o t h e r t i m e

Over the years I have tried to write some kind of artist’s statement. I’m not entirely sure why but this academic pursuit seems to be a really, really good idea. There’s something about writing down where you started, how you got to where you are and where you want to go from here. If I had written it ten years ago it would have been entirely different. It’s that realization in part that is motivating me to do it now. But the process has gotten away from me and it reads more like the skeleton of a memoir of my life with composing and playing music. I mention all of this here because it was my intent to write about my new guitar; the one I built.

Last night I took my studio time (still sans headphones) to sit and play. No direction or recording. No motive other than to run my fingers over the strings and enjoy whatever presented itself. Playing has always been a meditative practice for me. Nothing takes the edge off quite like an hour with my guitar. In times of crisis when I need to focus I head for my six string.

I sat and played for a bit. This new instrument has an amazing sound. It has a touch more high end than I’m used to but the bass still punches through (not bad for an OM style and I honestly think some of what I’m getting is from using strings I’ve never used before). The fretboard feels good. It’s wide, more like a classical guitar. There’s plenty of room between the strings for me to get some good tone (I’m a finger picker). I still can’t get over how good it feels. It has plenty of flaws and it isn’t very attractive. But there’s a beauty in its tone and imperfections that inspire me. That’s it more than anything, isn’t it? An instrument that inspires me to pick it up and play is worth one hundred times whatever a “perfect” instrument that sits in the corner costs. This instrument inspires me. Maybe it’s the who knows how many hours I spent on the slow and staggered construction during which I thought and learned. The guitar is the end product of one process and the beginning of another.

I’m not one to wax poetic over instruments (often) but my wife caught me saying things that would have gotten me slapped had I said them to another woman. I guess it’s harder to get upset over a piece of wood.

As I played I remember what it is that makes me such a horrible performer. Playing is a meditative process that I do for myself. I don’t like being watched, I guess. I wonder how someone who meditates or prays would feel about doing it for an audience. That sounds like hyperbole I’m sure, but it’s true. As a result of this practice I don’t much care for learning other people’s songs and I spend most of my time improvising or formalizing an improvisation. Some might call that songwriting but as a composer I feel like it’s more of an approximation than a composition. I mean, when I hand a piece of music to a performer I expect to get more or less what I gave them. In my case I sometimes write down a tuning and a tonal center and maybe a lick or two. Most times I can’t reproduce what I did without a recording but I don’t care so what does it matter?

The statement I’m working on (or through) reminds me of these things. I’m reliving a lot of what brought me to music and what it meant to me versus what it means to me today. There isn’t quite the gap I might have expected but the differences are stark, not subtle. I’ll likely post bits of it here as it develops.

And yeah, no music yet. Tonight I’ll have to really pull it together and get something down. Likely a quick jazz tune for a buddy of mine to record some vocals over. We’ll see how the new guitar does on a recording.