The saga began many decades ago when my aunt offered my mother my cousin Sandra's old clarinet. When asked if I would like to play, I saw a marching band uniform and fancy parades ahead and jumped at the chance. My dreams were shattered when the only available music teacher, our milkman, refused to take me on as a pupil because I was too young. No clarinet for me. But all was not lost since the possibility of becoming a piano virtuoso loomed the year we lived with my grandparents before our new house was available. My Aunt Mary's old piano was in the parlor and I was hooked once my grandfather taught me to play Chopsticks. Lessons were provided and I practiced diligently until, alas, we had to move into our new three bedroom 1960's ranch house in the suburbs. It had no parlor, so no piano for me.
The next chapter in my musical memoir starts with the Beatles first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show. Yes, it was February 9th, 1964, and pop music was my new best friend. Who wouldn't want to play guitar like John, Paul, and George? I must have pestered my parents relentlessly because they bought me a little Silvertone from Sears and arranged for me to take lessons. Sadly, I can't remember my first guitar teacher's name but he had a 1950's wave in his hair and wore a fringed Grand Ole Opry style shirt. No mop top. No mod suit. No singing "All My Lovin'"or "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" for me.
Still I was no quitter and for about three years I took my weekly lesson in a sad little room above a storefront downtown. My new music teacher introduced me to Mel Bay and his graded guitar method. Now I don't know if Mel Bay was ever in a band but my instructor played in a country western group. He must not have been a singer, though, because we never sang. Instead we worked our way through several grades of old Mel's system. I went from playing "The Merry Men" on the B string to cowboy songs, classical etudes and rousing ragtime tunes. I was a fancy little fingerpicker, but my dreams of rock stardom had faded away and died. Eventually, I just stopped going.
Over the years since I have dabbled with guitars. I've taken a few more lessons and done a couple of workshops. There have been many starts and stops along the way. Nothing has ever really come together. Friends have occasionally invited me to jam with them, but that's always sounded so incredibly intimidating. I may have been able pick out "Valse Lente, op.33" but there's been no jamming for me.
Fast forward to "The Joy of Uke" every Tuesday night in the brightly lit music room of the middle school. I sit with about 17 other eager students in front of our teacher who wears a silly Hawaiian shirt. He calls us all musicians because we are tuning up, sight reading, and playing and singing together. The other night we worked through "I've Just Seen a Face" followed by "Hey, Good Lookin". Ironically, that's the Beatles meeting up with Hank Williams. Things are coming together nicely and I'm jammin'.
The next chapter in my musical memoir starts with the Beatles first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show. Yes, it was February 9th, 1964, and pop music was my new best friend. Who wouldn't want to play guitar like John, Paul, and George? I must have pestered my parents relentlessly because they bought me a little Silvertone from Sears and arranged for me to take lessons. Sadly, I can't remember my first guitar teacher's name but he had a 1950's wave in his hair and wore a fringed Grand Ole Opry style shirt. No mop top. No mod suit. No singing "All My Lovin'"or "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" for me.
Still I was no quitter and for about three years I took my weekly lesson in a sad little room above a storefront downtown. My new music teacher introduced me to Mel Bay and his graded guitar method. Now I don't know if Mel Bay was ever in a band but my instructor played in a country western group. He must not have been a singer, though, because we never sang. Instead we worked our way through several grades of old Mel's system. I went from playing "The Merry Men" on the B string to cowboy songs, classical etudes and rousing ragtime tunes. I was a fancy little fingerpicker, but my dreams of rock stardom had faded away and died. Eventually, I just stopped going.
Over the years since I have dabbled with guitars. I've taken a few more lessons and done a couple of workshops. There have been many starts and stops along the way. Nothing has ever really come together. Friends have occasionally invited me to jam with them, but that's always sounded so incredibly intimidating. I may have been able pick out "Valse Lente, op.33" but there's been no jamming for me.
Fast forward to "The Joy of Uke" every Tuesday night in the brightly lit music room of the middle school. I sit with about 17 other eager students in front of our teacher who wears a silly Hawaiian shirt. He calls us all musicians because we are tuning up, sight reading, and playing and singing together. The other night we worked through "I've Just Seen a Face" followed by "Hey, Good Lookin". Ironically, that's the Beatles meeting up with Hank Williams. Things are coming together nicely and I'm jammin'.
