the size of two football fields laid side by side. Somebody had taken roll after roll of masking tape and laid out checkerboard squares from one end to the other.

Each of the squares had a child’s name in it. Every single one of them was full of gifts. Hundreds and hundreds of squares filled with gifts.

I don’t cry easily, but I did. Big heaving sobs, standing there in that warehouse. I had forgotten what it was all about.

My kid got some books, socks, hat and skates, but he gave me something far more valuable.