Miscellaneous.

I went out this evening with Ray and his generous ladyfriend, who bought me beers until I was reeling (it doesn't take long when you're 120lbs. and have almost no tolerance).

Finished Lady Chatterley's Lover. It was remarkable.

Finished Hell House, a haunted house story by Richard Matheson. It was so-so.

I'm going to sleep early in hopes of waking up early. Goodnight!

The Right Book, the Right Time.

At the Mad Dog on Valentine's Day. Picture by Auta.

Lady Chatterley's Lover is a beautiful read. I am eating out of the palm of its hand, absolutely powerless to stop mid-chapter. Yet at the end of a day's reading I feel momentarily full, satisfied, enriched. D.H. Lawrence seems to inhabit all his characters at once; we see each of them through the eyes of all the others one by one.

The protagonist Connie and the gamekeeper of the Chatterley grounds are particularly sympathetic characters. I feel nervous when they are tense, thrilled (mostly) when they make love, blithe when they enjoy one another's company simply. Oy, it's been too long since a book took me the way this one does. Some passages are so great that I make noises out loud that the neighbors probably smirk at. Still I can't stifle the sounds.

I hope you out there are well, too, Reader. Are you?

No Passengers.

My Famous Feet

This is my own snapshot, not Mary's. Hers are fantastic.

Photographs of my feet by Mary-Becker Weiss are available on greeting cards at Corniche in downtown Gardiner! When I went in it looked like my feet had momentarily sold out.

Also available at Corniche are some works by my good pal Robert Saunders, whose friendship, generosity, hospitality, art, and jazz collection have enriched my life over the past year. Robert will be a recurring character in blogs to come.

Swing into Corniche to see Robert and my feet!

How You Touch Her, Part II

Listening to a guitar is of course a purely auditory experience; watching a guitarist stimulates both your eyes and your ears. Playing the guitar adds pleasing tactile sensations, the satisfaction of musical progress, and the intrigue of communicating in a new tongue that is nonverbal like body language... and equally expressive.

Touch is a central pleasure of the guitar. Before you even pluck a string, you're taking something pretty onto your knee and putting your arms around her. That's a pretty good start, wouldn't you say?

The back of her neck is long, sleek, and smooth. If you run a hand up the fretboard lightly, you'll feel each of those metal inlays like rough bumps on a smooth road-like surface. Finally, as you begin to play, you're pinning taut wires to a hard surface with your fingers, vibrating them with the other hand until they ring pleasingly.

Even back when it used to hurt, back when I was a beginner, I loved how the wires resisted me, how they bit grooves into my skin. Slowly my fingertips hardened until I could play for hours without pain, and that was like losing some physical form of virginity. I had been initiated, I was entering another world!

Guitar continues to be a process of discovering limitations and working to push them farther out. Every time I sit down I confront myself, I struggle, and if I'm lucky that day, I overcome. Then I'm one tiny step closer to being able to express any musical idea that pops into my head; my hands are one notch closer to being "obedient."

It All Depends on How You Touch Her.

My amplifier now does nothing but hum when plugged in, and I can't afford to replace such an expensive piece of gear. So I'm an acoustic player by necessity for the time being: two hands and a heart and a pure love of sound! I've got everything I need.

The guitarists I look up to stand in agreement: the most important thing affecting the quality of sound from a guitarist is not his gear, but his touch. This is a comforting thought to those of us who can't afford professional-grade setups. Technique and artistic vision should form the core of any musician, and those two things can be exercised through any reliable instrument. I've got a certain degree of both qualities, or so I like to think, and they seem to feed one another. When I apply myself, I'm able to make one significant leap every day.


Tonight I sat and paid close attention to the fingertips of my left hand. I noticed that they were slightly out of sync with my right hand's plucking and strumming motions, which caused harshness of tone, and even some accidentally muted notes, during solos and melodic lines. I smoothed that out by painstakingly practicing a scale form until I had completely rebuilt my left hand's way of doing business. Then, as a new man, I used the scale to improvise. Breakthrough! I devised my first-ever melody that sounds upbeat and positive! It even sounds vaguely African in flavor ("African" is a major generalization; forgive me). Then, during a recorded improvisation, I developed more ideas based on those initial "hooks." I'm a happy fellow.

Do I still want good gear? You bet. Ideally, I'd acquire enough electronic devices to make listeners say "What is he doing, pleasuring a rhinoceros with a modified dentist's drill whilst turning cartwheels?!" I'd love to be creative that way. For now I can't afford to, but perhaps that's fortunate, maybe I'll grow as an artist first and then begin to incorporate my chosen noisemakers, fuzzblasters and crunchsplatters.

Again, though, the important question is how you choose to touch this lovely curvy thing that you wrap your arms around.

All else is secondary.

It all depends on how you touch her.

As I will consider publicly tomorrow, right here. Tune in by dialing http://tavernofsouls.blogspot.com

The Week in Review

My workplace has changed hands! The new owner's full of ideas and energy, so the place should grow.

This week I exchanged a few letters with penpals in Connecticut and Germany, learned five songs and sketched out the structure of a new song of my own. Its title is a phrase I've heard drivers scream repeatedly at the anonymous occupants of other cars. Surprisingly, the song is PG.

Finally, I started composing an ominous piece for bass clarinet, timpani, and bass voices. Closed out the week on Saturday night by playing for a crowd of friends and peers at the pub downtown. Dan stayed out both Friday and Saturday. Had a great time!

Tomorrow night I meet with a local guitarist, Tuesday with a banjo player. More writing and composing all week.

Today I began reading The Man Who Tasted Shapes by Richard E. Cytowic. It has wooed me, and a few fun little essays are forthcoming, so my next entry will be much less like buckshot. I promise.

Okay. Off to organize my next move; it's already past ten and there's much to do before bed!