Guitar Lessons
Before my children were born, I was a starving guitar player. I played in rock bands and jazz groups. I played for high school proms, college dances, and wedding receptions. I played in country clubs, concert halls, and dive bars. I played at the Kennedy Center for the Arts, the Cedar Rapids Elks Club, and the Iowa Meatpackers Convention.
My guitar heroes were Jimi Hendrix and Jim Hall. I listened to vinyl records and had a guitar in my hands every day.
Music was more than a job. It was a craft, a discipline, a path to pure feeling.
Playing gigs was hard work. I schlepped heavy equipment, drove to distant to suburbs, and stayed up late. By the time I factored in expenses and transportation time, the hourly rate was close to minimum wage.
Soon after my daughter was born I gave up gigs, put on a tie, and went to work in a cubicle. My wife and I bought a house and life insurance. We barbecued chicken on a gas grill, mowed the yard, and hosted polite parties.
When I looked back on my years of full full-time musicianship, I felt a mixture of nostalgia and regret. Mainly I wanted to forget about it all.
The experience of playing music changed me in ways that I didn’t understand. I missed the times when the band was cooking and I was on, hooked up to my amplifier, plugged into Source, letting the music play me. I held my instrument close, like a lover, and closed my eyes to listen deeply and see everything clearly. It felt like waking up.
But honestly, what was it all about? What exactly happened?
And what does it all mean now to a 70-year-old man with a twilight body and the heart of a teenager?
The only way for me to integrate experience is to write about it. I’m doing this as a story: Guitar Lessons: Fragments of a Forgotten Teaching.
In this story I’ll cast two alter egos. One is my younger self. The other is an older man, a teacher — the mentor I wish I’d had, someone who understands how playing music connects to the rest of your life and helps you become a better person. This teacher is a buried part of me, someone wise. I’ll summon him by presenting him with a blank page and asking him to fill it.
I wonder what he’ll say.
Guitar Lessons is a novel in progress, the subject of occasional posts on this Substack. I’ll post the first part of the book here for free.
It’s said that there are two kinds of writers: those who plan first (plotters) and those who fly by the seat of their pants (“pantsers”). Normally a dedicated plotter, I’m pantsing it here. It scares the hell out of me. It feels true.
Following is what I have so far. I’ll post new chapters as soon as they ripen and update this list. Come back any time.
Guitar Lessons: Fragments of a Forgotten Teaching
Chapter 3: Searching for a Teacher
Chapter 4: 'I Make Certain Demands'