-Ellipsis-
02-20-2011, 04:01 AM
January 24th 2011. A Monday night at J's bar. The atmosphere is warm and embracing. It seems as though everyone is having a great night. Everyone is drinking, conversing, and laughing. I finish my scotch and tell my girlfriend Ashley to wish me luck. She says “just have fun baby.” I try to calm my shaky hands while I get up out of my chair. This nervousness strikes every time, but I know it will die as soon as I begin to play. I walk up to the stage while the host of open mic night introduces a guitar player named Benjamin. It feels good to be introduced on a stage, I think to myself, just don't **** up! I sit on the stool and clear my throat. My throat is still warm from the scotch, good. I look at Ashley with a nervous grin and pick up my ol' string box. We've seen a lot together. Performed a lot together. Made a lot beautiful music together. I love my ol' string box. With this beautiful instrument in my arms now and the scotch in my system, the feeling of comfort kicks in and I begin to play a quick blues scale to warm up. “This is a blues tune I wrote, called sixshooter. hope you enjoy.”
Music introduced its hypnotic tones of love to my ears at an early age. My sister played the keyboard, my dad would brush up on his guitar skills from time to time, and my brother played the guitar just about every single day of his teenage life. I have clear memories of my dad singing in the living room while playing the guitar. Clear memories of Beethoven's Fur Elise and Chopin's Nocturne playing from my sisters keyboard and loving the classical tone that these songs bestow. But most of all, clear memories of my brother Bobby sitting in our room strumming on his guitar. Memories of him walking home with a black guitar case from school every day, no matter how heavy and bulky it was. Memories of Led-Zeppelin, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Jimi Hendrix blasting through his boom box in our room. It was fun to watch him replicate the music that I thought only people on the radio could play.
Once when I was about six and he about six-teen, he brought home a guitar that he got for free from one of his friends. It was pink with black spots. It was ugly. He sanded it down and stripped it till it was its natural wood color. He worked on painting it for quite some time and even had one of his friends paint some flames on it. At the end of its transformation, it was black with white ghostly flames. I've never seen a guitar like that. “what do you think about it?” he asked. “I like it.” I replied. What he said next, I would have never expected, “you want it?” He had to be messing with me. “umm ok” I said, knowing well enough that he didn't mean it. He then handed me the guitar. At that point I realized he did mean it. There it was, my first guitar. He taught me my first song “wild thing” on this guitar. From there I knew that this was the start of a beautiful thing.
Through high school I played with many musicians and found a kinship with them. Practice at Kennys house on Monday, Chris' house on Tuesday, my house on Wednesday, and the cycle would start over on Thursday. When people were going to parties, we were practicing. When everybody was at the foot ball game, we were practicing. It became a family. Every person in the band had a significant role. The drums would carry the beat. The bass would provide the low undertone, the guitar would bring a passion, and the singer would belt a narrative. If one weren't there, the puzzle would be incomplete. In a band of four teenage guys, metal and rock was a must. The sound of the aggressive drums and guitars crashing through the speakers fed our angry adolescent minds. As we got better, we started to play for people, then more people, then talent shows. After each performance, a natural high would ensue. I became addicted. Music filled all void in my life.
With all eyes focused on me, I begin to play the first few notes of my up-beat acoustic song. ok, I haven't **** up yet, this is a good start. Now feeling more relaxed and at home, I allow the rhythm to consume me and start to tap my foot and move to the blues groove. Looking up I see others grooving along with me, I smile. Its a great feeling to see people enjoying music that you've created. Now I'll be the first to tell you that I have no great singing voice, but I can carry a tune that fits well with my music. The audience finds this out as I sing the first few lines “open mind with a cigarette, light a match as I place a bet, two hundred says you cant shoot me dead, cause I got a sixshooter pushed to your head.” I hear a hoot from a girl to my left, a pair of hands clapping to my right, another pair of hands start in on the clapping in the corner. The tapping of my foot turns into a stomping. I try to catch a glimpse of these people getting down with my music again but cant seem to focus on one person or one face any more. Im too concentrated on playing and singing. But I feel the energy of the room becoming one with the sound. As I reach the end of my song, I slow the tempo till the last beat. I hit the last chord and look to the crowd. I am met with a loud applause and smiling faces. A man in the back yells out “another one!” always leave em wanting more I say to myself and shake my head “thats all I got right now.” I tell the man “sorry.” My mind is ecstatic, my blood is racing, nirvana is instilled within me, but my exterior is calm and collected. It was a great performance and cant wait for the next.
Within ones self, there is an energy that illuminates and sculpts ones life. The energy within me was set a long time ago to a rhythm, a beat, a melody that expresses primarily through music a pure and unexplainable feeling of my nature. Nothing else can do that for me.
Music introduced its hypnotic tones of love to my ears at an early age. My sister played the keyboard, my dad would brush up on his guitar skills from time to time, and my brother played the guitar just about every single day of his teenage life. I have clear memories of my dad singing in the living room while playing the guitar. Clear memories of Beethoven's Fur Elise and Chopin's Nocturne playing from my sisters keyboard and loving the classical tone that these songs bestow. But most of all, clear memories of my brother Bobby sitting in our room strumming on his guitar. Memories of him walking home with a black guitar case from school every day, no matter how heavy and bulky it was. Memories of Led-Zeppelin, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Jimi Hendrix blasting through his boom box in our room. It was fun to watch him replicate the music that I thought only people on the radio could play.
Once when I was about six and he about six-teen, he brought home a guitar that he got for free from one of his friends. It was pink with black spots. It was ugly. He sanded it down and stripped it till it was its natural wood color. He worked on painting it for quite some time and even had one of his friends paint some flames on it. At the end of its transformation, it was black with white ghostly flames. I've never seen a guitar like that. “what do you think about it?” he asked. “I like it.” I replied. What he said next, I would have never expected, “you want it?” He had to be messing with me. “umm ok” I said, knowing well enough that he didn't mean it. He then handed me the guitar. At that point I realized he did mean it. There it was, my first guitar. He taught me my first song “wild thing” on this guitar. From there I knew that this was the start of a beautiful thing.
Through high school I played with many musicians and found a kinship with them. Practice at Kennys house on Monday, Chris' house on Tuesday, my house on Wednesday, and the cycle would start over on Thursday. When people were going to parties, we were practicing. When everybody was at the foot ball game, we were practicing. It became a family. Every person in the band had a significant role. The drums would carry the beat. The bass would provide the low undertone, the guitar would bring a passion, and the singer would belt a narrative. If one weren't there, the puzzle would be incomplete. In a band of four teenage guys, metal and rock was a must. The sound of the aggressive drums and guitars crashing through the speakers fed our angry adolescent minds. As we got better, we started to play for people, then more people, then talent shows. After each performance, a natural high would ensue. I became addicted. Music filled all void in my life.
With all eyes focused on me, I begin to play the first few notes of my up-beat acoustic song. ok, I haven't **** up yet, this is a good start. Now feeling more relaxed and at home, I allow the rhythm to consume me and start to tap my foot and move to the blues groove. Looking up I see others grooving along with me, I smile. Its a great feeling to see people enjoying music that you've created. Now I'll be the first to tell you that I have no great singing voice, but I can carry a tune that fits well with my music. The audience finds this out as I sing the first few lines “open mind with a cigarette, light a match as I place a bet, two hundred says you cant shoot me dead, cause I got a sixshooter pushed to your head.” I hear a hoot from a girl to my left, a pair of hands clapping to my right, another pair of hands start in on the clapping in the corner. The tapping of my foot turns into a stomping. I try to catch a glimpse of these people getting down with my music again but cant seem to focus on one person or one face any more. Im too concentrated on playing and singing. But I feel the energy of the room becoming one with the sound. As I reach the end of my song, I slow the tempo till the last beat. I hit the last chord and look to the crowd. I am met with a loud applause and smiling faces. A man in the back yells out “another one!” always leave em wanting more I say to myself and shake my head “thats all I got right now.” I tell the man “sorry.” My mind is ecstatic, my blood is racing, nirvana is instilled within me, but my exterior is calm and collected. It was a great performance and cant wait for the next.
Within ones self, there is an energy that illuminates and sculpts ones life. The energy within me was set a long time ago to a rhythm, a beat, a melody that expresses primarily through music a pure and unexplainable feeling of my nature. Nothing else can do that for me.