With no intentions of ever playing for an audience, much less professionally, at the tender age of sixteen I took up classical guitar.
During my ensuing adulthood [while attending my son's childhood], I neglected my musical studies for several years. But once we’d made the transcontinental relocation in 2001, as I was unpacking [still, several months later] I unboxed all my sheet music,… and found my collection of J.S.Bach’s compositions for lute.
* rush of excitement *
I promptly dragged my Matsuoka [a real Ryoji Matsuoaka from 1971, not one of those later makes] from her case, tuned ‘er up, and worked on making my fingers remember how to move.
After a few minuets my left fingertips felt like raw hamburger — the calluses were long gone, years ago. Running scales and arpeggios for a couple of minutes a day, for a couple of weeks, gave me a fresh, new set of calluses. I was back in business, after a fashion.
But– oh, gods — the strings. The Mat definitely needed new strings. Argh.
It’s only within the past year or so that I’ve been able to practice guitar within earshot of the spouse, as I’m rather shy about my skills with the guitar. I’ve been forcing myself to ignore whether anyone else is in the house whenever I pick up the Mat or the spruce-top no-name.
And, not so long ago, I realized how playing for myself is akin to, uh, well, masturbation,…
… it’s something I do for my own pleasure — free of performance pressure or a need to satisfy anyone other than myself. And if anyone else witnesses it, they’re usually kind enough to be embarrassed for me.
Hence, it’s something best done in private behind closed doors — at least until I can improve my technique and cut down on the string noise.
- Ryl
p.s. Happy New Year!
