Learning to Make My Own Myusic
I’ve spent my entire life staring in awe at guitarists. I’ve seen Clapton, Trucks, Haynes and Betts, Garcia, Springsteen, Malkmus, King and Guy. I’ve stood and danced and studied as my favorites picked and bent and pulled their way to new dimensions of song and sound, all on the surface of these six-strings.
Well, watching is no longer enough. I’m finally learning how to play guitar.
Now, those of you who know me probably know that I’ve been writing songs all my life. In fact, I sang my first song to my art class in the second grade. It was called “A Man’s Gotta Do What a Man’s Gotta Do.” I’d venture that many of the kids that were in that class would me might still remember it. Now, I probably have several albums worth of songs sitting on my computer, mostly laments about women. Few of them are good, but that’s besides the point.
The problem is, despite my provenience for writing singable, melodic lyrics, I’ve never been able to accompany myself. Now, I’m finally learning how.
Now, at this point, I’m still not good. In fact, I’m not even mediocre. I’m a beginner who will get as far as he’s willing to work hard, but nowhere without effort. I’m not a natural, but I’m actually not awful either. (I find this fact the most surprising.)
So now, while I watch the Mets butcher the game of baseball, I can sit on my couch and butcher my way through classics from the Allmans, the Dead and the Boss. I’m a work in progress, but hey, I’d like to have one discernible talent by the time I’m 30! The clock’s ticking… but now it sounds more like a metronome.