Tuesday, October 24, 2006
It's really Wednesday, and it was all supposed to begin with, "A good rehearsal with Mr Bashford yesterday".
It didn't. Although to be fair to Mr Bashford I did have my telephone turned off and did not get his message until after I had given up waiting.
However, waiting for Mr Bashford was not that onerous...
I thought, as I waited in such disturbing circumstances, that so much of our time is spent waiting, usually for someone else to do something. I've been waiting, sort of, for this time for about 24 years. I can't remember the exact last time I played in front of an audience but I can remember which year it was. Perhaps that's the function of age to blur the specifics so that we can smile with our memories. Or dribble, as our smiles become fixed as we fall asleep.... Waiting for Mr Bashford.
So, a duo this time. The last time was a trio and the time before that was a number too large to count, with banks of mellotrons and keyboards and a strutting guitarist. I never really strutted though. Perhaps that was the problem but then, when a simple mistake like a misplaced quaver in an hour of music could bring down the whole edifice, there is not a lot of concentration room left over for strutting. I couldn't have left the vicinity of my pedal board anyway, since in my pretentiousness I needed a new and distinct sound, almost, with each refrain I played. I remember being surprised that we were not more popular, all the musicians were excellent and the music was well played (even though after a performance our dressing room was a den of silence and of passing around the rusty razor blades as we believed we had played badly. Lee's (the singer, flautist and part-time guitarist) most popular parting remark to the audience was "You've been most kind". It was only in the following days when we heard recordings of our performance would we think we played quite well and would wish we could go back and do the encore we refused to do because we were sure the audience didn't really mean to clap).
The music then (and I am talking now of ancient history, the 1970's) needed to be listened to many times before enjoyment could begin. Few people, not associated with the band, got past twice.
Still, no matter how long you try to hide from the muse or try to ignore its urgings it will catch up to you. I had 12 years of complete escape. And I mean complete. I did not touch a guitar or listen (with intent) to music. I sold almost everything musical. However, I could not part with my classical guitar, a Guild acoustic and my RD Artist. But, they lived forgotten and unloved in a shed. When I did dig them out (a bit more than 10 years ago) the gold fittings on the Gibson had rusted and I had to get them replaced. What a shame.
As I waited for Mr Bashford (or was I dreaming and smiling and dribbling), I remembered the shock of discovery when I responded to the urgings of the muse. And I could still play although my fingers hurt when I played steel strings. That put me off for awhile and I returned to Bach, I re-bought the Lute Suites and attempted to play them again. I failed but had fun doing so.
The striving is the important bit. I've been playing guitar for 40 years (less the aforementioned 12) and still consider myself less than a beginner. When we start we think once we have mastered about a dozen chords and a few pentatonic scales then we will be finished and we only need to get faster. As we study more and practice more we become aware of what we don't know. I have so much more to learn now after 40 years (less the 12). Who could have believed there could be so many combinations of 12 notes. Then your brain explodes with the possibility of adding a second octave. The foetal position is assumed when we realize the possibilities of 12 notes and nearly 4 octaves!
For example, after I did turn my telephone on and received Mr Bashford's message about his non-arrival I used the next hour or so on the E flat major scale. Only the position at the 11th fret, no other, and only playing consecutive notes in the scale (either up or down) or part scale. After more than an hour of just this (yes, I know, don't say "Get a life") I thought I was ready to begin practicing this scale in this position. Not to mention different positions, single string scales and then all the different keys and then all the different modes and then, perhaps, be ready to be a babe in the woods with all the jazz combinations. I would need to live many long lives. Even then...
Perhaps I'm still dreaming and dribbling but always smiling. Mr Bashford has assured me of his presence today and I need a few more hundred hours on the E flat major scale, 11th position before he arrives. I need to mix our rehearsals from last week also (I wish I knew how to do that better but that would have to be lifetime number 23).
Have I mentioned I've also written a book? No?
Ahh, I hear the dulcet tones of Mr Bashfords arrival.
It didn't. Although to be fair to Mr Bashford I did have my telephone turned off and did not get his message until after I had given up waiting.
However, waiting for Mr Bashford was not that onerous...
I thought, as I waited in such disturbing circumstances, that so much of our time is spent waiting, usually for someone else to do something. I've been waiting, sort of, for this time for about 24 years. I can't remember the exact last time I played in front of an audience but I can remember which year it was. Perhaps that's the function of age to blur the specifics so that we can smile with our memories. Or dribble, as our smiles become fixed as we fall asleep.... Waiting for Mr Bashford.
So, a duo this time. The last time was a trio and the time before that was a number too large to count, with banks of mellotrons and keyboards and a strutting guitarist. I never really strutted though. Perhaps that was the problem but then, when a simple mistake like a misplaced quaver in an hour of music could bring down the whole edifice, there is not a lot of concentration room left over for strutting. I couldn't have left the vicinity of my pedal board anyway, since in my pretentiousness I needed a new and distinct sound, almost, with each refrain I played. I remember being surprised that we were not more popular, all the musicians were excellent and the music was well played (even though after a performance our dressing room was a den of silence and of passing around the rusty razor blades as we believed we had played badly. Lee's (the singer, flautist and part-time guitarist) most popular parting remark to the audience was "You've been most kind". It was only in the following days when we heard recordings of our performance would we think we played quite well and would wish we could go back and do the encore we refused to do because we were sure the audience didn't really mean to clap).
The music then (and I am talking now of ancient history, the 1970's) needed to be listened to many times before enjoyment could begin. Few people, not associated with the band, got past twice.
Still, no matter how long you try to hide from the muse or try to ignore its urgings it will catch up to you. I had 12 years of complete escape. And I mean complete. I did not touch a guitar or listen (with intent) to music. I sold almost everything musical. However, I could not part with my classical guitar, a Guild acoustic and my RD Artist. But, they lived forgotten and unloved in a shed. When I did dig them out (a bit more than 10 years ago) the gold fittings on the Gibson had rusted and I had to get them replaced. What a shame.
As I waited for Mr Bashford (or was I dreaming and smiling and dribbling), I remembered the shock of discovery when I responded to the urgings of the muse. And I could still play although my fingers hurt when I played steel strings. That put me off for awhile and I returned to Bach, I re-bought the Lute Suites and attempted to play them again. I failed but had fun doing so.
The striving is the important bit. I've been playing guitar for 40 years (less the aforementioned 12) and still consider myself less than a beginner. When we start we think once we have mastered about a dozen chords and a few pentatonic scales then we will be finished and we only need to get faster. As we study more and practice more we become aware of what we don't know. I have so much more to learn now after 40 years (less the 12). Who could have believed there could be so many combinations of 12 notes. Then your brain explodes with the possibility of adding a second octave. The foetal position is assumed when we realize the possibilities of 12 notes and nearly 4 octaves!
For example, after I did turn my telephone on and received Mr Bashford's message about his non-arrival I used the next hour or so on the E flat major scale. Only the position at the 11th fret, no other, and only playing consecutive notes in the scale (either up or down) or part scale. After more than an hour of just this (yes, I know, don't say "Get a life") I thought I was ready to begin practicing this scale in this position. Not to mention different positions, single string scales and then all the different keys and then all the different modes and then, perhaps, be ready to be a babe in the woods with all the jazz combinations. I would need to live many long lives. Even then...
Perhaps I'm still dreaming and dribbling but always smiling. Mr Bashford has assured me of his presence today and I need a few more hundred hours on the E flat major scale, 11th position before he arrives. I need to mix our rehearsals from last week also (I wish I knew how to do that better but that would have to be lifetime number 23).
Have I mentioned I've also written a book? No?
Ahh, I hear the dulcet tones of Mr Bashfords arrival.
posted by Mark Macpherson at 9:51 am
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