Six String Six Slinger

By Michael The Libertarian

Those of you who aren't musicians may not want to read today's offering. I'm not saying you can't. I'm saying you may not enjoy this.

I started my musical journey, picking out melodies on Grandpa's Brambach baby grand piano, easily found in our living room. She who bore me did me my first musical disservice when she instructed me to play chords, against those melodies, with my left hand. I was told: “Put your index finger on the root note of the chord (the “name” of the chord). Major chords are four up and five down and minor chords are three up and five down.”

That was it and it ruined my ability to play the piano correctly (thus far)!

I had a transistor radio. I got it so I could listen to my New York Mets' games. Guess who was on that station (660 WNBC NY) before Mets' games? Wolfman Jack! On clear nights, I could pick up a terrific AM radio station out of Cleveland, the birth place of rock 'n' roll.

I listened to all the New York City rock stations on AM (I hadn't “found” any music on FM, yet). I listened to Wolfman, Cousin Brucie, Dan Ingram, etc.

It was on 660 that I heard the newest Beatles' release, followed, a few months later by the announcement that they were done, as a recording and touring band.

When I was ten-years-old, KISS released their first album and I knew what I wanted to do. Around that time, I found out what the FM band on my transistor radio was for … real music. Rock 'n' Roll, and pretty heavy stuff at that. KISS, obviously, Deep Purple (“Smoke On the Water” was huge, at the time), The Rolling Stones, Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Grateful Dead were all found on the FM side. I had taken another step on my musical trek.

I begged my grandparents for a guitar. In my mind, of course, I was picturing a Les Paul or a “Flying V”.

For my twelfth birthday, my grandparents gifted me with a (Chromatic) harmonica and told me if I learned to play it, they would buy me a guitar. Okay!

Don't ask me how, but I was smart enough to know that my grandparents would be looking for classic songs with melodies. The kind of music that moved me – that could be re-created on a harmonica – was the blues or early rock. Playing the blues on a chromatic harmonica is no easy feat. For those that are familiar, usually, one buys a harmonica in a certain key. Harmonica players usually carry an entire arsenal of “harps” so that they can play in whatever key is required.

So, I worked on music that would please my grandparents, but my heart was in rock and the blues. I got pretty damned good. The important part is that I learned “Make Believe Ballroom”, “In The Mood”, “Minnie The Moocher”, and my grandmother's favorite: “Sippin' Cider Through A Straw”. I got good enough and the day came.

I nailed it and I was assured that for my next birthday, I would be getting a guitar.

My 13^th birthday was upon me. I couldn't wait! I ripped open the wrapping on the obviously “guitar-shaped” box. I opened the flaps, secured with those huge, hurtful brass staples. I flipped the top of the box over to see … an acoustic guitar. Insert sad trombone sound, here.

What the heck was I gonna do with this? The sound was “tin-y”. The action was close to a half inch.

Finally, I saved up some money and bought a Univox Les Paul (A copy so close that Gibson sued them out of existence). It was a gold top so, I stripped all the hardware and replaced it with authentic Gibson gear (My mistake. I even installed P.A.F. Pick-ups which meant I would never play live with the volume above a whisper without feed-back).

I put gold hardware on the entire guitar. I took it to an electrician to have the wiring completely re-done (I like the switch to be only two positions). I shimmed the neck and painstakingly set the action and intonation. That guitar had some great action on it!

I started practicing as much as six hours a day, all by myself. I played rhythm. I played leads. I played bass lines. If I could have added a crash cymbal, I might have.

I played everything I could get my hands on. I tried desperately to play like Eddie Van Halen and Steve Vai. I didn't get there, but I came close.

Eventually, I got into a band and, from the “one-thing-leads-to-another” file: I wound up, playing the bass. Well, shit!

Then, life got in the way and my work schedule left me with little time to play the guitar or even to be in a band.

When I did reconnect with the guitar (about twelve years ago, three years after I lost two fingertips on my right hand), I was incensed with the idea of playing blistering fast leads. I got pretty good (.mp3 files available upon request), but I was doing a disservice to my artistry.

I have come to find out that I can play 500,000 notes in 43 seconds of instrumental or I can allow the feel of the song to dictate how I accentuate it with my playing.

Possibly a little-too-little-a-little-too-late because I am definitely approaching my golden years. I have a neurological thing going on. One of the muscle groups in one of my limbs is (almost) always twitching and my fingers frequently “freeze up” or are uncontrollable.

Oh, well. The lesson's been learned. Maybe I can pass it on to someone younger and prevent them from duplicating my mistakes.

- Michael