We have lots of stories about inclusion but after watching this video you’ll wish ‘you could have been there’ for this one.
A story of escaping the prison of professionalism after finding love inside the music.
Like a coal miner’s son I was born into a trade and a tribe that I would serve, through good times and bad for the rest of my days. They’d bury me with my guitar and my union card.
I had a dinner suit for the bigger clubs and casino shows, blue jeans, black T’s and doc martins for the smaller pubs and seedier clubs, an array of guitars and amps, skills and ‘guitar licks’ enough in the genre’s of jazz, blues, rock and country music to make a decent living. After several hundred club gigs I graduated up into the recording studio brotherhood and, as a professional I was on time, I played my parts proficiently and I got the job done. I continued to rise through the ranks and soon I was performing on network Television.
I had made it and as much as a guitar player can be, I was model professional.
Now and then in the midst of this professional journey I would be foolish and play music for fun… on my own of course, in a room somewhere private… where no one could hear me… and I would fall upon little treasures that I didn’t understand or know what to do with… and so, I would keep them to myself and then go off onto my next professional gig, keep my head down and do my job.
But, like a child reading his first Agatha Christie novel… I could not put ‘the book’ down… or stay away from my closet musings with my guitar and these little noodlings or melodies of childlike lyrics… all of which… was very unlike the professional I was trained to be. For, without realizing it, I was falling in love… with music and these simple little musical ideas and chordal shapes.
I would stumble upon a basic uncomplicated chord progression and begin to imagine a rock pool or a mountain stream and I would sit there and let the peace wash over me. Then I would hear someone walking down the hall towards my hideout and I would hurriedly put my guitar away as if I had been caught doing something naughty.
What happens when the curious child in us makes music or writes songs?
When we feel no pressure from adults, from peers or society, trends, the popular people, the FB likes, our audience or fans, the leaders of our community and or the Boss that signs the checks… we are free to say what we want and… how we want.
We can write absolute nonsense and it wouldn’t matter.
We could experiment with topics, rhymes, beats, time, instrumentation, lyrics and so on.
We could, in a sense, throw musical paint at a canvas to see what it looks/sounds like.
Or we could just turn the canvas upside down? It might be what we had in mind but couldn’t say in an upright position.
With no one to impress… what can you hear or see in your curious child imagination?