A few years back while serving coffee at Pappy's, I heard a unique sound. Eric Paridine was all alone on stage playing some blues for us on his Fender Strat. It was a busy night and I hadn't been paying much attention to what Eric was doing, but all of a sudden something was different... someone was wailing on a sax. Turning to see who Eric had invited up on stage, I became a bit confused. There was only Eric. He had that 'lost in the musical moment' look on his face and he was leaning back like a jazz sax player, but he was playing his Strat. At the end of his set, I went to the stage to see just how it was that he could play jazz sax on a Fender Strat. He showed me his Roland Ready Strat which was plugged into a Roland Guitar Synth. At the end of the night while the kids were cleaning up, I asked Eric if I could try his setup out. He humored me and plugged everything back in and set the Synth on sax for me. The sound was cool but it definitely didn't sound like what Eric had played earlier. After a few minutes I handed the guitar back to him and said, "Okay, so what's the trick to make it really sound like a sax?"
As he began to unplug things again, he said, "The trick is to think sax."
Since then I have had opportunity to try out the Roland Guitar Synth a few times. Once on one of Eric's return visits to the coffeehouse and a few months ago at a Guitar Center. Two weeks ago I walked into B&B Music in Camden, DE and asked the gentleman behind the counter if they had one. His answer was "Yes," and we walked to the other end of the store where the guitar effects pedals were on display. I soon found myself sitting there with the only Roland Ready Strat and the only Roland GR-20 B&B had in the store. Remembering what Eric had said a few years back, "The trick is to think sax," I set the Synth up for sax. Beginning to play I thought things like, 'A sax player can only play one note at a time... A sax player can start a note softly and increase volume as he holds the note'... and so went my thought process. After a bit of playing around with the pedals and generally 'thinking sax,' the sound I was getting was starting to sound like a real sax! A little while later while still sitting there playing around with some other settings, I stumbled onto a xylophone setting. While playing a three octave run in C, a lady who was looking around the store walked up to me and asked, "Did all that sound come out of that guitar?"
"Yes, out of the guitar by way of the synthesizer."
I asked the salesman whether or not the Roland GR-20 came with a pickup that could be attached to my Samick Royale RL-3. A bit of digging through the box produced a mounting bracket that is perfect for mounting the pickup to the Les Paul style bridge that is standard on the Samick.
After a futile attempt to wrangle a discount because the demo model was the only one they had, I said, "I'll take it." We boxed it up and the salesman threw in a couple of 15' patch cables at half price. I was off with an exciting new toy. By the way, their list was only $5.00 more than the best online price I found, and I got to play it before I bought it.
Back home, it took me a couple of hours to carefully and meticulously mount the pickup exactly as specified in the manual. It could have been done in less than an hour, but my Samick is mint, so it was done very carefully.
I felt like a kid with a new toy. Heck, I am a kid with a new toy! This thing is so much fun! People are constantly asking me can it do this or that. After a little fooling around with the settings, the answer is usually, "Yes!"
If you are looking for another toy for your guitar to play with, try the Roland GR-20. It's fun, and isn't that why they call it 'playing' music? Oh, and if you are in Camden, DE check out B&B Music. All in all, it was a good buying experience.
To the folks at B&B, maybe you should jack up your price another $5.00 so you can give a discount and make us feel better.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Meet my friend Eric Paridine
Some weeks ago at Peaburry Cafés' Wednesday night 'Open Mike,' I sat down with Eric Paridine to do an interview for www.PappyYates.com. What Eric had to say about his music and music in general was enlightening. In order to do justice to that interview I will be posting parts of it as blog entries here and soon there will be a page on www.PappyYates.com dedicated to Eric's music. For now, read the following and start getting to know my friend Eric Paridine just a little.
"Eric," how long have you been performing?"
"My first 'show' was around 1965... high school senior year. I had a crush on Fran... and I had been playing without really learning much for a year or so. Therefore, let's say I've been playing since 1964, most of which time I had no idea what I was doing. For example, I played whatever guitar I had 'as is.' I had no notion of how to set up a guitar or even that mine needed to be set up – which it surely did! That first 'show" was in high school. With the 'British invasion' somebody had the idea to put on a talent show. Most of the acts lip synced to the hits of the day. My band decided to play Jimmy Reed's "You Got Me Running." Straight up twelve bar blues... though I didn't know that at the time. How did I ever come up with Jimmy Reed? Somehow, browsing (pre-computer browsing meant going through the racks at the local record shop until I found something that caught my attention) at my local record shop I found both Jimmy Reed and John Lee Hooker. The Jimmy Reed record was amazing. The recording session transposed to record everything intact. The chatter between musicians, the recording engineer and Jimmy directing the whole affair. I still can't figure out how anyone understood what he was saying, but these guys all started and stopped on a dime.
I did some basement parties. And then I got hooked up with a band that was much older than me. Playing bars etc... though I never did enjoy alcohol or smoking. We played Ventures, Beetles, Beach Boys, everything without any real context, just disconnected tunes... one after another. I starved in New York's Greenwich VIllage… I played the Cafe Wha, Night Owl, Cock and Bull, Purple Onion. They were 'heady' days, but still very disconnected from any self directed purpose. I played through college with a couple of bands... met people I still know, got passed up for Viet Nam, started working for an airline and stopped playing.
Anyway, I started playing a long time ago, but I stopped playing in the seventies. I ran out of inspiration. Still, I hadn't found the acoustic guitar. Everything was basically electric… all about Hendrix et al… all about trying to write pop music hit tunes. It just sort of spent itself out after a very short time. And there were no community players to keep me going, to keep me psyched. That would change in the late 90's.
About 1997, a friend from work (nothing to do with music) dared me to go to an 'open mike.' I hadn't played out in nearly 20 years. Hadn't really played much at all. But I took the dare. I totally destroyed "Beyond the Sea" on a twelve string Martin set up with six strings. But I was drawn to these singer- songwriters... folk pickers, Travis slickers.
Then I found alternate tunings. Alternate tunings have been the door to this phase of my playing guitar. A whole new world of music was opening before me. DADGAD became my tuning of choice. I didn't know chords or scales in standard and I certainly didn't know them in DADGAD. I had to relearn playing the guitar. I started writing songs, lots of songs. Eventually after a couple of years, I started playing only acoustic guitar. The strats and tele's were left sitting in their cases. Today, some thirty years after I started playing and performing I think I'm just beginning to get it. It's all about the song and playing the instrument and for getting the song out to the audience."
Subscribe to this blog to find out more about Eric in the weeks and months to come.
Monday, November 26, 2007
A Meal at Judy's Java & Fire House Cafe
So, just how good is the food at Judy's Java?
As promised, though it took a bit longer than I anticipated, I went back to Judy's Java for another 'open mike.' This time I got there early and stayed late. This time I had dinner there.
On the way from the parking lot, I encountered a man carrying a banjo case. Standing just inside the door was another fellow with a double base and another with a guitar. 'Bluegrass' I thought as I headed for the coffee bar, a little excited.
I decided to keep my dinner on the light side so I could try a dessert and another sampling of the excellent coffee offerings. For my first, but certainly not my last, meal at Judy's Java I thought soup and a sandwich was in order. So, I asked Ian at the counter what was on for soup. His reply brought a smile to my face. "Home made chicken noodle and homemade split pea with ham."
'On a chilly evening there is nothing like a bowl of piping hot split pea soup,' I thought. "I'll have a bowl of the split pea and a ham & cheese sandwich." Ian then offered me some choices of breads and cheeses. "Okay then, ham and provolone on rye with lettuce, tomato and mayo. Oh, and an iced tea."
"Anything else you would like?" he asked, documenting my order.
"That's fine for now." I replied, knowing that I intended to order dessert and coffee later on.
"Have a seat. We'll bring it to your table." So I spotted a comfortable stuffed chair close to the front, sat down with my iced tea and awaited my meal and the music.
To my left and back a little way, there was a young man dressed in an outfit made entirely of American flags. 'A bit odd if he isn't here to perform.' I thought. On second thought, 'a bit odd even if he is.' Rick Rogers announced the first participant, "The Lyrical Technician." No surprise . . . the young patriot stood and walked to the front. Rap, as near as I could tell, Christian rap. Not being a great fan of rap of any kind, it is difficult to comment other than I have to admire his style. Then Rick did a few songs. A nice smooth voice, really easy to listen to.
My dinner arrived with a smile. The split pea soup was thick, rich and piping hot; the sandwich was exactly what I had ordered. Next up, "Chain Reaction," banjo, guitar, mandolin and double base. Some really fine traditional bluegrass pickin' and singin'. These guys could play a whole evening and I'd sit right there and clap my hands and tap my toes to the music. If you're in the Elkton, MD area and want some bluegrass for an event, look these guys up.
Ian McCammont still sounds angry when he sings, but this being my second time hearing him, I think I am developing an appreciation for his style. Besides, when he is working behind the counter he doesn't sound angry. Quite the contrary, he seems to genuinely enjoy waiting on the clientele at Judy's Java.
Some time during Ian's set I decided it was time for dessert. There were too many choices in the dessert case, so I asked Kathy to tell me about them. She had just started the recitation when I heard "Bread pudding."
Interrupting her I said, "Bread pudding... bread pudding and a double shot of espresso."
"Would you like the pudding hot?" She asked.
"Yes ma'am, please."
"I'll bring it right out."
In a few minutes she was at my table with a serving of hot bread pudding with whipped cream and a perfect looking double espresso. A bite and a sip were all it took to know that I was going to enjoy my desert.
Leif Poland stopped in for a bite to eat and a coffee on his way from Minnesota to Florida, (by way of Elkton?) He borrowed a guitar and played a few songs. Leif was obviously no stranger to playing on stage, though he said that it had been a few years.
Then there was Tasha Blevins. She accompanied Ian on a couple of songs with her violin. There was something about her music that stirred me. There are untold numbers of good musicians in this world but every now and then you get to see and hear a musician play who is so much at one with his or her instrument that you can't tell where fingers end and strings begin. When music flows like water in a stream and as naturally, it's like walking for us mere musicians.
I found out later in the evening that Tasha teaches the violin, and I wondered to myself whether or not one could be taught to play and feel the music like that. I have to refer back to a previous blog entry, "Talent on Loan from God." There is talent - natural abilities that some of us are just born with. There are gifts - that come from our Creator. And there is skill - that comes with hours of practice and determination. Then there are the very few like Tasha, who take their natural talents and the gifts that God has given them and put in the hours of practice to be able to play music that moves people. So what is this young lady doing serving coffee? I do not know, but I hope to hear her play her violin again.
There is something about a real coffeehouse that is familiar and comfortable. Judy's Java and Firehouse Cafe is a real coffeehouse. Stop by for some good music, great coffee, and a tasty bite to eat on a Friday night. You won't be disappointed.
As promised, though it took a bit longer than I anticipated, I went back to Judy's Java for another 'open mike.' This time I got there early and stayed late. This time I had dinner there.
On the way from the parking lot, I encountered a man carrying a banjo case. Standing just inside the door was another fellow with a double base and another with a guitar. 'Bluegrass' I thought as I headed for the coffee bar, a little excited.
I decided to keep my dinner on the light side so I could try a dessert and another sampling of the excellent coffee offerings. For my first, but certainly not my last, meal at Judy's Java I thought soup and a sandwich was in order. So, I asked Ian at the counter what was on for soup. His reply brought a smile to my face. "Home made chicken noodle and homemade split pea with ham."
'On a chilly evening there is nothing like a bowl of piping hot split pea soup,' I thought. "I'll have a bowl of the split pea and a ham & cheese sandwich." Ian then offered me some choices of breads and cheeses. "Okay then, ham and provolone on rye with lettuce, tomato and mayo. Oh, and an iced tea."
"Anything else you would like?" he asked, documenting my order.
"That's fine for now." I replied, knowing that I intended to order dessert and coffee later on.
"Have a seat. We'll bring it to your table." So I spotted a comfortable stuffed chair close to the front, sat down with my iced tea and awaited my meal and the music.
To my left and back a little way, there was a young man dressed in an outfit made entirely of American flags. 'A bit odd if he isn't here to perform.' I thought. On second thought, 'a bit odd even if he is.' Rick Rogers announced the first participant, "The Lyrical Technician." No surprise . . . the young patriot stood and walked to the front. Rap, as near as I could tell, Christian rap. Not being a great fan of rap of any kind, it is difficult to comment other than I have to admire his style. Then Rick did a few songs. A nice smooth voice, really easy to listen to.
My dinner arrived with a smile. The split pea soup was thick, rich and piping hot; the sandwich was exactly what I had ordered. Next up, "Chain Reaction," banjo, guitar, mandolin and double base. Some really fine traditional bluegrass pickin' and singin'. These guys could play a whole evening and I'd sit right there and clap my hands and tap my toes to the music. If you're in the Elkton, MD area and want some bluegrass for an event, look these guys up.
Ian McCammont still sounds angry when he sings, but this being my second time hearing him, I think I am developing an appreciation for his style. Besides, when he is working behind the counter he doesn't sound angry. Quite the contrary, he seems to genuinely enjoy waiting on the clientele at Judy's Java.
Some time during Ian's set I decided it was time for dessert. There were too many choices in the dessert case, so I asked Kathy to tell me about them. She had just started the recitation when I heard "Bread pudding."
Interrupting her I said, "Bread pudding... bread pudding and a double shot of espresso."
"Would you like the pudding hot?" She asked.
"Yes ma'am, please."
"I'll bring it right out."
In a few minutes she was at my table with a serving of hot bread pudding with whipped cream and a perfect looking double espresso. A bite and a sip were all it took to know that I was going to enjoy my desert.
Leif Poland stopped in for a bite to eat and a coffee on his way from Minnesota to Florida, (by way of Elkton?) He borrowed a guitar and played a few songs. Leif was obviously no stranger to playing on stage, though he said that it had been a few years.
Then there was Tasha Blevins. She accompanied Ian on a couple of songs with her violin. There was something about her music that stirred me. There are untold numbers of good musicians in this world but every now and then you get to see and hear a musician play who is so much at one with his or her instrument that you can't tell where fingers end and strings begin. When music flows like water in a stream and as naturally, it's like walking for us mere musicians.
I found out later in the evening that Tasha teaches the violin, and I wondered to myself whether or not one could be taught to play and feel the music like that. I have to refer back to a previous blog entry, "Talent on Loan from God." There is talent - natural abilities that some of us are just born with. There are gifts - that come from our Creator. And there is skill - that comes with hours of practice and determination. Then there are the very few like Tasha, who take their natural talents and the gifts that God has given them and put in the hours of practice to be able to play music that moves people. So what is this young lady doing serving coffee? I do not know, but I hope to hear her play her violin again.
There is something about a real coffeehouse that is familiar and comfortable. Judy's Java and Firehouse Cafe is a real coffeehouse. Stop by for some good music, great coffee, and a tasty bite to eat on a Friday night. You won't be disappointed.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Check out Landing Lane
I received an email from my sister. The short version is: "I was asked to go and hear this Christian rock band play, but I will be out of town. Would you go?"
My first thought was about the use of the word "rock" to describe a Christian band. (That will be an entirely different blog for a different time.) My second thought was, "But I was planning to go to the open mike at Judy's Java in Elkton on Friday night." My third thought and thankfully the one I listened to was, "Barb doesn't usually ask me for anything unless it is important to her."
Did you ever go some place or do something fully expecting not to have a good time, but you went anyway because it was important to someone else? Well, that was my mind-set when I walked into the Landing Lane concert on Friday night November 9th. The show had already started; I had dragged my feet getting there. The crowd was small and not very lively, but as I sat and listened to the music and the lyrics I realized that the music I was hearing was not what I had heard the night before on their website. What I was hearing now was hard driving yet enjoyable music being played and sung by a band that had obviously spent many hours playing together. I was stunned when they commented that the drummer had only been with the band for six weeks.
A good description of Landing Lane's music would surely have to include the word 'rock.' However, there are other words that must be used. Two that come to mind are 'praise' and 'worship,' but the first word that I would have to use in describing the music of Landing Lane is 'Christian.' That is to say that the music was not in any way offensive and the lyrics were unapologetically all about Jesus Christ.
I am no music critic... Well, then again I guess we all are. We all make a choice as to whether or not we will buy another CD or go to a concert to hear a band play again and so on. So, I will offer my opinion here on the Landing Lane concert that I attended on Friday night:
First of all let me say, when I have the opportunity to go to another Landing Lane concert I will! As I have already stated, these guys are first and foremost a Christian band. The fact that at this particular concert they performed original music almost exclusively was and is a double-edged sword for them. While it is great that they have enough original stuff to do an entire concert, in my opinion a band that doesn't yet have a following should do enough covers during a concert to get some audience participation. The one cover song they did "You've Got to Serve Somebody," by Bob Dylan was done quite well, but 80% of the audience there on Friday night weren't even born yet when Dylan recorded it. The fast 'rock' songs that they played made me want to move with the music, but due to the fact that the band had no sound engineer with them, it was a bit of a strain to make out all the lyrics. By the same token, with the slower songs it was easy to hear the powerful lyrics, but Dave did some of them alone without the benefit of Tim, Patrick and Kirby playing behind him. I think they would have had more impact had the whole band played them acoustically.
If you get a chance to go and hear Landing Lane, GO! Clap your hands, jump up and down and praise God to some good 'Christian Rock' music. You will have a great time and so will they.
Guys, keep doing what you are doing!
My first thought was about the use of the word "rock" to describe a Christian band. (That will be an entirely different blog for a different time.) My second thought was, "But I was planning to go to the open mike at Judy's Java in Elkton on Friday night." My third thought and thankfully the one I listened to was, "Barb doesn't usually ask me for anything unless it is important to her."
Did you ever go some place or do something fully expecting not to have a good time, but you went anyway because it was important to someone else? Well, that was my mind-set when I walked into the Landing Lane concert on Friday night November 9th. The show had already started; I had dragged my feet getting there. The crowd was small and not very lively, but as I sat and listened to the music and the lyrics I realized that the music I was hearing was not what I had heard the night before on their website. What I was hearing now was hard driving yet enjoyable music being played and sung by a band that had obviously spent many hours playing together. I was stunned when they commented that the drummer had only been with the band for six weeks.
A good description of Landing Lane's music would surely have to include the word 'rock.' However, there are other words that must be used. Two that come to mind are 'praise' and 'worship,' but the first word that I would have to use in describing the music of Landing Lane is 'Christian.' That is to say that the music was not in any way offensive and the lyrics were unapologetically all about Jesus Christ.
I am no music critic... Well, then again I guess we all are. We all make a choice as to whether or not we will buy another CD or go to a concert to hear a band play again and so on. So, I will offer my opinion here on the Landing Lane concert that I attended on Friday night:
First of all let me say, when I have the opportunity to go to another Landing Lane concert I will! As I have already stated, these guys are first and foremost a Christian band. The fact that at this particular concert they performed original music almost exclusively was and is a double-edged sword for them. While it is great that they have enough original stuff to do an entire concert, in my opinion a band that doesn't yet have a following should do enough covers during a concert to get some audience participation. The one cover song they did "You've Got to Serve Somebody," by Bob Dylan was done quite well, but 80% of the audience there on Friday night weren't even born yet when Dylan recorded it. The fast 'rock' songs that they played made me want to move with the music, but due to the fact that the band had no sound engineer with them, it was a bit of a strain to make out all the lyrics. By the same token, with the slower songs it was easy to hear the powerful lyrics, but Dave did some of them alone without the benefit of Tim, Patrick and Kirby playing behind him. I think they would have had more impact had the whole band played them acoustically.
If you get a chance to go and hear Landing Lane, GO! Clap your hands, jump up and down and praise God to some good 'Christian Rock' music. You will have a great time and so will they.
Guys, keep doing what you are doing!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Open Mike at Judy's Java & Fire House Cafe
A truly cultural experience . . .
Passing by the large front windows that used to be the bay doors of the old firehouse at 215 North Street in Elkton, Maryland I could see that the place was full. From here with the door closed, passersby could hear a gravelly almost angry sounding voice of a young man with a blue guitar. The patrons were listening intently. There really wasn't much choice. Ian McCamant was just a tad on the loud side.
"Medium cappuccino with a shot of amaretto and double shot of espresso." The young lady behind the counter leaned forward to indicate that she needed to have the order repeated. I did so and she went right to work on the concoction.
Smiling, leaning over the counter again, she said, "You can have a seat if you like, I will bring it out to you."
A quick scan of the room revealed four empty seats in the house. Three at a table near the front and way too near the speakers of the small PA system, one lone chair at a small round table all the way at the other end near the exit. 'A good spot.' I thought.
My cappuccino, (a true work of art that tasted as good as it looked) arrived and was presented with another smile.
Ian (who, by the way, would have been pleasurable to listen to had the volume been a bit lower) finished his set and the host, Rick Rogers introduced another young man, in a tux, named Luke Arbuckle. Rick announced that Luke would be making his public guitar debut with a rendition of Ludwig Van Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. After getting settled and plugging in his Epiphone ES-335, he began to play softly and a bit timidly at first. All talking ceased. Everyone listened intently. The performance was not flawless, but it was breathtaking. The applause when he finished indicated that almost all present were of that same opinion.
Luke was followed by Box Turtle Bob. Now, this was typical coffeehouse, open mike music. Bob's guitar style was unique to say the least but enjoyable. Not everyone listened. Some did, some talked, some laughed, some walked outside to enjoy the evening air and a smoke. Bob said that he would be back next week. I too will come back again. I may even bring my guitar.
A final note: If you are a patron and you enjoy this sort of venue, be a patron and spend a little. Nothing is free and you don't find a place like this every day. A quick look around at the tables on Friday night told me that even though a good time was had by all, the proprietor Kathy Wareham could barely have paid the light bill and the excellent help with the proceeds from the 6:30 to 8:30 open mike spot. A real shame because the coffee, tea and the service were great. The next time there, I will have a meal. Check back in a few weeks for an honest opinion of that meal at Judy's Java & Fire House Cafe.
Passing by the large front windows that used to be the bay doors of the old firehouse at 215 North Street in Elkton, Maryland I could see that the place was full. From here with the door closed, passersby could hear a gravelly almost angry sounding voice of a young man with a blue guitar. The patrons were listening intently. There really wasn't much choice. Ian McCamant was just a tad on the loud side.
"Medium cappuccino with a shot of amaretto and double shot of espresso." The young lady behind the counter leaned forward to indicate that she needed to have the order repeated. I did so and she went right to work on the concoction.
Smiling, leaning over the counter again, she said, "You can have a seat if you like, I will bring it out to you."
A quick scan of the room revealed four empty seats in the house. Three at a table near the front and way too near the speakers of the small PA system, one lone chair at a small round table all the way at the other end near the exit. 'A good spot.' I thought.
My cappuccino, (a true work of art that tasted as good as it looked) arrived and was presented with another smile.
Ian (who, by the way, would have been pleasurable to listen to had the volume been a bit lower) finished his set and the host, Rick Rogers introduced another young man, in a tux, named Luke Arbuckle. Rick announced that Luke would be making his public guitar debut with a rendition of Ludwig Van Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. After getting settled and plugging in his Epiphone ES-335, he began to play softly and a bit timidly at first. All talking ceased. Everyone listened intently. The performance was not flawless, but it was breathtaking. The applause when he finished indicated that almost all present were of that same opinion.
Luke was followed by Box Turtle Bob. Now, this was typical coffeehouse, open mike music. Bob's guitar style was unique to say the least but enjoyable. Not everyone listened. Some did, some talked, some laughed, some walked outside to enjoy the evening air and a smoke. Bob said that he would be back next week. I too will come back again. I may even bring my guitar.
A final note: If you are a patron and you enjoy this sort of venue, be a patron and spend a little. Nothing is free and you don't find a place like this every day. A quick look around at the tables on Friday night told me that even though a good time was had by all, the proprietor Kathy Wareham could barely have paid the light bill and the excellent help with the proceeds from the 6:30 to 8:30 open mike spot. A real shame because the coffee, tea and the service were great. The next time there, I will have a meal. Check back in a few weeks for an honest opinion of that meal at Judy's Java & Fire House Cafe.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Open Mike at Peaberry's Cafe
Wednesday found me at Peaberry's Cafe.
On the right as I entered, the host Robert Alan was making a few microphone adjustments for a blonde lady with a guitar. I looked around to see where the other players had their instruments stashed. On the left in the front window area on a small counter with tall bar stools I spotted Eric's guitar case. There weren't any patrons seated in this area which made sense since you couldn't see the performances on the other side of the entry way from there. There were a few other guitar cases and a keyboard case lying about, so I added my beat up 12 string case to the collection.
Something had compelled me to ask Eric Paradine when we had decided to meet there, if I should bring my guitar. His answer had been an emphatic "Yes!". So many thoughts flooded in as I scanned the room looking for my friend Eric. Now, the blonde lady with the guitar was singing an old hillbilly gospel tune "Turn Your Radio On" and trying to get the patrons seated close by to join in on the chorus. Why do people do this I asked myself hearing three other voices, less than enthusiastically singing with the blonde lady "...get in touch with God, turn your radio on...". Walking to the far end of the room past the coffee bar. I spotted Eric seated at a table with four or five others engaged in lively conversation. Not wanting to interrupt I turned to the coffee bar and ordered a cappuccino. As I turned from the bar Eric spotted me, excused himself and came, shook my hand, stepped to the bar and added my name to the list.
The blonde lady with the guitar had finished singing and a short dark haired fellow with a nice voice was seated at a keyboard singing Italian love songs.
Eric and I seated ourselves at the far end of the room near an unlit fireplace and got down to the business at hand. An interview of Eric to be featured on the pappyyates.com website. As we talked I could hear some pretty good flat picking going on at the other end of the room. I assume it was the two fellows that had been seated on the sofas near the fireplace just before we had started the interview.
As we were wrapping up the interview someone said "Are you Ed (pappy) Yates?" I acknowledged and he said, "Your up."
Eric and I grabbed our guitars, walked on and did two songs that I wrote more than thirty years ago. As I strummed and sang, Eric who had never played the songs before, played some beautiful fill in stuff that really rounded the songs out.
Afterward Doug Hardy joined us and complimented the salad that he was devouring while waiting his turn at the microphone. Eric backed Doug up on a couple of old standards. A lady with a classical guitar and a voice that should be singing opera finished out the night and we all headed for the door.
As I drove down Rt. 10 on my way back to my apartment more than an hour away, I contemplated the whole concept of (open mike). What is it that draws people from all walks of life and who have varying degrees of talent and or skill, to sing, play and listen intently to one another sing and play music of all kinds. As I thought, my mind wondered back some forty years to a simpler more innocent time when as a child I would ether ask or be asked to (sing a special) in church. We were admonished that singing "making a joyful noise unto the Lord" was to be just that: something done "as unto the Lord". Truth be known, all those years ago as a child I was concerned with more than if the Lord was pleased with my "joyful noise". When some gray haired little lady would pat me on the head and say "sounds good young man" I was ecstatic. Not so surprising that the biggest compliment I got on Wednesday night at Peaberry's "That's a great sounding guitar." left me a little disappointed. Why though was I disappointed? It is a great sounding guitar. But try as I might say to myself "you did it 'as onto the Lord' and 'the message is what counts' I was still kicking myself that I hadn't played a different song or at least the same ones in a different key. Something, anything that would have earned me a "sounds good" and not just my guitar. No matter: I will go again and I will play and sing again at Peaberry's open mike and others. Because, we all have something to say and as long as my fingers will form the chords I will continue to say what I have to say with words and music.
I still play on the worship team at church and I would be less than truthful if I said it didn't make me smile inside and out a few weeks ago when a little gray haired lady came to me after church and said "sounds good." I was however disappointed that she left off the "young man".
A BIG THANK YOU TO THE MANAGEMENT AND STAFF OF PEABERRY'S CAFE in Simsbury, CT for opening their establishment to those of us who need to hear "sounds good" once in a while.
On the right as I entered, the host Robert Alan was making a few microphone adjustments for a blonde lady with a guitar. I looked around to see where the other players had their instruments stashed. On the left in the front window area on a small counter with tall bar stools I spotted Eric's guitar case. There weren't any patrons seated in this area which made sense since you couldn't see the performances on the other side of the entry way from there. There were a few other guitar cases and a keyboard case lying about, so I added my beat up 12 string case to the collection.
Something had compelled me to ask Eric Paradine when we had decided to meet there, if I should bring my guitar. His answer had been an emphatic "Yes!". So many thoughts flooded in as I scanned the room looking for my friend Eric. Now, the blonde lady with the guitar was singing an old hillbilly gospel tune "Turn Your Radio On" and trying to get the patrons seated close by to join in on the chorus. Why do people do this I asked myself hearing three other voices, less than enthusiastically singing with the blonde lady "...get in touch with God, turn your radio on...". Walking to the far end of the room past the coffee bar. I spotted Eric seated at a table with four or five others engaged in lively conversation. Not wanting to interrupt I turned to the coffee bar and ordered a cappuccino. As I turned from the bar Eric spotted me, excused himself and came, shook my hand, stepped to the bar and added my name to the list.
The blonde lady with the guitar had finished singing and a short dark haired fellow with a nice voice was seated at a keyboard singing Italian love songs.
Eric and I seated ourselves at the far end of the room near an unlit fireplace and got down to the business at hand. An interview of Eric to be featured on the pappyyates.com website. As we talked I could hear some pretty good flat picking going on at the other end of the room. I assume it was the two fellows that had been seated on the sofas near the fireplace just before we had started the interview.
As we were wrapping up the interview someone said "Are you Ed (pappy) Yates?" I acknowledged and he said, "Your up."
Eric and I grabbed our guitars, walked on and did two songs that I wrote more than thirty years ago. As I strummed and sang, Eric who had never played the songs before, played some beautiful fill in stuff that really rounded the songs out.
Afterward Doug Hardy joined us and complimented the salad that he was devouring while waiting his turn at the microphone. Eric backed Doug up on a couple of old standards. A lady with a classical guitar and a voice that should be singing opera finished out the night and we all headed for the door.
As I drove down Rt. 10 on my way back to my apartment more than an hour away, I contemplated the whole concept of (open mike). What is it that draws people from all walks of life and who have varying degrees of talent and or skill, to sing, play and listen intently to one another sing and play music of all kinds. As I thought, my mind wondered back some forty years to a simpler more innocent time when as a child I would ether ask or be asked to (sing a special) in church. We were admonished that singing "making a joyful noise unto the Lord" was to be just that: something done "as unto the Lord". Truth be known, all those years ago as a child I was concerned with more than if the Lord was pleased with my "joyful noise". When some gray haired little lady would pat me on the head and say "sounds good young man" I was ecstatic. Not so surprising that the biggest compliment I got on Wednesday night at Peaberry's "That's a great sounding guitar." left me a little disappointed. Why though was I disappointed? It is a great sounding guitar. But try as I might say to myself "you did it 'as onto the Lord' and 'the message is what counts' I was still kicking myself that I hadn't played a different song or at least the same ones in a different key. Something, anything that would have earned me a "sounds good" and not just my guitar. No matter: I will go again and I will play and sing again at Peaberry's open mike and others. Because, we all have something to say and as long as my fingers will form the chords I will continue to say what I have to say with words and music.
I still play on the worship team at church and I would be less than truthful if I said it didn't make me smile inside and out a few weeks ago when a little gray haired lady came to me after church and said "sounds good." I was however disappointed that she left off the "young man".
A BIG THANK YOU TO THE MANAGEMENT AND STAFF OF PEABERRY'S CAFE in Simsbury, CT for opening their establishment to those of us who need to hear "sounds good" once in a while.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Talent on Loan from God
Most people reading this will recognize the title of this article and equate it with a particular radio personality. It is the opinion of this writer that the individual this article will draw attention to is not only a gifted wordsmith, but a skilled metalsmith and a dedicated shaper of young lives.
On Saturday, August 18, 2007 a group of about 20 teenagers and 8 adults gathered at the Harris Metalsmith Studio for a private demonstration of modern day blacksmithing. Matt Harris had prepared a large steel table for designing and creating a sculpted pair of steel hands. All were encouraged to participate in the creation.
After a spellbinding demonstration of shaping red-hot steel with hammer and anvil, Matt instructed the group in the art of bending steel in their bare hands. He then welded the bent steel rods into a pair of hands to be wall mounted.
Matt Harris is an extremely gifted musician and worship leader at Pleasant Hill Worship Center in Pleasant Hill, MD. Not only does he make his musical talents available to the church, but some of the worship songs that are sung there have been penned by Matt as well. He is equally at home with a Taylor acoustic guitar in his hands or seated at a Korg keyboard. Aside from all that, he is a dedicated father and husband to his daughters and his wife, Heidi.
Having had the opportunity to play music with Matt and experience his determination to get it right while interacting with his fellow musicians with patience and respect, has been a privilege for this middle-aged guitar picker. Now, having witnessed his skill in bringing near lifelike attributes to cold steel and iron has earned him, in my mind, more than the title of this blog entry intimates.
I would have to say, "Talent on loan from God" is an OK starting place, but raw talent accomplishes little and will never become skill without dedication and determination. Young Matt Harris possesses not only talent and gifting that could only come from his creator, he also has skill that has come from hours of applying and refining those gifts to the point that the end results of his efforts are both craft and art in the truest sense of the words.
No offense Rush.
You can see some examples of Matt Harris' metal creations at www.harrismetalsmith.com and harrismetalsmith.wordpress.com. You can experience his other gifts and skills at Pleasant Hill Worship Center on any given Sunday morning at 10:30.
On Saturday, August 18, 2007 a group of about 20 teenagers and 8 adults gathered at the Harris Metalsmith Studio for a private demonstration of modern day blacksmithing. Matt Harris had prepared a large steel table for designing and creating a sculpted pair of steel hands. All were encouraged to participate in the creation.
After a spellbinding demonstration of shaping red-hot steel with hammer and anvil, Matt instructed the group in the art of bending steel in their bare hands. He then welded the bent steel rods into a pair of hands to be wall mounted.
Matt Harris is an extremely gifted musician and worship leader at Pleasant Hill Worship Center in Pleasant Hill, MD. Not only does he make his musical talents available to the church, but some of the worship songs that are sung there have been penned by Matt as well. He is equally at home with a Taylor acoustic guitar in his hands or seated at a Korg keyboard. Aside from all that, he is a dedicated father and husband to his daughters and his wife, Heidi.
Having had the opportunity to play music with Matt and experience his determination to get it right while interacting with his fellow musicians with patience and respect, has been a privilege for this middle-aged guitar picker. Now, having witnessed his skill in bringing near lifelike attributes to cold steel and iron has earned him, in my mind, more than the title of this blog entry intimates.
I would have to say, "Talent on loan from God" is an OK starting place, but raw talent accomplishes little and will never become skill without dedication and determination. Young Matt Harris possesses not only talent and gifting that could only come from his creator, he also has skill that has come from hours of applying and refining those gifts to the point that the end results of his efforts are both craft and art in the truest sense of the words.
No offense Rush.
You can see some examples of Matt Harris' metal creations at www.harrismetalsmith.com and harrismetalsmith.wordpress.com. You can experience his other gifts and skills at Pleasant Hill Worship Center on any given Sunday morning at 10:30.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
New Life For An Old Yamaha 12 String Guitar
A month or so ago a young lady in my church came up to me after watching me play my Kay 12 string guitar. She was asking about the difference between playing a six string guitar and a 12 string. I explained that the real difference was not in playing but in tuning.
"With the 12 string" I explained, "each finger holds down two strings that are close together at the same time. If you are just getting started your fingers may experience a bit more pain, but the full sound of a well tuned 12 string is worth it."
Speaking of tuning a 12 string . . . now, that's a different story all together. To tune a 12 string, one of those new fangled Intelli IMT-500 tuners comes in real handy.
I do digress . . .
The next week, she came to me after music practice with an excited look on her face that you rarely see on the face of anyone over the age of, say, eighteen. There was news that she wanted, almost needed to tell me.
"My neighbor gave me a 12 string guitar," she announced to me without so much as a 'hi' or 'how are you?' "Well,” she continued, “I guess you would say it's an 11 string and I think it needs some work."
She was beaming as much as my daughter had when, at eighteen, she told me that she had found the “car of her dreams.” No matter that it had a blown engine and the tires on that 1972 Super Beetle were completely dry rotted from sitting. It was "perfect!”
There I go again . . . digressing.
I couldn't resist her excitement. "Bring it with you next Sunday and I'll check it out for you."
On the following Sunday, there was that smiling face again. She was holding her 11 string Yamaha FG-260. When she handed it to me, I went into evaluation mode.
The guitar had been loved by someone. Loved nearly to death. Around the pick guard the finish was embossed into the grain of the spruce top from enthusiastic strumming. There were various and sundry scratches and gouges. The frets were well-worn at least three quarters of the way up the neck. The string slots on the nut had been cut almost to the wood of the fingerboard in an attempt to lower the action. The dotted bridge pins had been removed numerous times with the aid of what must have been electricians' pliers. That was just the front. A quick look down both sides of the fingerboard revealed a slight twist and a bit of a bow in the neck that I hoped a few turns on the truss rod would help. (It would never be straight, but it could certainly be better. Just above the neck on the top side of the guitar, there was a small hole where a strap button had been added, and the screw had subsequently pulled out of the thin plywood. (Not a good place to add a strap button.) The rear strap button, a round plastic tapered one, had been jammed into the body to the point that one could no longer put a strap on it. A chrome button had been screwed right into the end of it. On the back of the neck was a gash 3/16" deep and 1” long that looked like it might have been the result of an encounter with a Ginsu knife. Finally, the white plastic was missing from the sixth tuning peg and another was cracked on the seventh.
"Can I take it with me and bring it back to you next Sunday?" I asked.
The girl looked puzzled. "Do you work on guitars?"
"A little. I think I can do something with it."
She indicated to me that she didn't have any money to spend on it with college coming up. I told her not to worry about it and we parted.
At home, I removed the eleven strings, tossed the sad looking bridge pins into the trash, and removed the metal strap button. After marking the plastic one with a pencil where it met the body, I pulled it out with a pair of pliers. Finally, I located the furniture oil and a soft cloth and started on an hour-long cleaning project. With that finished, it was off to 84 Lumber and then DJ's Music Shop. At 84 Lumber, I picked up some mahogany colored wood filler and a spray can of polyurethane. At DJ's Music the search was on through a large box of used hardware for some Yamaha tuning heads. I found four, all chrome. No matter, chrome would have to do; nothing else seems to fit Yamaha but Yamaha. Next 13 bridge pins . . . gotta have at least one extra. Two aluminum strap buttons, a set of Elixir strings, and an inexpensive gig bag.
The nut: it needed to be raised about .015" to get the strings up off the frets. I popped it loose and put a small bead of Gorilla Glue under it then taped it back in place letting the glue raise it off the neck the desired amount. (Gorilla Glue expands as it dries.) After it was completely dry, I used my pocket knife to carefully trim away the glue where it had expanded out around the nut.
The Screw hole: a little mahogany colored wood filler. Not a perfect match, but not bad.
The gash in the neck: some amazing expanding Gorilla Glue fixed that. After it was dry, a little work with some fine sandpaper to get rid of the excess and to smooth out some rough spots on the back of the neck. After that, I cleaned the back of the neck with rubbing alcohol to prep it for a couple of coats of polyurethane.
Next, a couple of twists of the truss rod . . . much better.
I cut the plastic strap button off at the pencil line and put a little Gorilla Glue on it and stuck it back in its hole. When the glue was dry, I took one of the new aluminum strap buttons and screwed it directly into the center of the old one. The other button was then added to the end of the neck heel.
Even though they were Yamaha parts, the gears on the tuning heads didn't mesh with the gears on the new pegs, so they had to be replaced as well.
My mom, who is an excellent seamstress, made a custom heavy denim strap with the girl's name on it. A nice touch.
With a little polish, new strings and bridge pins, the 12 string had a whole new future. I zipped it into the gig bag and took it back to church on Sunday.
Total cost of guitar face-lift: insignificant. Smile on teenager's face: priceless.
Every time I try to salvage an old guitar, I learn something new. I will probably never become a luthier, but I sure have fun!
"With the 12 string" I explained, "each finger holds down two strings that are close together at the same time. If you are just getting started your fingers may experience a bit more pain, but the full sound of a well tuned 12 string is worth it."
Speaking of tuning a 12 string . . . now, that's a different story all together. To tune a 12 string, one of those new fangled Intelli IMT-500 tuners comes in real handy.
I do digress . . .
The next week, she came to me after music practice with an excited look on her face that you rarely see on the face of anyone over the age of, say, eighteen. There was news that she wanted, almost needed to tell me.
"My neighbor gave me a 12 string guitar," she announced to me without so much as a 'hi' or 'how are you?' "Well,” she continued, “I guess you would say it's an 11 string and I think it needs some work."
She was beaming as much as my daughter had when, at eighteen, she told me that she had found the “car of her dreams.” No matter that it had a blown engine and the tires on that 1972 Super Beetle were completely dry rotted from sitting. It was "perfect!”
There I go again . . . digressing.
I couldn't resist her excitement. "Bring it with you next Sunday and I'll check it out for you."
On the following Sunday, there was that smiling face again. She was holding her 11 string Yamaha FG-260. When she handed it to me, I went into evaluation mode.
The guitar had been loved by someone. Loved nearly to death. Around the pick guard the finish was embossed into the grain of the spruce top from enthusiastic strumming. There were various and sundry scratches and gouges. The frets were well-worn at least three quarters of the way up the neck. The string slots on the nut had been cut almost to the wood of the fingerboard in an attempt to lower the action. The dotted bridge pins had been removed numerous times with the aid of what must have been electricians' pliers. That was just the front. A quick look down both sides of the fingerboard revealed a slight twist and a bit of a bow in the neck that I hoped a few turns on the truss rod would help. (It would never be straight, but it could certainly be better. Just above the neck on the top side of the guitar, there was a small hole where a strap button had been added, and the screw had subsequently pulled out of the thin plywood. (Not a good place to add a strap button.) The rear strap button, a round plastic tapered one, had been jammed into the body to the point that one could no longer put a strap on it. A chrome button had been screwed right into the end of it. On the back of the neck was a gash 3/16" deep and 1” long that looked like it might have been the result of an encounter with a Ginsu knife. Finally, the white plastic was missing from the sixth tuning peg and another was cracked on the seventh.
"Can I take it with me and bring it back to you next Sunday?" I asked.
The girl looked puzzled. "Do you work on guitars?"
"A little. I think I can do something with it."
She indicated to me that she didn't have any money to spend on it with college coming up. I told her not to worry about it and we parted.
At home, I removed the eleven strings, tossed the sad looking bridge pins into the trash, and removed the metal strap button. After marking the plastic one with a pencil where it met the body, I pulled it out with a pair of pliers. Finally, I located the furniture oil and a soft cloth and started on an hour-long cleaning project. With that finished, it was off to 84 Lumber and then DJ's Music Shop. At 84 Lumber, I picked up some mahogany colored wood filler and a spray can of polyurethane. At DJ's Music the search was on through a large box of used hardware for some Yamaha tuning heads. I found four, all chrome. No matter, chrome would have to do; nothing else seems to fit Yamaha but Yamaha. Next 13 bridge pins . . . gotta have at least one extra. Two aluminum strap buttons, a set of Elixir strings, and an inexpensive gig bag.
The nut: it needed to be raised about .015" to get the strings up off the frets. I popped it loose and put a small bead of Gorilla Glue under it then taped it back in place letting the glue raise it off the neck the desired amount. (Gorilla Glue expands as it dries.) After it was completely dry, I used my pocket knife to carefully trim away the glue where it had expanded out around the nut.
The Screw hole: a little mahogany colored wood filler. Not a perfect match, but not bad.
The gash in the neck: some amazing expanding Gorilla Glue fixed that. After it was dry, a little work with some fine sandpaper to get rid of the excess and to smooth out some rough spots on the back of the neck. After that, I cleaned the back of the neck with rubbing alcohol to prep it for a couple of coats of polyurethane.
Next, a couple of twists of the truss rod . . . much better.
I cut the plastic strap button off at the pencil line and put a little Gorilla Glue on it and stuck it back in its hole. When the glue was dry, I took one of the new aluminum strap buttons and screwed it directly into the center of the old one. The other button was then added to the end of the neck heel.
Even though they were Yamaha parts, the gears on the tuning heads didn't mesh with the gears on the new pegs, so they had to be replaced as well.
My mom, who is an excellent seamstress, made a custom heavy denim strap with the girl's name on it. A nice touch.
With a little polish, new strings and bridge pins, the 12 string had a whole new future. I zipped it into the gig bag and took it back to church on Sunday.
Total cost of guitar face-lift: insignificant. Smile on teenager's face: priceless.
Every time I try to salvage an old guitar, I learn something new. I will probably never become a luthier, but I sure have fun!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
A life lesson from Gene Pritchard
The boss, Gene Pritchard was a big man who leaned forward a little when he walked and when he was behind the wheel of a vehicle. It was as though he was leaning into his next moment, ahead of himself, and if not ahead of himself, at least ahead of those around him. Though he owned the company and had several crews of men working for him, he could generally be found working with one of the crews.
Gene hired me to do siding work right out of high school. After my first two full days of work he stopped by the house I was working on. After a thorough examination of the work I had done he called me to him and said, “Your work looks good but you’re not getting enough done.” He then went on to say, “If I were paying you piece work, you would starve to death, but since I’m paying you by the hour, I might starve to death.”
So there I was the next morning at 6:00 am loading the truck. I would be working with the boss in Dover today. Not doing siding, but hot roofing on apartment buildings. Since I was too slow at aluminum siding he was going to make a “pot man” out of me. After I had loaded the back of the flatbed truck to the limit with cylindrical tubes full of solidified black roofing tar weighing 80 lbs. each, Gene emerged from the office and said, “That should be enough.” As we headed for Dover he explained to me what my duties for the day would be. “Keep the pot full of hot tar all the time so that when we need it on the roof, we won’t be waiting on you. Keep your area cleaned up, and don’t get burned.” It all seemed simple enough.
The evening before, one of the fellows in the yard had advised, “If you’re going to be a ‘pot man’ you should probably take something to read. You are going to get bored.”
When we arrived, the rest of the crew was already there and the pot was hot, but half empty. Gene fired out orders to me. “Get some of that tar unloaded and keep that pot full!” I unloaded around ten tubes and began peeling off the paper wrapping, breaking them up with a hatchet and adding the chunks of tar to the pot. After the pot was full and the tar melted, I began picking up the paper wrappers that I had peeled off the tubes of tar. Periodically someone would come to the edge of the three-story apartment building and yell, “Hot Stuff!” This was my queue to start the gasoline powered pump that pumped the tar up to the roof. Then they would yell, “OK!” which meant ‘shut the pump off, we have all the tar we can use for now.’
This was going to prove to be a great job. The pot was full. My area was cleaned up and they were calling for tar about every fifteen minutes. About twenty feet from the pot, in the shade of the big apartment building, was a skid of plywood. I took out my book, went and sat on the plywood and began to read. Gene came to the edge of the roof and yelled down, “Are you all caught up?”
“Yes sir!”
“Good – Hot Stuff!”
I turned on the pump. In a few minutes he yelled “OK!” He watched me as I replenished the pot with chunks of solidified tar and then started back toward the skid of plywood and my book. As I picked up the book, he yelled down to me, “Unload the truck!” I looked up at him, puzzled by his request. I was sure I had already unloaded enough tar to last for the rest of the day. “Put that tar over here against the building!” The truck was at least thirty feet from the building and the terrain was too rough to get it any closer. So, I unloaded the twenty plus tubes of tar and carried them one at a time to the spot that Gene had indicated while intermittently getting calls for ‘Hot Stuff,’ keeping the pot full and the paper cleaned up. When the last tube of tar had been stacked neatly against the building, dripping with sweat, I sat down on the skid of plywood and opened my book. As I did, Gene appeared at the edge of the roof. “Load the truck!” he yelled down to me.
“What do you want in the truck?” I asked, very puzzled.
“All the unused tubes of tar. We’re done here.”
“But…”
“Get moving. We need to be ready to go in an hour.”
I was loading the last few tubes of tar when the rest of the crew came down off the roof. Gene backed the truck up to the pot, connected the hitch and we were headed back toward Elkton. I was too exhausted and angry to speak so we rode in silence for about a half an hour. Finally I said, “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me unload and then reload all that tar on the truck.
“I own the company, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“We are just the roofers on this project. If the general contractor sees that I can afford to pay a man to sit and read a book on the job, he is going to think that he is paying me too much for the job.”
“But…”
“While you are working for me, if you are not busy, at least look busy. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” I replied. I did understand and from then until now, whenever I’m tempted to take it easy on the job, I think of how much my muscles ached that next morning.
Thank you Gene Pritchard for a life lesson well learned.
Gene hired me to do siding work right out of high school. After my first two full days of work he stopped by the house I was working on. After a thorough examination of the work I had done he called me to him and said, “Your work looks good but you’re not getting enough done.” He then went on to say, “If I were paying you piece work, you would starve to death, but since I’m paying you by the hour, I might starve to death.”
So there I was the next morning at 6:00 am loading the truck. I would be working with the boss in Dover today. Not doing siding, but hot roofing on apartment buildings. Since I was too slow at aluminum siding he was going to make a “pot man” out of me. After I had loaded the back of the flatbed truck to the limit with cylindrical tubes full of solidified black roofing tar weighing 80 lbs. each, Gene emerged from the office and said, “That should be enough.” As we headed for Dover he explained to me what my duties for the day would be. “Keep the pot full of hot tar all the time so that when we need it on the roof, we won’t be waiting on you. Keep your area cleaned up, and don’t get burned.” It all seemed simple enough.
The evening before, one of the fellows in the yard had advised, “If you’re going to be a ‘pot man’ you should probably take something to read. You are going to get bored.”
When we arrived, the rest of the crew was already there and the pot was hot, but half empty. Gene fired out orders to me. “Get some of that tar unloaded and keep that pot full!” I unloaded around ten tubes and began peeling off the paper wrapping, breaking them up with a hatchet and adding the chunks of tar to the pot. After the pot was full and the tar melted, I began picking up the paper wrappers that I had peeled off the tubes of tar. Periodically someone would come to the edge of the three-story apartment building and yell, “Hot Stuff!” This was my queue to start the gasoline powered pump that pumped the tar up to the roof. Then they would yell, “OK!” which meant ‘shut the pump off, we have all the tar we can use for now.’
This was going to prove to be a great job. The pot was full. My area was cleaned up and they were calling for tar about every fifteen minutes. About twenty feet from the pot, in the shade of the big apartment building, was a skid of plywood. I took out my book, went and sat on the plywood and began to read. Gene came to the edge of the roof and yelled down, “Are you all caught up?”
“Yes sir!”
“Good – Hot Stuff!”
I turned on the pump. In a few minutes he yelled “OK!” He watched me as I replenished the pot with chunks of solidified tar and then started back toward the skid of plywood and my book. As I picked up the book, he yelled down to me, “Unload the truck!” I looked up at him, puzzled by his request. I was sure I had already unloaded enough tar to last for the rest of the day. “Put that tar over here against the building!” The truck was at least thirty feet from the building and the terrain was too rough to get it any closer. So, I unloaded the twenty plus tubes of tar and carried them one at a time to the spot that Gene had indicated while intermittently getting calls for ‘Hot Stuff,’ keeping the pot full and the paper cleaned up. When the last tube of tar had been stacked neatly against the building, dripping with sweat, I sat down on the skid of plywood and opened my book. As I did, Gene appeared at the edge of the roof. “Load the truck!” he yelled down to me.
“What do you want in the truck?” I asked, very puzzled.
“All the unused tubes of tar. We’re done here.”
“But…”
“Get moving. We need to be ready to go in an hour.”
I was loading the last few tubes of tar when the rest of the crew came down off the roof. Gene backed the truck up to the pot, connected the hitch and we were headed back toward Elkton. I was too exhausted and angry to speak so we rode in silence for about a half an hour. Finally I said, “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me unload and then reload all that tar on the truck.
“I own the company, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“We are just the roofers on this project. If the general contractor sees that I can afford to pay a man to sit and read a book on the job, he is going to think that he is paying me too much for the job.”
“But…”
“While you are working for me, if you are not busy, at least look busy. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” I replied. I did understand and from then until now, whenever I’m tempted to take it easy on the job, I think of how much my muscles ached that next morning.
Thank you Gene Pritchard for a life lesson well learned.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Uncle Arnold and Mel Bay
It was two weeks before Christmas - the first Christmas in the new house. I was in the fourth grade, but the only relevance to that is to say that I had just turned ten years old. Approaching the house on the walk home from school, I spotted a familiar truck in the driveway. Uncle Arnold was here. As I entered through the kitchen door, he turned to me and through the thick cloud of cigarette smoke and over the coffee cup that was half way to or from his mouth he said, “Hi boy.”
I don’t remember the first time he addressed me by my given name, but it was long after that. “Hi,” I said back. Normally I would have said, “Hi Uncle Arnold,” but he wasn't really my uncle even though he was my Dad’s brother. There was no one else in the house except him and Mom so I left off the formalities.
Mom filled his coffee cup again and we moved into the living room. As was often the case Uncle Arnold asked for and received my older sister’s jumbo Kay guitar. After tuning it up, between long drags on his cigarette and sips of coffee he played and sang for half an hour or so. The songs he played were very familiar to me. Since my earliest memories he played and sang the very same songs. Still, I was spellbound as he played “Guitar Boogie,” Hank Williams’ “I Saw The Light” and two or three love songs finishing up with “The Army Song.”
“Oh the coffee in the army, they say it’s mighty fine,
It’s good for cuts and bruises and it tastes like iodine.
Oh you can see why I want to go home.
Gee Mom, I want to go, hey Mom, I want to go,
Gee Mom, I want to go home.
The women in the army, they say they're mighty fine,
They're either over eighty or else they're under nine.
Oh you can see...”
Somehow there was always a verse in there that I hadn’t heard before.
Uncle Arnold wasn't really in to showing me how to play guitar or teaching me anything. He just played and sang, and while he did, I sat spellbound. I’d think, ‘Someday, I’ll play and sing like that.’ As I listened and watched him play his hand would sometimes form a chord on the neck of the guitar that I recognized from an old tattered Mel Bay guitar book that had somehow appeared one day.
“Well... I guess I'd better get going.” He checked his watch, crushed his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray, leaned the guitar against the sofa and stood to his feet. He left his coffee cup about two thirds empty on the end table and started for the front door. Dad, his older brother, would be home from work soon, but as was most often the case he would not wait around to see him.
By the time Uncle Arnold had reached the front door and lit another cigarette, I had located the Mel Bay guitar book and was attempting to reference the chords that he had played. 'Oh ... that was a G.' That book was great. On the first couple of pages there were pictures showing each part of the guitar referenced: frets, bridge, nut, neck, and so on. On the next few pages the strings were listed from the bottom up: E, B, G, D, A, E. There were pictures of the left hand with the fingers listed: thumb, 1, 2, 3 and 4. There were pictures for everything from how to properly hold a pick to showing how to hold your hand and form every chord listed in the book.
On Christmas morning there was an elongated triangular shaped cardboard box under the tree. There was no wrapping paper as I recall, and no name on the box, but we all knew what was in the box and whose present it was. Mom said, “When Arnold was here the other day he tuned it for you.”
I opened the box and lifted out a blond three-quarter size flat top guitar with a tail piece and a floating bridge. During the first half hour that I owned it, it was reasonably ‘in’ tune, but I don't remember it ever being ‘in’ tune after that. In my 10 year old wisdom, I moved the bridge and there were no markings to show where it belonged.
A few years later, my folks bought me a Teisco EP for Christmas. Thank goodness it did not have a floating bridge!
Mel Bay died May 14, 1997. During his life time he enhanced the lives of millions of guitar pickers, not unlike myself, who were much improved by his ability to make learning the guitar inviting instead of daunting. His lesson books are still available at www.melbay.com.
Uncle Arnold died March 19, 2004 leaving my brother Wade and me with a profound love for the guitar and the solace that comes from sitting on the sofa after dinner and picking and singing some old gospel songs and maybe ending up with “The Army Song.”
...Gee, Mom, I want to go home...
I don’t remember the first time he addressed me by my given name, but it was long after that. “Hi,” I said back. Normally I would have said, “Hi Uncle Arnold,” but he wasn't really my uncle even though he was my Dad’s brother. There was no one else in the house except him and Mom so I left off the formalities.
Mom filled his coffee cup again and we moved into the living room. As was often the case Uncle Arnold asked for and received my older sister’s jumbo Kay guitar. After tuning it up, between long drags on his cigarette and sips of coffee he played and sang for half an hour or so. The songs he played were very familiar to me. Since my earliest memories he played and sang the very same songs. Still, I was spellbound as he played “Guitar Boogie,” Hank Williams’ “I Saw The Light” and two or three love songs finishing up with “The Army Song.”
“Oh the coffee in the army, they say it’s mighty fine,
It’s good for cuts and bruises and it tastes like iodine.
Oh you can see why I want to go home.
Gee Mom, I want to go, hey Mom, I want to go,
Gee Mom, I want to go home.
The women in the army, they say they're mighty fine,
They're either over eighty or else they're under nine.
Oh you can see...”
Somehow there was always a verse in there that I hadn’t heard before.
Uncle Arnold wasn't really in to showing me how to play guitar or teaching me anything. He just played and sang, and while he did, I sat spellbound. I’d think, ‘Someday, I’ll play and sing like that.’ As I listened and watched him play his hand would sometimes form a chord on the neck of the guitar that I recognized from an old tattered Mel Bay guitar book that had somehow appeared one day.
“Well... I guess I'd better get going.” He checked his watch, crushed his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray, leaned the guitar against the sofa and stood to his feet. He left his coffee cup about two thirds empty on the end table and started for the front door. Dad, his older brother, would be home from work soon, but as was most often the case he would not wait around to see him.
By the time Uncle Arnold had reached the front door and lit another cigarette, I had located the Mel Bay guitar book and was attempting to reference the chords that he had played. 'Oh ... that was a G.' That book was great. On the first couple of pages there were pictures showing each part of the guitar referenced: frets, bridge, nut, neck, and so on. On the next few pages the strings were listed from the bottom up: E, B, G, D, A, E. There were pictures of the left hand with the fingers listed: thumb, 1, 2, 3 and 4. There were pictures for everything from how to properly hold a pick to showing how to hold your hand and form every chord listed in the book.
On Christmas morning there was an elongated triangular shaped cardboard box under the tree. There was no wrapping paper as I recall, and no name on the box, but we all knew what was in the box and whose present it was. Mom said, “When Arnold was here the other day he tuned it for you.”
I opened the box and lifted out a blond three-quarter size flat top guitar with a tail piece and a floating bridge. During the first half hour that I owned it, it was reasonably ‘in’ tune, but I don't remember it ever being ‘in’ tune after that. In my 10 year old wisdom, I moved the bridge and there were no markings to show where it belonged.
A few years later, my folks bought me a Teisco EP for Christmas. Thank goodness it did not have a floating bridge!
Mel Bay died May 14, 1997. During his life time he enhanced the lives of millions of guitar pickers, not unlike myself, who were much improved by his ability to make learning the guitar inviting instead of daunting. His lesson books are still available at www.melbay.com.
Uncle Arnold died March 19, 2004 leaving my brother Wade and me with a profound love for the guitar and the solace that comes from sitting on the sofa after dinner and picking and singing some old gospel songs and maybe ending up with “The Army Song.”
...Gee, Mom, I want to go home...
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Gibson ES-335 vs Samick Royale RL-3
Back in 1977 while working a construction job, my boss decided to take a chance on a guy named Sam who was fresh out of jail. He seemed to be a pretty good carpenter but he liked to drink way too much. It wasn't even two weeks before he started showing up late for work hung over. Within a month he was missing whole days. Through conversations with Sam I found out that he played guitar at some of the local bars in the evenings and with a country band at the VFW from time to time. He was always bragging about his red Gibson. Knowing that I played in church, one evening when we were getting out of work he asked me if I wanted to stop by and check it out. I had no plans so I said "sure". Generally the boss gave him a ride to and from the job site but since he wanted me to see his prize possession. I drove him downtown to his two room apartment. We went inside where he reached behind a well worn love seat and pulled out a beat up old case, unclipped the latches, and pulled out a beautiful red 1963 Gibson ES-335. He sat there on the edge of the love seat and picked out a couple of classics. Then he handed me the guitar. As he did three things went through my mind almost simultaneously. The first I spoke out loud. "I sure can't play like that." I said as I sheepishly strummed a few chords of Amazing Grace. The second of the three thoughts was, 'what a waste of God given talent for this guy to be driving nails and drinking his life away'. The third of those memorable thoughts was, 'I have played this guitar before.' I was sure of it, you don't forget a guitar like that. We passed the guitar back and forth for half an hour or so. Mostly he played and I tried to glean as much as I could from his incredibly smooth style of flat picking. I got up and started to leave, reaching the door I turned and asked him "Would you let me borrow your guitar to play it in church on Sunday? I'll take good care of it."
"I don't usually loan it out but I guess it wouldn't hurt it to be played in church. Where is the church and what time is the service? I'll bring it to you." Sunday morning came and I was sitting on the platform with the band tuning up my Montgomery Wards Teisco electric guitar. I looked up and saw Sam with that tattered old case in his hand and a big grin on his face. Putting down the Teisco I met him about half way down the right side aisle of the church, took the case from his hand and said "Thank you. I hope you enjoy the service." Back on the platform where everyone was pretty much tuned up and ready to go, I moved the Teisco aside and plugged in the Gibson. I got some looks as I hurried to tune up and then the service started. At the end of the service I held the guitar out to the bass player and said "Look familiar?". There had been a break-in at his house on a Sunday morning while he was at church some four years earlier. Among the things that been stolen were a Martin D-28 and a red 1963 Gibson ES-335. He took the guitar from me like it was made of glass. He examined it carefully then he turned it around and looked at the serial number on the back of the head stock. As he did, he handed it back to me and said "That was settled with the insurance company a long time ago. I don't want to know."
"I borrowed it from a guy I work with. I thought it looked familiar."
Knowing I needed a real guitar, he said "See if he will sell it to you. I only paid $75 for it. The old guy I bought it from had no clue what it was worth."
I returned the guitar to Sam and insulted him by offering him $75 for it. I didn't think about it much for the next two weeks. Sam only worked a few days of those two weeks. On Friday after the paychecks had been handed out Sam was trying to bum money off of anybody who would even talk to him but he owed almost everybody already. By the time he got to me I had heard him say that magic number $75. He had to have $75 or his landlord was going to kick him out in the street. He came to me and said "Can you lend me some money until next payday."
"I'll give you $75 for that red Gibson" was my answer.
"It won't do me much good on the street." He replied.
That Sunday and almost every Sunday for the next 25 years I played my red 1963 Gibson ES-335 in church. I never saw Sam again. He didn't show up for work the next Monday and he never came back.
Looking back there is no doubt that I played that guitar for more than 8000 hours. I completely wore out two sets of frets and was well into the third when I found myself in need of money. Like Sam, the most valuable thing I had monetarily was that red 1963 Gibson ES-335, and like Sam I had to sell it for far less than what it was worth. I had to have $4000 to get out of a real jam. A good friend said "I know that it's worth more but I can scrape together the $4000, and if you ever want it back, it will be here."
I guess the moral of the story is "What goes around comes around." But that's not the 'rest of the story'.
After I sold the Gibson, my friend Scott Mulrooney at The Music Shop in Southington, CT asked me "What are you going to do for a guitar?"
"I don't know." I replied. He told me that he would hook me up with a good guitar for his cost. Further, he told me that if after a month, I didn't love the guitar, I could bring it back and he would give me my money back. He then pulled a dealer catalogue for Samick guitars from under the counter, flipped through the pages and pointed out a Greg Bennett designed Samick Royale RL-3 with a quilt maple top. I couldn't believe I was considering buying a guitar without having played it. Since my parents bought me the Teisco EP back in 1968 from the Montgomery Ward catalogue I had never purchased anything without trying it out.
I didn't return the Samick to Scott. As a matter of fact he was right, I do love it. With the exception of the fact that it's not the red 1963 Gibson ES-335 that some people over the years came to identify me with, it is my favorite guitar to play. The propaganda on Greg Bennett's web site is absolutely true. It's a great looking, great playing guitar. Though it will never hold the sentimental value or attain to the monetary value of the red Gibson, parting with it is not something I intend to do.
"I don't usually loan it out but I guess it wouldn't hurt it to be played in church. Where is the church and what time is the service? I'll bring it to you." Sunday morning came and I was sitting on the platform with the band tuning up my Montgomery Wards Teisco electric guitar. I looked up and saw Sam with that tattered old case in his hand and a big grin on his face. Putting down the Teisco I met him about half way down the right side aisle of the church, took the case from his hand and said "Thank you. I hope you enjoy the service." Back on the platform where everyone was pretty much tuned up and ready to go, I moved the Teisco aside and plugged in the Gibson. I got some looks as I hurried to tune up and then the service started. At the end of the service I held the guitar out to the bass player and said "Look familiar?". There had been a break-in at his house on a Sunday morning while he was at church some four years earlier. Among the things that been stolen were a Martin D-28 and a red 1963 Gibson ES-335. He took the guitar from me like it was made of glass. He examined it carefully then he turned it around and looked at the serial number on the back of the head stock. As he did, he handed it back to me and said "That was settled with the insurance company a long time ago. I don't want to know."
"I borrowed it from a guy I work with. I thought it looked familiar."
Knowing I needed a real guitar, he said "See if he will sell it to you. I only paid $75 for it. The old guy I bought it from had no clue what it was worth."
I returned the guitar to Sam and insulted him by offering him $75 for it. I didn't think about it much for the next two weeks. Sam only worked a few days of those two weeks. On Friday after the paychecks had been handed out Sam was trying to bum money off of anybody who would even talk to him but he owed almost everybody already. By the time he got to me I had heard him say that magic number $75. He had to have $75 or his landlord was going to kick him out in the street. He came to me and said "Can you lend me some money until next payday."
"I'll give you $75 for that red Gibson" was my answer.
"It won't do me much good on the street." He replied.
That Sunday and almost every Sunday for the next 25 years I played my red 1963 Gibson ES-335 in church. I never saw Sam again. He didn't show up for work the next Monday and he never came back.
Looking back there is no doubt that I played that guitar for more than 8000 hours. I completely wore out two sets of frets and was well into the third when I found myself in need of money. Like Sam, the most valuable thing I had monetarily was that red 1963 Gibson ES-335, and like Sam I had to sell it for far less than what it was worth. I had to have $4000 to get out of a real jam. A good friend said "I know that it's worth more but I can scrape together the $4000, and if you ever want it back, it will be here."
I guess the moral of the story is "What goes around comes around." But that's not the 'rest of the story'.
After I sold the Gibson, my friend Scott Mulrooney at The Music Shop in Southington, CT asked me "What are you going to do for a guitar?"
"I don't know." I replied. He told me that he would hook me up with a good guitar for his cost. Further, he told me that if after a month, I didn't love the guitar, I could bring it back and he would give me my money back. He then pulled a dealer catalogue for Samick guitars from under the counter, flipped through the pages and pointed out a Greg Bennett designed Samick Royale RL-3 with a quilt maple top. I couldn't believe I was considering buying a guitar without having played it. Since my parents bought me the Teisco EP back in 1968 from the Montgomery Ward catalogue I had never purchased anything without trying it out.
I didn't return the Samick to Scott. As a matter of fact he was right, I do love it. With the exception of the fact that it's not the red 1963 Gibson ES-335 that some people over the years came to identify me with, it is my favorite guitar to play. The propaganda on Greg Bennett's web site is absolutely true. It's a great looking, great playing guitar. Though it will never hold the sentimental value or attain to the monetary value of the red Gibson, parting with it is not something I intend to do.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Inexpensive, not cheap.
A few months ago while killing some time at a flee market in Dover, DE, I spotted a very dusty twelve string guitar lying on a table with a lot of other junk. As I walked past it, I looked a little closer and spotted the word ‘Kay’ on the headstock. My mind drifted back some forty-three years to a simpler time in my life. It was a warm Saturday afternoon in Oxford, PA. My dad had walked into Cambles Corner Store. As was often his custom he left my mother and us four kids in the car. By and by he emerged from the store with a brand new jumbo Kay guitar in his hand. There was no case, no strap and no pick. He carried it as one would carry a broom or a shovel. He announced to the family that he bought it for Barbara. Barbara was the oldest of us four children at that time. With the addition of our sister, Shirley a few years later, we are now five. Dad loved guitar music and wanted one of us to be able to play some day. As the next few years passed, it became evident that it would not be Barbara, who would become the guitar player in the family. When I got big enough to sit with the big Kay guitar in my lap, and get my arm over the jumbo-sized body and reach the strings, I began to strum and pick. The big six string Kay is no longer in my possession, but I am picking and strumming once again.
This brings me back to the twelve string Kay at Spence’s Market. Upon close examination, it was obvious that other than being very dirty, the guitar was in like-new condition. Then the fun began. There was no price on the item. I picked it up, tuned it a bit and strummed a few chords. “How much?” I asked. This is a question that almost never gets a straight answer.
“I paid $260 for it last year,” the man said. At that I placed the guitar back on the table with all the other junk. “Make me an offer,” he said.
“It’s not worth $260,” I answered. Then, to get a feel for where we were really going, I said, “I’ll give you $60.”
He fired back, “$160.” I walked away. About fifteen minutes later, I walked past the table again. The guitar hadn’t been touched. “You know you want it,” he said with a smile.
“Not for that price,” I answered.
“$140,” he said. I smiled and walked away. An hour went by. I approached the table from another direction. He caught me looking at it again. I picked it up, brushed a little dust off it and said, “I’ll give you $75.”
He said, “$125.”
I put it down and began to walk away again. Then I turned to see if I could get it down just a bit more. “I have a $100 bill in my wallet. I’ll make you an even trade.” To my surprise, he said, “Ok!”
It was the best $100 I ever spent. The guitar cleaned up nicely and it sounds every bit as good as any twelve string guitar I have ever played in music shops selling for $700 - $800. Now I just need to find a case for it.
This brings me back to the twelve string Kay at Spence’s Market. Upon close examination, it was obvious that other than being very dirty, the guitar was in like-new condition. Then the fun began. There was no price on the item. I picked it up, tuned it a bit and strummed a few chords. “How much?” I asked. This is a question that almost never gets a straight answer.
“I paid $260 for it last year,” the man said. At that I placed the guitar back on the table with all the other junk. “Make me an offer,” he said.
“It’s not worth $260,” I answered. Then, to get a feel for where we were really going, I said, “I’ll give you $60.”
He fired back, “$160.” I walked away. About fifteen minutes later, I walked past the table again. The guitar hadn’t been touched. “You know you want it,” he said with a smile.
“Not for that price,” I answered.
“$140,” he said. I smiled and walked away. An hour went by. I approached the table from another direction. He caught me looking at it again. I picked it up, brushed a little dust off it and said, “I’ll give you $75.”
He said, “$125.”
I put it down and began to walk away again. Then I turned to see if I could get it down just a bit more. “I have a $100 bill in my wallet. I’ll make you an even trade.” To my surprise, he said, “Ok!”
It was the best $100 I ever spent. The guitar cleaned up nicely and it sounds every bit as good as any twelve string guitar I have ever played in music shops selling for $700 - $800. Now I just need to find a case for it.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
So now I'm a blogger.
I recently started playing music again after taking some time off to clear up some other matters. Well, the other matters are not cleared up but playing music is not something that can wait until "other matters" are settled. As a matter of fact playing music again sort of brings all those other matters into a little better perspective. That is not to say that music makes the world go around but it has helped to keep me from wanting to stop the world and get off at this juncture.
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