The Heart of My Guitar - Part 5: My First Gig

By the time I was fourteen, I had already formed my own band.  It consisted of three members: my friend Freddy, from Jr. High School, played bass.  My cousin Jack, Jr. played drums, and then, of course, there was me, on lead guitar.

In no time flat we had learned three songs.  The first song we learned was “Smoke on the Water” by Deep Purple.  It was the first rock song that I had learned how to play, so everyone else just went along.  Then we learned how to play “Get Ready,” as done by Rare Earth, (not the Temptations’ version).  We were feeling out our rock groove at that time.  Also, you didn’t need a lot of other musicians to actually play a real song when you played rock music.  The R&B tunes all seemed to have horns, strings,  keyboards, congas, vocal overdubs – way too many things that we didn’t have.  So, we played rock because it was easier (and because we really liked it).

I couldn’t figure out how to play any more popular songs that would sound okay with just bass and the drums.  We figured we needed to learn at least three songs so that we could play at our first gig.  Oh, I didn’t tell you - Freddy, our bass player, had somehow convinced someone at a neighborhood elementary school that he was in a band and that we would be happy to play at a fundraiser that the school was giving.

I was furious.  Nobody would want to hear a band play just two songs, right?  Of course not, that would be ridiculous – even if we did stretch each song out to last fifteen minutes each, including the ten-minute drum solo by Jack, Jr.  The fact was, we needed one more song.  I had announced that we were not ready to play out in public.  But Freddy and Jack, Jr. convinced me that everything would be fine if we just had one more song.  Those two were not going to let me talk them out of this big opportunity for us to jumpstart our careers.  Besides, we were gonna get paid!  Fifteen dollars wasn’t bad for a first gig, we had concluded.  Heck, that was five bucks apiece, and we would be getting some much needed exposure. The gig was coming up soon and our backs were against the wall, so I did the next best thing in finding us our third song.  I made one up.

I remember introducing my original song to the band. I couldn’t believe they actually liked that kooky thing.  Amazingly, it seemed like other people liked it, too.  Well, I just couldn’t believe it, so I chalked its popularity up to the fact that I was a young kid playing the guitar and that everybody thought it was cute that this youngster had written his own song.  My cousin seemed to like it the most.  It didn’t even have a name.  We just referred to as “the original tune.” I believe that if I asked Jack, Jr. today, he would tell me that he still likes that stupid song.  Unbelievable.

So, my big brother, who by that time had gotten his driver’s license, drove us to our gig at the elementary school.  We unloaded our gear from the back of Dad’s station wagon and set up inside what now seems to me like it might have been the cafeteria, only without all of the tables and chairs.  We played our three songs, saving “the original tune” for last.  A grateful throng of twenty or so little kids  and a handful of parents and teachers applauded as though we might turn out to be the next Jackson Five.  I was shocked.  They loved us! Or did they?  Were they just being polite because we were kids?  I was confused.  To me, we had always sounded like a young-kid-crap-group.  I think it was here, that my chronic perfectionism and live-performance anxiety all began. (More later on that). Nonetheless, it still felt pretty good to hear people clapping for us, even if it was just some little kids and their proud parents.

We collected our gear, received our five-dollar paydays, and proceeded to start planning out our future and how long it would take for us to make it to the big time.  A year, tops was what we had figured – unless we got a big break, that is. If you looked into our starry eyes, you would have seen that it would have only been a matter of months, before we would be on tv.

We soon realized that we needed something more to fill out the sound.   We had decided that we could never get anywhere unless we expanded the band.  We needed another instrument.  Thank God my brother had taken piano lessons when he was younger.  Already, things were falling together.

As my brother drove, Freddy and Jack, Jr. raved about our performance all the way home. We had urged my brother to be our new keyboardist.  By the time we reached the front door, my big brother had joined the band.  We were on our way! Now all we had to do was figure out how to find the money to buy a keyboard - and then hope that we could find some more songs that were easy enough for each of us to play.

G.

(This is the fifth installment of a continuing story).

The Heart of My Guitar - Part 4: Dream Guitar

My father had still been taking me to my guitar lessons with Mr. Hess, and according to him, I was learning at an incredibly rapid pace. In fact, the two of them had decided that I had finally reached the skill level that justified me being able to purchase an electric guitar.  The new ones at the Towson music store where Mr. Hess had taught were still too expensive for my father to afford. So, off we went to Highlandtown to a place on Eastern Avenue called Petro’s Music Store.  I had never been there before but somehow I just knew that there would be a used Fender Stratocaster there, just for me.

We entered the music shop to the sound of cowbells clanging against the back of the door. The place was dingy and dated. Musical instruments of every sort were crammed into every available space. There were no more than three customers inside at any one time during our entire visit.  Saxophones, harmonicas, bongos, tambourines, and banjos - these were just a few of the many instruments that cluttered Petro’s Music Store.  

You name it, Petro’s had it. It was like an indoor, musical flea market. 

We inched our way through the narrow aisles, my father stopping occasionally to marvel at some obscure instrument that neither of us had ever seen.  The elderly storeowner led the way, scooting his cat away from his more prized musical items. Eventually we reached the guitar section of the store.  It was slightly more organized and was a tad roomier.  My eyes sparkled at the sight of all those guitars. I thought to myself, “There’s got to be at least one Strat in here.” Sure enough, there it was - candy-apple red, two-toned sunburst, with maple fretboard, and it came with a hardshell case with the name “Fender” emblazoned across its body for all of my friends to see and envy. A large white paper tag dangled from one of the many knobs on my dream guitar.  In hand-written blue ink, it read:  SPECIAL! $150.00 (case included).

I watched my father take Mr. Petro aside, instructing me to look around and take in all there was to see.  I complied, scanning the many beautiful shapes and sizes of all the guitars. Red ones, black ones, white ones, blue ones – they all captivated me.  At that moment it seemed as though that dingy old store had magically transformed into a musical fantasyland.  It was as if the guitars had all come to life, like the way puppies in a pet shop window perk up when passersby stop and admire them. Each and every model seemed to have its own personality, its own spirit - its own heart.  But even as I took in the beauty and awe of such a collection, all the while I knew that there was only one guitar for me.  It was that candy-apple red, two-toned, sunburst Fender Stratocaster, with the hardshell case included - for one hundred and fifty dollars. When my father and Mr. Petro returned from their little chat, I crossed my fingers and awaited the verdict. After much coaxing by the gentle store owner, and more rationalizing by my father, I accepted the fact that I was not going to walk out of that store with my dream guitar.

  

“Take a look at this one, here,” the old man said.

He placed one spindly leg above the other and climbed onto a rickety step-stool, pulling down a well-used white, solid-body electric guitar. The neck looked like It had been hand-painted black, and there were some areas where the paint had chipped off.  Also, a thin layer of dust had gathered around the tuning keys at the top of the neck. The man peered over the top of his glasses, observing the brand name of the guitar.

“This is a very popular model in Europe, and it plays just as good as any one of those big name guitars you see in here.”

At first I did not believe him. But when he handed the guitar over to me, there was magic in his eyes. His passion was sincere, and there was no mistaking the fact that he loved those instruments. He passed the guitar to me the way a nurse hands over a newborn to its mother. At that moment, I claimed that old guitar to be mine. It bears the name “Hagstrom,” a name which, at the time had never been heard of by any of the musicians in my circle. I am now proud to say that I still own that guitar today, in spite of the occasional snickers and grins that I would get from my youthful friends.

I have since bought other fine guitars, including a Gibson Les Paul Standard, and a Takamine, classical electric, (currently my favorite). Although I now have the good fortune to afford a Fender Stratocaster, I have never purchased my dream guitar. I don’t know exactly why that dream has faded. Even more perplexing to me is the fact that I have not played my old Hagstrom in at least thirty years. But I do know this much - if my father were alive today, I would play that old guitar, and play it strong and proud – and I would play it just for him, and no one else.  That much, I do know.

G.

(This is the fourth installment of a continuing story).

Stevie Wonder - Birth of a Legend

Stevie Wonder is 61 years old today.  I am so grateful to be living during the time that he has been able to bless the world with his incredible talent.  He is quite simply a tremendous gift from God to us all. It is impossible to measure what his contribution to music has been, and continues to be. How does one even begin?  We all have a special Stevie Wonder place in our musical hearts, so I will simply allow each of you to reflect on what his music has meant to you individually.  I mean, really, what else can you do?

Anyway, check out this performance of Stevie playing what I believe is my favorite song (at this particular moment) by Stevie.  I say "at this particular moment" because if I wait another five minutes, I will recall a different favorite song, and then if I were to wait another five minutes, I will recall another favorite song, and so on.  That could literally go on for hours. Yeah, really! You try thinking of what your favorite Stevie Wonder song is and see what I mean!

    

And now, on with the quiz! No cheating! If you really know your Stevie, you should do pretty well on this without having to peek at the answere.  Good Luck!

1)         What is Stevie Wonder’s full birth name?

2)         Where was Stevie Wonder born?

3)         What is the name of Stevie Wonder’s first major hit?

Extra Credit:  How old was he when the song was recorded?

4)         This popular song is the only hit that Stevie made to ever reach number one on each of the following charts: The Billboard Hot 100, Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs, Adult Contemporary Music, and The UK Singles Chart. Name that tune.

            Hint: The answer is not “Superstition.”

5)         “Superstition” and “You are the Sunshine of My Life” were two number one hits that were released from the same album.  Name it.

            a) Talking Book

b) Innervisions

c) Songs in the Key of Life

Answers to the Trivia Quiz:

Okay, let's see how you did!


Ready?

1)        Stevie Wonder was born in Saginaw, Michigan

2)        Stevland Hardaway Judkins.  His name was later changed to Stevland Hardaway Morris, which is his legal name to this day.

3)        Wonder was 13 when the hit "Fingertips (Pt. 2)",  was released in 1963.  It was taken from the live album called Recorded Live: The 12 Year Old Genius.  Wonder played, bongos, and harmonica, while a young Marvin Gaye played drums.

4)        I Just Called to Say I Love You

5)       The answer is a), Talking Book. .  "Superstition" and "You Are the Sunshine of My Life," were both number one hits from this album which also features Jeff Beck, David Sanborn, and Ray Parker, Jr.

            Did you get’em all right? If so, congratulations!

The Heart of My Guitar - Part 3: Sunshine

The first song I learned to play on the guitar was “Sunshine,” by Jonathan Edwards.  It wasn’t exactly my idea of the kind of song that I had thought might make me the popular guy in school. I had hoped to learn something by George Benson, or Jimi Hendrix, or even something that was at least on the R&B charts.  My instructor, Mr. Hess had promised me that “Sunshine” was a big hit, and that learning to sing and play it (simultaneously) would be an invaluable skill for me down the road.  I had never once heard the blessed song on the radio, and I simply didn’t believe him.  But even though it was a song that I didn’t want to play, and surely did not want to sing, I had to admit that I was proud of the fact that after only one lesson, I could actually play it.  

One day, on the way home from my lesson, my father pushed one of the buttons on the car radio that had been preset to one of the local white stations, as he would sometimes do.  I had always liked the fact that he appreciated all kinds of music. Whether the artist was black or white never mattered to him.  He liked music that entertained him.  He loved the richness in Johnny Cash’s voice as he sang “A Boy Named Sue,” just as much as he loved the soul-stirring elegance of Dinah Washington’s “September in the Rain.” My father would enjoy any music in which the artist displayed quality and sincerity.  So when the familiar open-chord strumming of Jonathan Edwards’ “Sunshine” came through the single radio speaker on the dashboard of the station wagon, I was not surprised to see Dad happily tapping his fingers on the top of the stirring wheel as we cruised down York Road.

“Sunshine go away today, I don’t feel much like dancing … “

I visualized the fingering positions of the chords to the song that Mr. Hess had taught me.  After a silent debate with myself, I waited for the tune to end, and drew a deep breath and exhaled.

“I can play that song,” I muttered.

Just as I had figured, my father couldn’t wait to get me home and hear me play it. I, on the other hand, was not so anxious. This is because I had already evaluated the extent of my father’s musical capabilities, and I knew that the song would be unrecognizable to him unless I provided the melody and lyrics.  For me, singing out loud was, still is, and probably always will be a frightening proposition for me. My siblings would have had no mercy on me if they were to have ever heard me singing that song. But I wanted desperately for him to see that I could play it.

When we arrived at the house, I sheepishly retrieved my guitar from a closet in my room and took it out of the cardboard case.

“Okay, son.  Let’s hear what you got!”

Again, I took a deep breath.  My palms were suddenly cold and clammy. I ignored this and began to strum.  Three minutes later, I had finished playing the song in its entirety, having never uttered a single word of the lyrics. My father’s response was lukewarm.

“You’re getting pretty good there, kid. You need to sing along, though …”

To this day, I am still too shy to sing. It would not be until about thirty years later that I would realize and understand that my fear of singing had turned out to be the primary reason that I adopted the “finger-style” method of playing that I currently employ.  Instead of using a pick, I now use all of the fingers on my right hand to play, giving me the ability to simultaneously strum the chords, finger the melody, while thumbing the bass line to many classic songs that are conducive to this particular style of guitar playing.  I am by no means a master at this technique, but it brings me joy in knowing that I have achieved a respectable level of skill at it. Funny how life can bring you something good even when you think you’ve failed.  Guess it’s all in how you look at it.

G.
(This is the third installment of a continuing story.

This Week’s Notable Birthdays in Jazz and Popular Music History

05/01/1954 - Ray Parker Jr, Detroit Mich, R&B, funk, jazz, pop guitarist/vocalist (Ghostbusters)

05/03/1933 - James Brown, Godfather of Soul

So you think you know James Brown? Take the James Brown Trivia Quiz!  (Grab a pen and paper and write your answers down before scrolling to the bottom of the page so you that you don’t see the correct answers before you’ve finished).  Good luck!

1)      What was James Brown’s full name?

2)      We all know James Brown as the Godfather of Soul.  Name at least two other nicknames that he was known as during his career.

3)      Where was James Brown born?  Here’s three choices:

a) Fayetteville, N.C.,

b) Augusta, GA.,  

C) Barnwell, S.C.

4)  In 1965, James Brown released two records, both of which marked the first of his many hits to reach #1 on the R&B charts.  Name these two hits.

5) James was extremely involved in social activism for civil rights. The day following the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., Brown’s status was so dominant that he gave a live television performance of a concert that was rebroadcast multiple times on that day. The mayor of the city had arranged for the rebroadcasts so that people would stay inside to watch the concert for free, rather than contribute further to the heat of the riots that were rampant at that time.  In what northeast U.S. city did Brown give this performance?

Bonus Question – “It Takes Two” is a song performed by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock that has had mass popularity ever since the day it was released.  It was also created by “sampling”  a popular hit that was produced by James Brown in 1972, and features one of his female vocalists who sings the main chorus, “It takes two to make a thing go right …“

Name the original song and the vocalist who sang it.

05/04/1916 - Maurice "Moe" Purtill, jazz drummer –Glenn Miller Orchestra

05/04/1928 - Maynard Ferguson, Verdun Quebec, jazz trumpeter

05/04/1938 - Tyrone Davis, US R&B singer (Turn Back the Hands of Time)

05/04/1942 - Nickolas Ashford, Fairfield County, S.C., singer (Ashford and Simpson - Solid as a Rock)

05/05/1934 - Johnnie Taylor, Crawfordsville, Arkansas – R&B, blues, soul, gospel singer (Who’s Making Love)

05/06/1921 - Freddy Randall, English jazz trumpeter

05/07/1939 - Jimmy Ruffin, Collinsville, Mississippi - vocalist (What Becomes of the Broken Hearted)

Trivia Answers:

1)      James Joseph Brown, Jr.

2)       Soul Brother #1, The Hardest Working Man in Show Business, and the King of Soul.  He was also referred to as Mr. Dynamite, and Mr. Please, Please, Please, Himself.

3)      The correct answer is “C” - Barnwell, South Carolina

4)      Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag / I Got You (I Feel Good)

5)      Boston, Mass. 

Answer to the bonus question: The name of the song is “Think (About It)” and features the late female vocalist, Lyn Collins.

The Heart of My Guitar - Part 2: Hole in My Heart

Mr. Hess greeted my father as though they had been friends for years. They shook hands and immediately turned all of their attention to deciding what type of guitar would be best for a twelve year-old boy who, in my father’s eyes, would likely be throwing his hard-earned money away on yet another childish whim, to be abandoned in a matter of weeks.  Even at that young age, I was determined to prove him wrong.

There must have been at least a hundred guitars there. The prices ranged anywhere from forty dollars to four hundred dollars.  Some cost even more. Before I could even begin dreaming of which of the fancy electric guitars I would settle for, I was immediately escorted to the section of the store that contained the guitars with the hole in the middle.  My father was elated to hear Mr. Hess affirm that the fancy guitars were not appropriate for me as a beginner, and that I should upgrade only when my skill level had sufficiently increased. After an in-depth inspection of the size of my hands by Mr. Hess, and a thorough interrogation from my father as to the quality and value of the instrument, they settled on an ordinary-looking undersized, folk guitar that they had agreed was just right for me.  Final cost after taxes, and including the flimsy, cardboard case: approximately forty-two dollars.

Mr. Hess pulled the guitar down from the hanger, gave it a quick tuning and had me assume a playing position, placing the guitar on my knee. He confirmed that the guitar was the proper fit. It felt awkward and unnatural in my hands but I was anxious to learn to play it. Mr. Hess then pulled a tiny, triangular piece of plastic from his pocket that had the name “Fender” stamped on it. 

“Hold the guitar pick like this. Now bring your other hand up here on the neck of the guitar and press your finger right here on this string.” 

My father watched this process intently, making certain there was no insincerity in my desire to go through with this business of learning to play the guitar.  At the same time, he was admiring the intricacy involved in getting the thing to produce a sound.  I struggled to press the thin wire down without touching the other strings, as my teacher had instructed.  It seemed impossible to do at first, and the tip of my finger smarted from all the effort.

“Now, use the pick to strum the bottom three strings.”  

I positioned my pick so as to be sure that I would only strum the strings that I was told to play. The three notes rang out in clear unison, and I immediately recognized the three-part harmony.

“That was great Gerald! You just played your first C major chord.”

My father’s eyes widened with enthusiasm.  

“What do you think, son? Do you like it?”

At first I didn’t like it. I wanted a cool guitar – a red one with knobs on it and a “whammy bar.” Mine was the cheapest guitar in the store.  It wasn’t electric, like I had hoped for. It had a hole in it.  I don’t even think it had a brand name.  But there was something about that experience with my father that brought a joy to him unlike any that I had ever seen. I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was from the heart, and that made me feel special. Later it all became clear to me. He had known that the guitar he had bought for me was not the one that I had wanted.  But it was the only one that he could afford. He had done his best to make me happy. That alone had made me happy.  He had bought me a guitar, and it was brand new, with its own case - and it was mine.  And by the time he pulled the station wagon in front of our northeast Baltimore rowhouse, I didn’t just like my new guitar, I loved it.
G.
(This is the second installment of a continuing story).