Morning Thoughts: February 2, 2018

 There is such beauty in works of art, one wonders why we concentrate so devotedly upon the mundane. I do it. We all do. Sometimes I leave the village, though, and it is a grand experience.

Consider the adagio movement to Mozart’s Serenade for 13 Winds. That’s the one the Salieri character in Amadeus describes as sounding like a “rusty squeeze box” at first, until the oboe and clarinet pierce the dimness. You won’t see a political candidate producing anything so ephemeral unless Abe Lincoln rises from the dead.

I’ve failed at the arts like I’ve failed at so many things, but I keep trying because the effort makes me smile and keeps me happy. I’m headed out this morning to see a dear friend name Mike Benetz to resume guitar lessons after a holiday break. I’m afraid I’m headed for rough seas.

My fingertips have lost their callouses from lack of practice.

My favorite guitar has the equivalent of a flat tire, i.e. a tuning peg gave up the ghost weeks ago.

I have the rhythmic capability of aging banker at Jimmy Buffett concert.

I haven’t practiced “Mike’s Misery” nearly to the extent that would allow advancement to a half-step closer to just below average.

What is Mike’s Misery, you might ask?

 

Notice: the bottom string is open and must
strike clear. Impossible? Quite.

It is a bar chord form, commonly called an A-shape. You don’t hear much about it because by the time beginners are ready for it, 90 percent of them have given up art and gone back their cell phones for joy and solace. It is, however, one of the basic building blocks of the guitar. During a PBS special this week, I noticed that Eric Clapton dotes on it.

In other words, you can’t live without it.

As you can see from the photograph, it requires a hand position that is literally impossible to make. The price for accomplishing it is ten years constant effort or the price of one’s soul. Take your pick.

I chose practice, for after a quick trip to the crossroad at Clarksdale, Mississippi, I found that my soul had not been rehabbed to the point of being valuable enough yet for the “A-shape.” I was offered a single-note version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and further negotiations proved fruitless.

My problem is that my dear friend Mike thinks that Mike’s Misery is the best thing that has happened to the guitar since The Wildwood Flower first aired. (He has even developed a version of that ditty that requires … you guessed it). Most of the time, nearly all the time, he is one of the kindest, gentlest, most sympathetic, and most wonderful people you could ever meet. But, the insertion of the A-shape into a tune still brings a Paganini-like gleam of devilment into his eyes.

That’s enough. Think I’ll go practice. I don’t want to experience that gleam today. There are things in life worth great effort, after all. Ask Mozart.

Seems easy to me. Ask Clapton.