In the summer of 1992, when I was 17, I decided I would work for my Mom’s office leasing business, which was on the 12th floor of a building on Kirby near Miyako. Normally, I lived and went to school on Houston’s north side. But I was now close enough to Rockin’ Robin that I could go over there and take lessons once a week. Which I did for three weeks before deciding they were a waste of time. I can’t remember the dude’s name, and each lesson was only about 15 minutes long. Long enough for him to teach me some rhythm patterns, some basic scales, and the chords and intro to “Brown Eyed Girl.” Which, for a long time, was the only song I could play. Half the lesson was tuning my guitar. To put things in perspective, I learned more in 15 minutes glancing at this Web site recently than I did in my three lessons at Rockin’ Robin. But at least I can tune my guitar.
Unlike my experience with Piano, I actually enjoyed practicing guitar. But after three weeks of lessons, I took a friend’s advice and started teaching myself, using the book I’ve previously mentioned.
I took at stab at guitar lessons again while I was in college. I met a guy at the Magic Bus who offered to help get me beyond my very basic guitar skills, but he ended up being a Jazz-head who taught from Mel Bay books and was prone to yammering on about his relationship with Joe Pass. He insisted on learning to read music as an essential guitar skill. I disagreed. So that was a short-lived experiment.
My dad was terribly unsupportive of my playing guitar and being in a band. But he’s probably the biggest influence upon my meager skills. First, he gave me his old crappy acoustic guitar on which to learn. I still have it to this day. And until a few years ago, I wrote songs on this guitar almost exclusively.
Now I use a 1975 Ovation, Model 1132-4 (pics are of a 1978 model).
The second thing my dad did was teach me how to use barre chords and why they were useful. It’s witheringly simple, of course. But I don’t have a good ear, and I’ve not been a particularly quick learner when it comes to music. It was also early in my development (I was still 17) and I didn’t really understand how easy it was to use a single chord shape to play multiple chords up and down the fret board. My dad had picked up a bit in college, and he knew some basic stuff pretty well. Him showing me how to play Wild Thing on guitar is one of best memories of myself and the old man. The two of us sitting on the edge of my bed in high school, hashing out this dumb song… it felt amazing at the time. And my memory of it is still pretty intense and awesome.
We’ve hardly ever agreed musically or politically, but I love him as much as anyone I ever have. If anything, I wish we had more times with him teaching me the stuff he knew. He knew more than I thought, but he was pretty hands-off as a Dad. With the exception of his tutoring in sports, he stepped in only during those times when I got in trouble. I think we both regret his laissez-faire approach now. It’s really too bad you only get one shot at raising your first son, and one shot at being that kid.
Nice Read. This whole father-son relationship has been front and center for me lately. Not only because I’m about to join you on the older end of that bond, but also because my own father -estranged from the family for years- is in need of family care due to health reasons.
When I get to feeling sorry for myself though, I remember -and I think it’s kind of odd- that I know of very few male friends or cousins who have super-duper relationships with their fathers; even among those I wouldn’t say have dysfunctional families. Then I go back to predicting the relationship I’ll have with my own son, and find that I would be satisfied to have him fear me a little and respect me. I desire that above forming a band with him although that would be cool too.
Me and my dad had some conflict when I was a teen, but that was normal. I have to say that since I’ve been an adult, it’s become the best and most enjoyable family relationship I have outside of my own burgeoning household.
And it’s funny that you say “fear and respect”, because that’s probably the best way to describe my relationship with him when I was younger.
You can be friends when you’re older.
Ha! Yes, the first song I learned was “Wild Thing”, taught to me by my guitar-playing uncle, who also taught me about barre chords. Man, the world just works a certain way I guess.
That Martin just needs a brunch of stickers slapped all over it!