It’s amazing how one small incident can trigger a flood of thoughts and memories.
I remember hearing Charlie Daniels playing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” for the first time. Even being a viola player I had a hard time understanding how to play it. At my best I could only manage to play about 85 percent of it and then not quite up to speed. I gave it up as being too complicated and moved on to other things. Later I would understand that, as a whole, it IS complicated but the components are not. Mind bending, ear scorching guitar solos by the likes of Eddie Van Halen, Jimi Hendrix and others also fall into that category (I must admit that some Hendrix solos are complicated at both ends and defy reproduction).
Last weekend at one point or another we got to watch all five grandkids. I love my grandkids even though they sometimes give my mind purpose to think up new and unusual uses for duct tape and Velcro. They sometimes also make me stop and look at things a little or even a lot differently.
I have never put my instruments “away” or out of reach because of the kids. As long as I am present they may handle and or play pretty much whatever they see in my practice area. Last weekend Carter and Isaac followed me downstairs and instead of playing themselves, they insisted that I play and sing for them. I balked at first but they persisted so I pulled out an acoustic and played a rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” that I used to play for my daughter Erin when she was little, just chords with an occasional simple embellishment and voice. Simple and plain, what I know best. The kids smiled and danced and clapped and then said “We don’t know that song”.
“Well” I asked “What song do you know?” Carter met my question with “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and Isaac said “Yeah” sounding very disturbingly like Tommy Chong. I did not know how to play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” I learned, on the fly. I have seen a lot of things during my time on this earth, but the head banging, air guitar shredding, mosh pit inducing impact that “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” had on those two was indescribable. For a fleeting moment, I had achieved rock star status, chords and voice, nada mas. We then looked through my song book, played some Van Morrison, Skynyrd and Green Day but none had the impact of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
I got to thinking about my grandmother. My grandmother played the piano. She was not a concert pianist. She played simply with feeling mostly for Sunday-School and family but always for fun. Much later I would realize that she played a honky-tonk style that would have complimented Skynyrd or the early Rolling Stones nicely. I regret not paying more attention and learning something. I also remember asking her to play and sing for me. She always did. In those moments, and many others, she was a rock star too.
Rethinking those blazing, speed demon, off the hook solos it occurs to me that it wasn’t those solos that made me want to pick up the guitar. The opening hook of “Sweet Home Alabama” and the run at the beginning of “The Weight” sealed that deal. Throw in licks by BB King, Eric Clapton, Carlos Santana and top them off with the heart stopping Leslie West rendering of “Blowing in the Wind” and you have my complete argument for slow and simple.
I’ll never be a rock star, at least outside of my basement, but if you sneak by my house on any given day you may hear me rocking “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” or maybe even “Itsy Bitsy Spider” thanks to Carter and Isaac who rekindled my desire to revisit and appreciate the slow and simple. It is, after all, what I do best.
So Hey! Listen up, try it using someone else’s ears, you might be surprised what THEY hear.
