I couldn’t stop thinking about the Eko guitar over the weekend. That’s a good sign. I’ve got the feeling. I just hope it’s real and I do what I planned to do with my music going forward.
It was time to prepare for the arrival of her imminence. I went on Amazon and looked up a few items. I wanted to get a few things in preparation for her arrival so it would be a seamless transition from the store to my house. I wasn’t only thinking about the Eko I needed to take care of the Iceman too.
I figured if I had finally decided to cheat on my wife, (the Iceman) I should at least get her a nice gift to say I’m sorry and haven’t forgotten about her. Maybe some special little gifts to let her know that she’s still my number one and I’m just taking up with this younger woman for laughs.
First I ordered this.
I bolted the wall hanger to a support post in my room. If I was going to get this new cute guitar I didn’t want her hidden from sight in a case under my bed or in my closet. She should be displayed in clear sight so I can show her off and her beauty can be admired on a daily basis. Having her there on display will remind me that I need to play her on a regular basis. It’ll be easy to take her from her spot on the hook and make music with her.
Next, were these custom guitar picks.
I found a place that makes custom guitar picks online. I wanted them to be black of course and have my name on them. I even got to choose the font. Do you know what that font is called? Rock Salt. Seems fitting for a rocker. If I had access to stuff like this 40 years ago when I was in a band I would have ordered 100 of them. I would have been tossing them out to girls at every show!
I also found something else online, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
The day arrived. 2/22/22. Today was the day I went to pick up my new little girlfriend. Having made all of the proper preparations and mounting the hook to the post in my room to display her, I was ready.
I went over to South Street Sounds and chatted with the owner’s wife. Her husband was in and out but was busy with some other clients. I didn’t care. I was there to do business regardless of who was present. I told the nice lady what I was there to do and she obliged. She carefully wrapped up my new guitar and I paid her.
I gently carried her home under an overcast sky that threatened to rain. But I willed it away to protect my new girl until I got her safely home. My daughter was home but didn’t see what I carried in.
I unwrapped the guitar from her package and placed her in her rightful place in my room. The funny thing was, I didn’t want to play her right away. I wanted to wait until my daughter left to visit her boyfriend in New Jersey for the weekend. I find that I want things more when I deny myself. If I love something now, I don’t devour it immediately like I did in the past. I wait. I wait for the right moment when everything’s perfect. (seems a little nuts but it works for me in all aspects of my life) I love having things to look forward to as part of my life now. It’s so important to have little things to constantly look forward to. Without that, life can become boring for some people. If I do everything in moderation, I’ll enjoy it more and for a longer period of time.
It’s a good way to live a happy life.
If you’ve got your health, some good people around you, something to do every day, to love and be loved, and something to look forward to… you’re all set.
I let the Iceman go first out of respect.
Such a beautiful faithful wife. Elegant and powerful. Her sharp lines, and double humbucker pickups. She’s not a lady to be trifled with onstage.
Now, my new girl…
My concubine. My new younger mistress. She’s light, fast, and cute. She’s got a whole different feel in my hands than my Iceman. I want to write some new songs on her this year.
But I’ll never forget my first love. The 1979 Ibanez Iceman. The guitar made me who I was back in the day. Out of respect and a little guilt, I felt I had to do something for her for bringing me so much joy for so many years.
So I got her a little present that she always deserved…
Do you see it?
The black leather strap with the white lightning bolt on it! She deserves the best and has waited patiently for it for so many years.
So if I’m going to cheat on her with my new mistress, I think she deserves a nice gift to let her know, she was always… and will always be, my number one.
The Paragon.
I appreciate everyone who read all of these chapters and went on this journey with me. There’ll be more original content on the way soon!
I’ve been teaching myself how to play a little lead guitar in the last few months and it’s coming along!
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I stood in the music store admiring the instrument on the wall. It wasn’t a famous guitar brand. It didn’t need to be. There was just something about it that spoke to me.
That’s her. Who is she? She’s lovely.
She’s an EkoSC1 Kadett Sunburst. Lean, young, lightweight with feminine curves. A dramatic departure from the angular, masculine lines of the Ibanez Iceman. I gently bring her down from her perch on the wall. She feels light and elegant in my arms.
This is it.
This is the guitar I want. I have to have her.
Then it hits me. She looks like a brand new younger and better version of my very first guitar, the Sears Silvertone!
The resemblance to my first love is uncanny, but the Eko is so much better. I think this is the attraction. Like the wounded teenager, I was in middle school. The object of scorn from the girls I wanted to like me, I’ve spent my life pursuing them. I’ve succeeded in so many ways but this guitar is probably the manifestation of those feelings. The young beauty who got away or was later replaced by what I thought was an even better girl. The Silvertone was replaced by the mighty Iceman. I think it’s all tied together in my feelings and history and has now come full circle.
I like this guitar because it looks and feels like my first guitar. The one that captured my love and imagination for the instrument and rock itself. The object that took me from music lover to music maker.
I have to have her, but I have to be careful. No more reckless spending or behavior now. I’ve done too much of that in so many ways throughout my life. Things are well under control now. I must tread lightly on this new path. (Or, am I back on the right path at last?)
As I hold her in my arms and gently pluck her strings and caress her smooth lean neck, I feel a twinge of guilt. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I almost imperceptibly feel like I’m cheating on the Ibanez Iceman. She’s the good wife who’s stayed with me through my whole life. The guitar stood by me through thick and thin. The history, the songs, and her legacy are all part of my own mythology. I can’t just take up with this hot little tart simply because she’s young and cute. That would be too close to my real past.
But there is a strong parallel here. But Eric at the pawn shop was right. When you put it on…you’ll know. I’ve known before and felt this back in 1980 and I’m feeling it here again in the music store on South Street 40 years later.
I want her, and like the women in my past or the sale, I wanted to make… I closed it. I asked the price from the owner and he gave me a great deal. The Eko is brand new and just what I’ve been looking for. She plays and feels like a Fender Stratocaster, but she’s lighter and more petite. She’s the girl for me.
I’m obviously keeping my Iceman. The original paragon is too important to me. I’ll never forsake her. But I really want this younger prettier guitar for my new life. Maybe if I do something nice for the Iceman as thank you for standing by me all these years it won’t be so bad if I start dating this younger sexier model.
I need to think about this. But I do not think too long…
Fortune favors the bold and I ask the owner of the store to hold her for me for a couple of days while I figure out my finances. He tells me he’ll hold her until 2/22/22 when he returns after the weekend. I think that’s perfect because I’m off on 2/22 and that date has a certain significance. It’s obviously a date full of 2’s that’s unique, but the weird thing is… I was married on 2/22/1992. I was divorced eight years later, but had I stayed married I would have been married for 30 years on 2/22/22. I know that doesn’t have any real meaning because my marriage dissolved years ago, but for some reason acquiring a new guitar makes sense. I’ll get my first new guitar after 40 years and I’ll do it on what would have been my 30-year wedding anniversary. Why not take up with a new guitar now.
This guitar…
See the note they placed on her?
It won’t be long now…
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I’m sure by now everybody’s sick of reading this series. But I’m working on the Wildwood book right now and the blog is on autopilot since last year. Don’t worry readers, the best is yet to come in 2023 in this blog. I’m grateful to everyone that still reads and enjoys Phicklephilly.
More time went by and the winter dragged on. It’s been really cold this season but maybe I’m just getting older. I used to be like a big generator when I was young. I was always warm and actually ran a little hot. I was the one who would give his gloves to his friend because their hands were cold. I was always warm. Not sweaty… just a well-heated core.
But as I’ve gotten older I find I really can’t tolerate the cold weather. I guess that’s why old people move to Florida. They just can’t take the cold winters in the Northeast.
I was out on one of my usual epic walking tours around the city and decided to stop back into a few music stores. I went back to Bluebond Guitars on 4th Street.
This time there was no young lady, only a couple of guys my age working there. I’m assuming one of them was the owner. I looked up at the guitars hanging from the wall and the black Ibanez Gio was gone. Hopefully, some teenage kid got it and was learning to rock. I didn’t feel any remorse because I guess I just wasn’t that into that instrument.
The guy asked me what I was looking for and I told him I had a ’79 Ibanez Iceman and just wanted a cheap guitar I could bang around on and play on a regular basis. He ends up taking a black semi-hollow-bodied Guild guitar off the wall with an $800 price tag on it.
So in that instance, I realized this guy wasn’t listening to me and had no interest in selling me a budget guitar. If I was too cheap to even spend $70 on a long-lost guitar strap there’s no way I’m spending $800 on a guitar. I don’t even want that type! I don’t really know what I want but it’s not that. All I can think of is a solid body, good shape, and lightweight. That’s it. Just something simple that isn’t the Iceman and maybe gives me a different sound and tone.
So I leave and head over to the pawn shop again. I stuck my head inside the shambles of a store and said hello to Eric. Boxes and gear are everywhere and the guys behind the counter appear to be hustling products from the store out on eBay.
I told him I was still looking and hadn’t found the guitar that would light me up yet. He told me to keep looking and at some point, I would know.
I feel like I’ve been on this quest for years now. I’ve been missing the musical part of me now more than ever but have been very content creating my blog and books. I think as long as there’s some creative avenue I can travel down I’m fine. I feel best when I’m creating but I want to begin to split that off between writing and music. Since the blog only publishes once a week now, I should have more time to put my energy into some other creative subjects.
My next stop was back to South Street Sounds. I stopped in and spoke with the owner again. I looked around the store and again told him about my quest. I also asked him about his guitar lessons.
I’m self-taught. I learned how to play guitar by listening to my records and learning the songs by ear. I hear the notes and replicate them on the neck of the guitar. I can only imagine what a musician I could have been had I gotten proper lessons as a child. But that’s another story.
He said he could give me lessons but would want to see what my skill level was before we began. He also told me he would set up any lessons around my schedule. He would only charge me $25 per lesson which seemed like a good deal. I figured even the best ballerinas take a class every day. You can always learn something from a more experienced player. I figured since I never took any real guitar lessons, that maybe if I learned some new things from a teacher I could improve my technique and master the instrument.
It should come to me naturally because I already have all the basics in my head and hands. I can play. I’ve been in a few bands. I can write songs but I would just like to be a better musician. Maybe learn some new blues runs or some cool leads. Maybe some new songs I always liked but never learned how to play. Maybe the reason I haven’t been playing much in the last few years is that I haven’t learned anything new in decades. I just keep playing the same old songs and riffs. Maybe learning some new things would reinvigorate my interest in playing.
When I began my musical journey back in the 70s I was always learning. Every experience was a learning curve. There were always new songs to learn, and write and repertoires to build for the bands I was in. This could be what’s missing from my life now.
I love learning new things. Learning is fun. But for many people, learning is associated with school, which I hated as a kid. I felt that the whole experience was a waste of time. It was just some person regurgitating a bunch of facts about things that had already been created and written by others and we had to memorize them and be tested on them. Nonsense to me. There was almost no place for creativity in school. Just memory stuff and math. I get the math part to an extent but how many times have you needed algebra in your adult life?
I liked science, English, and music class because I felt like there were elements that I could learn. But other than that school was just a prison I had to do my time until I could be released.
I think that’s why in the last couple of years I’ve stopped everything I once did in Philly over the last decade. I don’t go to bars anymore. I don’t go to happy hour anymore. I don’t have a girlfriend or hang out with a gaggle of hot young women at events. That all seems boring and a waste of time now. What can I possibly learn from an attractive 28-year-old beauty? Nothing. She has nothing to offer me but her youth and beauty. I’ve always loved those things but have no interest in pursuing them anymore. Some of it may be due to my age, (which is a relief!) but I just don’t see the sense in it anymore. I’d rather write, work, and watch my shows on Netflix. Just focus on my exercise, health, and creativity.
But I know I still hold certain traits that have been held over from my former self. I still love beautiful things and have an eye for lovely women. But now I love them from afar. I can’t be bothered getting involved with anyone now because I enjoy the simplicity of my life. I suppose because I’ve faced so much drama in my personal life over the years I’m just done with it all.
But I still feel for the beauty of life. I just don’t want any of that in a person. Maybe it’s still alive in me but in another form. Not for a young pretty woman, but for something I can possess that will bring me a similar dopamine joy. Something that won’t hurt or betray me. An instrument I can create something fun and beautiful through without involving another person’s wants or needs. Maybe an inanimate object that I can bring to life that I don’t have to text every day to reassure it I love it. Perhaps something I can develop along with. Maybe that thing has been with me all along and I’ve just been too busy working and dating pretty women to bother with.
Maybe a new, pretty guitar will be my paragon. Maybe that’s what I need. Not a girl, but a guitar. It’s so much simpler. I can be whoever I want around a guitar. I can bring my own joy forth through the instrument without the nonsense. Only good will spring forth from my heart and into my fingers on her strings.
I’m not cheating on the Iceman. I’m just spreading the genes around the musical community.
I run it over in my head again… just to reassure myself. (This is a combat mechanism I’ve installed in my brain to combat anxiety and depression.)
This makes sense why I need to do this now. Maybe I’ll replace all the women and drama in my life with a guitar. I’ve cut loose all of the crazy, toxic people from my life. I barely drink anymore. I eat right and exercise. I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I’ve beaten all of my vices, crazies, and booze are gone. I’ve conquered my anxiety and depression. It took me most of my life to do it, but it’s nice to finally be free of all of that pain. It’s been an arduous journey but I’ve been able to spank all of my demons and make them pay. I’ve forgiven everyone, and I no longer worry about all of the nonsense most people do. I enjoy living a simple and uncluttered life. This is now an elegant balance I’ve finally been able to accomplish after a lifetime of struggle and anguish.
But despite the ups and downs, I’ve had a good time. It’s been an exciting and colorful life.
How many people do you know who’ve had the blessing to be able to fall in love multiple times?
The rush of new love balanced with the pain and suffering of loss makes you a more complete person.
I’m sure it’s great to meet that one person, get married, and stay with them forever. But that never made sense to me. It’s just not something that was ever right for me. Good for the people that can do it, but I like being free and alone. The next love or adventure is just up around the next bend. It’s been an action-packed trip. I don’t know how most people stay in the same marriage and job their whole lives. Maybe it’s the fear of the alternative. Most people don’t like change or being alone. I dig both. I suppose if you’ve lived in a body that’s constantly wracked with anxiety and depression, any outer changes are just hills you climb to get out from under it on a daily basis.
There’s a certain joy you learn from being free and alone to do what you want, when you want, and not answer to anyone.
Love and attraction occur automatically in homo sapiens. Marriage and monogamy are RULES. There are no rules in the way the heart. The heart wants what it wants. Once you put a price tag on anything beautiful, it’s ruined.
I walked around the store and looked at their latest batch of instruments that hung from the walls.
My eyes suddenly stopped on one particular guitar hanging there among the others.
It was like walking through Spruce Street Harbor Park on a summer evening. The place is full of people. It’s dusk and not quite dark yet. Lanterns hang from the trees and people are sitting on the grass, and lying in hammocks. Music and laughter fill the air as people eat and drink as they celebrate the warm weather of the evening. I walk along the path with a friend sipping a beverage when I encounter a group of women. They’re all standing together looking lovely.
But there’s that one in the group who stands out from the others. The best one. The obvious queen of the group. There’s something about her that makes her shine a bit brighter than the rest. That’s when I saw Sarala for the first time.
I said to my friend… “I have to meet her.”
That was what I saw on the wall at the music store that day.
I think I found the guitar I want.
To be continued next Tuesday…
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My next stop was Bluebond Guitars at 4th and South. It was a crisp and sunny winter day and I was out on one of my usual 5 to 10-mile exercise walks around the city on my day off.
Several places were closed during covid and some had finally started to open. I went inside and there was a blonde-haired girl sitting behind the counter. I’d never been inside of this store and it looked like any other small music store. Lots of guitars hanging on the wall and from racks suspended from the ceiling. Mostly acoustic guitars because they’re more popular. There were stacks of amplifiers lining the walls.
I chatted with the girl about what I had been thinking about over the last two years. She showed me a couple of models but one, in particular, caught my eye. It was a black Ibanez, Gio. Upon closer inspection, I noticed little sparkles in the paint, which looked cool.
The Ibanez Gio series are basic electric guitars for beginners. This one was used and was in the price range of $120. That’s pretty cheap for an Ibanez and the same brand as the Iceman. I sort of liked the instrument and it was the first thing I had looked at or handled that I found somewhat appealing.
But I wasn’t thrilled. A basic guitar that didn’t have the best action and nothing was all that special about it. The price was right, but for whatever reason, it just wasn’t grabbing me. Part of me wanted something dramatically different than my Iceman and this just wasn’t it. I just figured if it was meant to be I could stop back in six months and the guitar would still be there waiting for me.
I left the store and walked a block to visit Gus’ hot dog stand. Gus has been in that same cart on the corner of 5th and South for over 25 years. He looks the same as he did back in the 90s but just a bit greyer. His dogs are always plump and good and the rolls are always fresh. It’s good to see that some things have lasted over time on the once-great South Street.
I continued my walk and thought about the black Ibanez, rolling the idea around in my mind if I really wanted that instrument. I decided that I’d go with what Eric had said to me down at the pawnshop months ago. “You’ll know what guitar is for you when you put it on.”
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I started to think about maybe getting an inexpensive electric guitar that I could play more often. Something different than the Iceman. But I didn’t want to spend much money. Just something I could bang around on. The Iceman was now 40 years old and a valuable antique. It’s still in mint condition because I always took good care of it, but it’s worth thousands of dollars now. I thought that if I could find a cheap electric guitar that was a bit more present, I’d play it more. I started to do some research and decided to shop around locally in search of this cheap guitar.
It seemed that in the last few years, I was always talking to people I’d met about music and playing rock. To me, this was a signal that I needed to not only play again but maybe try to become an even better musician. Maybe learn how to play some leads and learn some new songs to reignite my interest in making music again. I felt that it was always a part of me and was lying dormant in my mind for many years while I worked at my job.
I think when I started writing this blog back in 2016, my brain was calling out to me to create again.
A guy who was a former musician who ran the company that washed the windows at a restaurant where I worked would always come in and chat about music with me. He was a retired school teacher and loved the same rock I listened to. He eventually ended up giving me a Fender G-tec amplifier for free!
I was surprised and very grateful but also saw this as a signal that my heart was calling out to me to rock again. This was a few years ago around 2018. The Fender was a cool little amp that you could program bass and drum sounds into. I could hit a button and it would play a bass and drum track and then I’d play along with it. It was really fun to jam along with but I was still playing just small bits of songs I had known for four decades.
I think maybe one of the most exciting parts about playing guitar for me in the late seventies was writing songs and learning new songs from other artists. There was a certain rush that occurred when I’d figure out the riff to songs by Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith. I felt like I was getting better if I was walking in the footsteps of Jimmy Page or Joe Perry. I wanted to feel that way again.
The great thing about music is its purity. It will never hurt you and only bring you joy. It can give you a great high when you play and perform and doesn’t give you a hangover. Your music will never betray you or break your heart. It’ll comfort you when you’re sad, and energize you when you’re happy. It truly is the rhythm of life itself.
I decided to look into some of the local music stores in center city. This was about two years ago. I began with visiting my friend Eric down at Society Hill Loan which is a pawn shop down at 6th and South Street.
The place is a cluttered mess with boxes and amps everywhere. There are several guitars hanging from racks around the store and some of the better ones are in cases behind the counters. The place has been there for years and actually does brisk business on eBay. I spoke with Eric about what I was thinking about and how now that I’m older I was thinking about an old used Fender telecaster. Springsteen plays one and so does Keith Richards. It’s a versatile instrument and good for rhythm. I saw a few in the store but they were copies made by Jay Turser. He makes decent low-priced guitars, but I wasn’t feeling it. I also don’t know if I feel good enough to own or invest in an original guitar. I had to focus on my objective. A cheap electric guitar I could knock around on and play on a daily basis.
Eric said to me that I should shop around and when I put on a specific guitar I’ll just know that it’s the one. From one musician to another I think that was good advice. He told me to stop back in occasionally because they were always getting new stuff in. There was always something about that pawn shop that made me sad. In the front windows, they had some old TVs and radios but mostly musical instruments. Just seeing those horns and guitars made me sad. Instead of seeing several guitars at rock-bottom prices I only saw the failed dreams of other musicians. I always imagined the guy who owned the guitar and for whatever reason had to pawn his instrument. The thing that he may have built his hopes and dreams on. The road of rock ‘n roll is littered with the detritus of millions of failed musicians, but seeing these artifacts held out for everyone to see knowing where they came from just made me sad. I was a failed musician/rockstar but I wasn’t broken up about it. I’ve had some lows in my life like we all have, but I never got so low that I ever wanted to part with my Ibanez Iceman. It had brought me so much joy and I had worked hard to acquire it, and I loved it so for what it did, I could never part with it.
So I went about my business of working and writing and slowly thought about my next guitar. There was no rush. Weeks went by and sometimes on my walks on my days off I would stop in at the pawn shop and chat with Eric. He’s a cool dude who still plays in a band, but each time I went in there I didn’t see anything I liked. Probably because deep down I had no idea what I wanted or if I even needed another guitar.
My daughter said to me I never do anything for myself. I tell her it’s because I don’t want anything. I’ve had tons of material things in my life in the past and none of them made me happy. It seemed the more stuff I had the more responsibility and stress it brought with it. I think many people fill their lives with stuff in an attempt to fill a certain emptiness inside their hearts. Sadly material things like cars, jewelry, vacations, homes, and designer apparel all seem silly to me. I suppose it makes them feel affluent, successful, or more attractive to other people. But it’s just stuff. All of the greatest things and life can’t be bought. If you can purchase it… it must not have any real value because anybody with money can get it. Some of the greatest things in life can’t even be seen. They must be felt or experienced.
I’m so in tune with myself now that if I want something out of the ordinary I always ask myself why I need it and if I really need it. Am I depressed? Am I missing something? What’s wrong? Do I need to fill an emptiness inside myself? Obviously, that’s not the case with me because I rarely buy myself anything at all now, but that’s just how my brain works after living with the darkness of depression and the rollercoaster of anxiety my whole life.
But I’m fine now, and I think another guitar would be neat to have and play. Maybe give me a fresh start to kickstart my heart about music again. Not just playing music, but writing some new songs from my older more experienced self.
One of the guys at the store where I work is a musician and he’s the only person I’ve ever met that knows more about rock music than I do. That’s an incredible feat to me and I admire him for his musical ability and mental prowess on the subject. I think chatting with him at work and listening to all of the playlists he’s created for the store on Spotify has inspired me to return to my first love.
Last year I started my own Spotify account and I love making playlists, listening to all of my favorites, and discovering new music. It’s reignited my love for the art form.
I’m getting a guitar!
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Two years ago I bought a little amplifier from a local music store. It was a Roland Cube. Just a little amp with a loud bark. It was only $100 but has plenty of power and all of the cool effects were built into it. Technology really has made some leaps in the last four decades. Electronics are smaller, faster, and better than ever.
The owner of South Street Sounds is a local musician who’s been in the industry for many years. He played and recorded in a band called Tall Trees. He’s got tons of gear crammed into the little store and it’s a bit cluttered. There’s so much musical stuff packed in there that there’s almost no room to sit down and try out an instrument. But he’s got a little bit of everything at reasonable prices.
In the basement, he has a complete recording studio and rehearsal space. He also gives guitar lessons and rents out the studio to musicians looking to record. He’ll run the board and mix the songs down for you. The Dead Milkmen have recorded there. When he’s not playing or fishing he’ll pick up gigs at local watering holes like Bob and Barbara’s or McGillan’s here in the city.
He’s been married to the same lady for around 25 years and they run the business together. His wife usually is behind the counter and operates the store on a daily basis. She’s a fit, pretty Asian lady with a peppery personality. She has a certain intensity in contrast to her husband’s laid-back, easy-going nature. Maybe that’s why it’s worked for so long. I’ve found that she’ll start talking about some subject or person that irritates her and then will become so intense, you actually feel like you’re the one in trouble with her!
I kind of dig her because she’s attractive and a little bit mean. I think this goes back to my Junior High days when I was hated by everyone. Being an ugly outcast, I was the object and target of my classmate’s scorn. Especially the girls. I think somehow in my formative years when girls were mean to me my subconscious at least enjoyed the attention even though it was negative. I think this may have manifested itself into me enjoying a woman who’s a little bit mean. I end up liking women who are a bit cruel in general. I don’t understand it but it’s definitely there in me.
I would stop in occasionally and chat with her but her corrosive personality compared to her very nice husband kept me away. That, and there was just no room in the small space to really check out their collection of guitars.
But I was still looking. I was thinking I may want a Fender Telecaster but still wasn’t sure. All I had was the little amp and my Iceman. But something was still missing. I’m not entirely sure what it was, but probably the fact that I wasn’t learning any new songs or writing and composing anything on my own. My energy was focused on the blog, but the itch to play again was getting stronger.
I would drag out the Iceman and jam on occasion but something was missing from the whole experience. I sold my Marshall amplifier years ago simply because it was just too big and too loud to play in my apartment in Rittenhouse. It would have melted the paint off the walls before I would be thrown out for violating local noise ordinances!
Something was coming but I didn’t know how or when. I would just keep thinking about music and ideas for songs and just let it develop naturally.
Continued next Tuesday…
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Back in 1978, I was the singer in a band called Renegade in Northeast Philly. The musicians were already playing together when I joined the band. It was a huge leap for me and was the beginning of my life as a musician. I’ve written about this time in my life and it’s all pretty well documented.
We played the song, Draw The Line by Aerosmith, and Gerry the guitarist asked that I learn and play the guitar part when he did an extended slide solo during the song. I leaped at the opportunity to play guitar so he brought in his old Silvertone to practice and showed me how to play the three notes I needed to play.
Larry, Mike, Chaz, and Jerry
I eventually acquired the guitar from him. He played a blonde post-CBS Fender Stratocaster. He needed money to buy a Valentine’s Day present for his girlfriend and he sold me his old Sears Silvertone for $15. He even threw in the amplifier that came with it. He was a great guitarist and had a cool Stage amp and a Univox Super Fuzz distortion pedal. The equipment he was using became the model of what I wanted to do musically even though I could barely play.
I found this pic on the internet and it is the exact model I owned into the early 80s.
Time went by and I continued to practice every day. Learning the notes on the fretboard and pouring through my sister’s old piano songbooks to learn songs. I would forgo going out to stay in and practice my instrument. My main focus was to learn the basics and then start writing songs. I wrote my first song called Get Lost on that guitar. I had only been playing the guitar for a couple of months. I always had a good ear and a sense of music in my head. I loved rock music since I was a kid, and leaned more toward the harder acts like Steppenwolf rather than The Beatles. I really dug hard-hitting powerful guitar sounds. The heavier the better.
Let’s jump to 1980 and I’m living in Wildwood, New Jersey with my family. My dad had decided that once my older sister went off to college, we’d leave Philly and live at the seashore. Wildwood back then was an absolute wonderland in the summertime. But in the winter it became a desolate awful place for kids and teens to live. There is absolutely nothing to do. It’s a resort/retirement town and only exists because of its location, free beaches, and a boardwalk full of amusement rides.
But I survived the winter and actually thrived when I met a kid who played guitar. We started jamming and later joined a few other guys to form the Union Jacks. My buddy said I probably needed to buy a “real guitar” if I was going to be taking music seriously. I thought this was a great idea and started looking through magazines to see what my favorite guitar heroes were playing.
The one instrument that really struck me as the guitar that was right for me was the Ibanez Iceman. It had to be black and would represent the cool heavy metal/glam image and persona I wanted. I guess once I learned how to play guitar and write songs I didn’t really focus on being a great musician. I just wanted to write good catchy songs and be a rockstar. I remember reading once that the artist, Sting once said, “I saw the Beatles and I wanted to be in a band. I saw Jimi Hendrix and I wanted to be a musician.”
You can read about my whole music saga in my upcoming book, Down The Shore:Stories from my summers in Wildwood, NJ
But for this story, you can click on the link below to get the backstory of this musical instrument.
When I saw the film Hard Day’s Night I wanted to be a rockstar. A cool job playing rock music and being hounded by throngs of girls wherever I went. So I always liked being in a band but my focus was on becoming a famous rockstar on my songwriting merits. I figured I could always get other musicians to bring my poetic and musical vision to life with their musical prowess.
So now I had the Iceman and I loved it. I referred to it in the feminine sense like men name their boats female names. It’s a term of endearment. Even though the Iceman had the word MAN in the name, and had sharp edges, an angular body, a hook, and what looked like a stinger I still regarded the instrument as female. She was beautiful and loyal and brought me hours of joy. She was far better than most people I knew. But the instrument still had a very heavy metal masculine image to it. Look at the photo. That’s a metal guitar. You don’t come out onstage with a black Iceman and a Marshall amp behind you and play ballads. You crank hard rock and metal at a loud volume.
I remember seeing a picture of a guitarist playing guitar in a music magazine and he had a black guitar strap with a white lightning bolt on it. I had to get one of those to complete my look. I had the cool Iceman, but my strap was plain black leather and I put neat buttons on it. Buttons were popular back then and my guitar strap was covered in buttons. Buttons with images and words like, I want complete control, I want it all, a picture of Alex from Clockwork Orange, a photo of Farrah Fawcett, etc. Just stuff I liked and thought was cool at the time.
But I wanted that lightning bolt strap to complete my rockstar look. But couldn’t find one anywhere. It was 1979, and I lived in a ghost town so music choices were limited. There was a TV repair shop owned by a guy who had a few guitars and gave lessons, a music store called Back to Earth, and a place called Gilday’s up in Pleasantville. Not much else. It was even difficult to find good music down the shore. All they had was one crappy radio station broadcast out of Atlantic City and if you wanted a cassette by a specific band the store had to special order it for you. I was probably the first person on the island that owned Def Leppard’s first album, On Through The Night, and Some older Judas Priest albums because there was just no call for any of that music where I lived. When I think about how sparse and talentless the population was in Wildwood in the wintertime I’m surprised to this day that we all actually came together and created a viable rock band.
I spoke to my father about the black strap with the lightning bolt and he said he’d see what he could do. He had always come through for all of us on anything we wanted when it came to Christmas, so why not ask Santa himself to procure this elusive item for me? He was great at locating things and bringing them home. I was sure he’d find one for me.
But as time went by, he came to me and said he wasn’t able to find the strap I was looking for. Was it a custom item that the guy I saw wearing it had specially made for him? Maybe. I eventually let it go and continued to play wearing my plain leather one covered in buttons.
The Ibanez Iceman had taken the place of the Sears Silvertone. The guitar that I learned to play and started my songwriting journey on. The guitar looked like a slender Stratocaster, but once you got close to it or held it realized it was one level above being a toy for a child. But it was a great guitar to learn on and it meant a lot to me.
But it eventually started to have electrical problems and spent more time in the closet because it had been replaced by my new girlfriend. My best girl. My beautiful powerful black Iceman. I had a tendency to do that with women back then too. I would have a girl I liked and I would spend time with her. Let’s use Anne as an example. Anne was my little girlfriend at the end of the summer. That lasted into the winter and she would come down and visit with her mom during the winter and we would hang out. I was 17 and she was 14. But I was immature and she was the perfect girlfriend for me. But once I was enrolled in Wildwood High and playing in a new band, I started dating a local girl. She was tall and blonde and I was digging her. New and shiny like the Iceman. Anne slowly became the Silvertone. I thought less about her and enjoyed my time with the girl who was new. I was fickle even back then. I didn’t even feel bad when I dumped Anne to be with the new girl. Anne was a better match than the new girl, but I wanted what I wanted. As the song says, “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” The new girl won out because she was available. But because of who I was at the time, once the summer of 1980 broke, I cut them both loose to enjoy all the fresh tourist girls who would arrive in droves each week on vacation.
That was 40 years ago and none of it matters now, but I noticed some interesting parallels in my life lately. The Ibanez Iceman is the only guitar I’ve purchased in the last 40 years. I thought about getting a Gibson Explorer as a second guitar back then, but they were expensive. I had the Iceman and that was enough. I could only play one guitar at a time anyway. The Gibson Explorer would have been a vanity purchase not because of how well it played but because it looked cool. Pretty much why I wanted the Iceman. It looked cool. My decision to spend all of my busboy earnings on a $500 guitar back in 1979 was simply because it looked cool. I wasn’t about the ease of play or tone. I got it because it looked sharp and I had never even played it before I bought it. I just wanted that look. Pretty superficial and shallow thinking. But I’ve always been that way. I’ve put up with so much from so many women because they were beautiful. I was always very forgiving of beauty, mistaking it for sophistication and kindness. When normally beauty is the opposite.
But lately, I’ve been thinking about getting another guitar. Just something simple, inexpensive, and functional. I don’t want to have to drag the Iceman (which is now a valuable collectible antique) out from its case underneath my bed, get it hooked up, and jam. I’d rather just write.
I had spoken to a musician who worked as a delivery driver at the last restaurant where I worked four years ago. He said he would buy blank guitar bodies and necks and build guitars himself. He’s a really talented guitarist but I think it’s more of a pet project than something he was thinking about turning into a business. We chatted about it on a few occasions but nothing ever came out of it.
To be continued next week…
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What better time than Valentine’s Day to write this love note…
Initially, I wanted to call this post, About A Girl, but decided against it.
I remember I always liked you and others like you. I didn’t know anything about any of you, but there was always an attraction. Especially when you were the focal point. You became very popular in my youth. I always watched from afar as you and the others were in the spotlight.
I always wanted to become better acquainted and learn more about you. But I never was allowed the opportunity. But still, I yearned for years to meet you. I liked you the best because you were so unique. You could do what all the others could do, but you always looked better doing it.
Alas, you were always in the arms of another man.
When I was around 16 I met one like you. I was introduced by a friend. But it just wasn’t the same. However, I was just happy to be learning more about you. Like the song says: “If you can’t be with the one you love. Love the one you’re with.”
It was a learning experience for me. I tried my best to gather as much information about you and those like you. I knew if I could be better I’d somehow win your heart. But I figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.
I was happy for a while, but there was still that yearning in my heart. You always want the thing you can’t have. It sounds nuts, but it just makes you want it more.
A few years passed, and things were getting better for me in my relationship with the other, but it just wasn’t you. It wasn’t tearing at my heart or anything, but you were always there. No point to string it along.
I got very busy in my teenage years just growing up and exploring life. I worked through the summer and had a good time at the seashore. I started hanging out with a more experienced group of people and I felt that if I wanted to fit in and tune into my own identity, things needed to change.
So I spoke to an older guy I knew from the community and explained my plight. He was good at fixing things. I suppose you could call him, a machine head. He told me he knew how I could finally meet you. I listened intently and being the wiser man with more experience, I followed his advice. It was time to make a switch.
I’ll never forget the night you finally came down from New York. I’d seen photos of you, and you always seemed to be living such an incredible life. Usually held in the passionate embrace of some rockstar.
But here you were. I went nuts for you.
Even on the walk home together to introduce you to my family, I had to stop and look at you. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.
I took you in my arms and told you I’d never let you go. I was surprised at how willing you were to join me on my journey. I had worked so hard on my own to be better, and I felt that I had earned the right to hold you in my arms.
There were others like you. But you were mine, and I loved you for that. When I introduced you to my friends they actually seemed surprised that I could win such a prize as you. But I knew in my heart I had earned the right to be with you. I worked hard on myself and with other people to have you in my life.
I felt so much cooler just having you by my side. Especially when we went out together. That was always a blast. I was surrounded by beauty, but you never got jealous. You knew we were in tune with each other. You knew I wouldn’t bolt, I’d always come home to you.
You were so good to me. The afternoons in my room communicating with each other for hours. You really brought out the best in me. I don’t know if you could say the same, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. But you seemed like you enjoyed it. You always went along with whatever I wanted without protest.
I mean, sometimes I was a little sensitive to your feedback, but for the most part, you were always sweet to me. I appreciated your input.
Don’t fret. I love you unconditionally and promised to never leave you.
I’d seen others like you, and some even better discarded by others or broken, and I promised I would never let that happen to you.
We had some of the best times of my life together back then. I’ll never forget them, or you. You were always so loyal. You always stayed by my side even after the party was long over. You never took from me. Only gave. All I needed to do was take good care of you and protect you. And I did fiercely.
There were times another man would ask to dance with you. Even just for a minute. But the answer was always no. Find your own, I would say.
But time passes and life changes. I always loved you but things started to get in the way. Adult things like work and family. But I never neglected you. I know we couldn’t always be together doing the things we enjoyed most in the past, but you were always near. The distant sound of your voice was always with me.
You were never sad. But if I was sad you’d reflect that through your voice and somehow make it beautiful. You said it was a minor thing but it meant a lot to me. You were always a major influence in my life growing up.
Even when I was away from you I was thinking about you. The more we were apart the more I missed you.
I remember I came home one night and found someone had broken into my house. The only thing I cared about was that you were okay. You were fine. They never knew you were there.
I’ve loved a lot in this life. People have come and gone. I’ve had a great time, but you were always there. I could write volumes about you.
I know as time has passed you’ve become more desirable. So many people want you, or something like you. But you can’t put a price on your pretty head. You’re priceless to me. I know initially, I loved you because you were sexy and cool. But like all great relationships they grow and the things that mean more come forth. What you gave to me and helped bring out in me are some of my greatest moments.
You never cheated on me or ever betrayed me. I wasn’t as loyal to you as you were to me, but I needed to take care of other things in my life that mattered at the time. But I never forgot about you.
You always fed my creative spirit all the while making me look good. But you always let the light shine on me. As lovely as you are you simply reflect your beauty onto me. I’ll never forget you for that.
I’m growing older. We’ve been together for over 40 years now. We’re aging as time goes by each year. My hairline recedes and my waistline expands, but you remain as sexy as ever.
You’ve always retained your lovely figure and lovely tone of voice after all these years. I know I did the right thing by keeping you in my life and taking good care of you. You look just as gorgeous as the day I brought you home for the first time back in 1979.
I no longer have the speed and agility I once had in my youth but you’re always ready to get up and go whenever I want. I can always rely on you. You never made me sad. Not one day in my life was I ever sad if you were in my arms.
Just to hold you is magic.
Just to be together alone with you. Our own private conversations. Those moments belong only to us.
It’s been a while, but lately, I’ve had more free time and I’d like us to have fun together again. I know it’s been too long, but you’ve always been so patient with me. I can’t say that you miss me, because maybe you too needed the rest. But you never minded sitting by and waiting for me to come back to you.
It’s been too long. I want to hold you in my arms again. I love you, and I always will.
I’d love to dance and sing with you again.
Not the wild days and nights of our past, but in homage to what we can do when we’re together.
I want to hold you gently in my arms again and caress your lovely neck.
Think of these words as my first love song to you, dear.
1980 – 17 yrs old – Morey’s Pier, Wildwood, NJ
2013 – 50 yrs old – Philadelphia, Pa
2023 – 60 yrs old – Philadelphia, Pa
Thank you for 43 years of joy, Ibanez
A paragon means someone or something that is the very best. The English noun paragon comes from the Italian word paragone, which is a touchstone, a black stone that is used to tell the quality of gold. You rub the gold on the touchstone and you can find out how good the gold is.
Three of Eddie Van Halen‘s iconic custom guitars recently sold at auction for a combined $422,000 — an event that did not impress his son Wolfgang.
Wolgang went on a tweet storm after Julien’s Auctions finalized the sale at nearly a half-million dollars for three of Eddie’s “Frankenstrat”-style guitars. He called the timing of the auction “fishy,” being that it happened so soon after Eddie Van Halen’s tragic passing, and said he had “nothing” to do with the sale.
In a retweet of a headline announcing the final auction price, Wolfgang said: “The headline should read: Three guitars that are striped were sold at an auction for charity. They weren’t stage guitars. I had nothing to do with this. I don’t EVER plan on selling any of my father’s iconic guitars. The only place they’d possibly belong in is a museum.”
However, the auction wasn’t for charity, as Wolfgang soon discovered. He shamed one auction beneficiary for selling a guitar that was gifted to him before slamming the entire thing altogether.
“Also one was a gift,” he tweeted. “I don’t know who’d want to give that away. Timing is a little fishy to me. … Oh wait, scratch that. It WASN’T for charity. They’re just taking advantage of my father’s passing. What a surprise. F**k ‘em.”
As previously reported, Eddie Van Halen presented one of the guitars to close friend Bryan Cash in 1991 after playing the instrument at the latter’s Cash’s Centenary Oyster House in Shreveport, Louisiana.
Wolfgang himself faced similar criticisms from aggro Twitter users after releasing his debut solo single last month. But as Wolfgang was quick to point out, the music had been planned for release before his father’s death, as Eddie had expressed that the chosen single was his favorite song on Wolfgang’s upcoming album.
Read Wolfgang’s Twitter thread below.
The headline should read: “Three guitars that are striped were sold at an auction for charity.” They weren’t stage guitars. I had nothing to do with this. I don’t EVER plan on selling any of my father’s iconic guitars. The only place they’d possibly belong in is a museum.
Also one was a gift. I don’t know who’d want to give that away. Timing is a little fishy to me.
Wolf Van Halen
@WolfVanHalen
Oh, wait, scratch that. It WASN’T for charity. They’re just taking advantage of my father’s passing. What a surprise. Fuck ‘em.
I’ve got to say something here. Those guitars that were sold belonged to people. Not your father. They acquired them and sold them. Maybe during this pandemic they needed the money and took advantage of this opportunity.
This auction has nothing to do with Eddie Van Halen or his legacy as an extraordinary artist. Wolfgang is a trust fund baby now worth over $100 million dollars. He’ll never have to work a day in his life.
But, it was Woldgang who dropped his new record withing weeks of his father’s passing. I get it, but the sad fact is, he will never be his father. No matter what Wolfgang does he will never, ever reach the height his father did, and that’s okay. I saw Sean Ono Lennon’s shit band open for Tame Impala who then opened for The Flaming Lips at Festival Pier here in Philly a few years ago. I can’t name any song by Sean Lennon, nor do I remember any song he played that night.
No matter what Sean or even Jullian do in life, they will never be one half of the two greatest composers of the 20th century. Ain’t happenin’ boys.
Eddie Van Halen was a phenomenon like Jimi Hendrix before him. Those two guys. That’s it. Everybody else is just doing some stuff with the blues and rock, and every guitarist after Eddie played like they were speed typing. No one will buy your records Wolfie, and we get that you are in possession of the original Franken Strats your dad made. No one cares.
I once knew a guy who was suffering, and I told him most people weren’t his friends and didn’t care about him. They were simply curious and enjoyed the gossip.
Eddie Van Halen will live forever as a musical genius, innovator and legend. It’s nice Wolfie is making music and I regret his loss, but musically he will simply be an oddity.
So if people have these guitrs, who cares if they make a bunch of money selling them. You got to have Eddie Van Halen as a father who loved you and spent time with you. Shouldn’t that be enough, Wolfie?
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I was having a tough time in middle school. The year was 1977. I didn’t like school or any other part of my life back then. I was a smart kid, but school just wasn’t my thing. To me it was simply happy hunting grounds for bullies and teachers alike.
However, I did have artistic ability and my parents signed me up for Saturday morning art classes at a high school across town. I would take the 26 bus north on Rising Sun avenue to Cottman street, and then get a transfer for the Y bus east up to Northeast High school.
Times were so bad for me that I have few memories from junior high. I think I’ve blocked most of them out to cope and grow as a person. I was skinny, had bad skin, greasy hair, glasses, braces, no athletic ability, and was getting bad grades. For some reason my mom made me wear polyester slacks and black leather buckle shoes to school. All of the other kids wore more casual clothes. I stood out like a sore, swollen, pimple faced, tinsel toothed, thumb. I was basically a target for anyone who wanted to use me as an object of their scorn.
Just horrible.
It’s funny, when you’re that age and ravaged by puberty, many of your friends suffer from the same ailments. I always had a few loyal friends.
I brought nothing to the table back then, and take responsibility for anything I did, or didn’t do. But I can see now why I was such an enormous disappointment to my parents.
So every weekend, I would go to Saturday Morning Art Classes each week at Northeast High. There was a nice group of kids in attendance, and I met a few of them.
It was a welcome repose from my tortured daily life. It was a pretty laid back experience full of kids like me who enjoyed making art. The structure was loose and creative. I think the teacher’s name was Mr. Gilper. He was a talented, chill dude and always had cool projects for us to create.
They would play the radio during class and I thought that was cool. Back in the Seventies the two big rock stations in Philadelphia were WMMR and WYSP. Now only WMMR remains, but it’s become an incredible bore like most terrestrial radio stations in America. They played most of the popular rock songs of the day, and WMMR did the same, but played a bit more deep tracks. So, if you were a music fan, WMMR was the cooler station. I think DJ Pierre Robert worked there back then and he’s still there to this day.
I met this boy named George and we shared a passion for comics and rock music. He was a nice, gentle kid with kind eyes. I remembered that he liked how I made my own comics and created my own team of superheroes. Deneb-6, Lazar, Midnightess, Cestus, Prince Apollo, and The Prowler come to mind. I can still envision those characters.
We got along well enough, but once the classes were finished, I didn’t see him anymore. He was my art class friend.
I remember one Saturday I came out of class and they were holding a flea market in the parking lot. I browsed the usual junk people were selling at their tables. I saw this one guy had a box of comic books for sale. I had some cash on me, so I bought a few choice books the guy had. There were more that I wanted because I was an avid reader and collector of good comics. I basically spent all the money I had in my wallet on comics with this guy. (Like, $10.)
I got home and showed my dad what I had gotten and that there were more good books there. So my dad being awesome, put me in the car and we went back up there and we got the rest of the books I wanted. The guy had many first issues and I knew they were more valuable than what he was selling them for. My dad was a hard core toy train collector and so he understood my urgency. So that ended up being a great day!
I was 14 in 1977 and in 9th grade, which thankfully was my last year at Fel’s Junior High School. The nightmare was ending and next year I’d be attending Frankford High School. I used to describe 9th grade as the worst year of my life back then. But, that summer turned out to be the year I went from caterpillar to butterfly and everything changed for the better.
There are more great tales from that summer, but it was a watershed moment in my life. You can find the rest of them in the Search bar under Wildwood Daze. (See: El Morro Motel, Terri, & Anna Marie)
Anyway, you get the idea. So I get to Frankford High in the Fall of 1977, and the world is a better place for me. It felt like all of the animals who tormented me in junior high all went to Northeast High. Frankford was filled with a better group of kids.
I don’t remember if I ran into George in 10th grade or 11th grade at Frankford. But for this story let’s say 11th grade because it’s the most memorable.
I was 16 now and everything in my life was better. I was getting better grades, my braces were off, I wore cool shirts and jeans to school. My mom let me grow my hair. I was lead singer in a rock band, and my level of cool had gone way up over the Summer.
I was sitting in English class one day and noticed this guy sitting just one seat ahead of me of to my right.
It was George from Saturday Morning Art Classes! By that time, it seemed like a world away. I think he recognized me first and we connected. We shared that class, lunch and gym.
We would draw funny comics about our lives. Not our real lives but a world where we were these cool dudes who played rock and got all the chicks. I mean, in real life I sang in a band and was teaching myself how to play guitar.
You can read the complete saga if you enter the word Renegade in the Search bar.
George and I would have so much fun laughing at all of our little exploits in our comics. (I still have them all on sheets of notepaper!) We also started having lunch together. I had come such a long way from the little weasel I once was in junior high. I had become friends with the most powerful student in the school. This guy Chris, who my sister Janice had known since 1st grade. He sat across from me in art class. He was not only president of the student body, but quarterback on the champion football team. But he wasn’t a jock. He had all these powers but liked music and had a bunch of nerd friends, and he and I connected immediately. He and my sister were a grade ahead of me, but he took a liking to me and my sense of humor.
So my friend George and I got to sit at the end of the cool kid’s lunch table everyday at 5th period lunch. It was like just a couple of regular guys who got to sit at a table full of celebrities. It all seems funny now, but it was just football stars and hot cheerleaders. But in high school that’s a coveted spot to be in. High School is like a little fictional world you get to act out for a few years before entering real life. It mirrors adult life in some ways, but none of it has any real sustainability for the rest of your real life. I always felt like high school was a show I was on and it lasted three seasons before my character was killed off and I had to move on and find a new gig.
So George and I happily munched our peanut and butter and jelly sandwiches at the end of this table. Not card carrying members, just a couple of B-rate extras.
But, we started to hang out a little bit outside of school. I don’t even know where George lived. I never went to his house. I know he liked to go fishing.
He would come to my house and I think he brought his guitar with him. I was pretty clueless, in regard to the instrument but was eager to learn in the Spring of 1978. I was just the singer in the band, but the guitarist would let me play three notes on the break during the song, Draw the Line, by Aerosmith. (My favorite band on Earth.)
But George could actually play, and he started to show me things on the guitar. I knew where the notes were on the neck of the guitar, but needed some rock n’ roll fundamentals. George had these huge hands and he could reach from the first fret to the sixth, which is basically impossible for most people. It gave him the ability to create complex riff runs that would be unique to his playing.
I was struggling to pull the concepts of the guitar together even though I had a head for music and an excellent ear. I had some books with sheet music and chords in them, and George showed me how to read and follow them. Technically not read music, but enough to understand it.
Sidebar here: Someone once asked one half of the two greatest composers of the 20th century about how he wrote such incredible songs. He stated that he never learned how to read or write music in the traditional way. “I never understood all of those little lines and dots.” he said. “My music simply comes forth from my heart and my head.”
That man was Paul McCartney.
One of the hardest things for a new guitarist to do is to create the muscle memory to hold a chord in place. All of your fingers have to be on the right strings and you have to press them down with enough pressure so that the chord rings and doesn’t sound muted or buzzes against the frets. It’s a difficult feat and takes a while to learn and master. You have to train your mind to get your fingers to just automatically land on the right strings in the right formation to make the right sound. Once you get the chord right and the smile appears on your face, you feel like you’re getting it, and it’s a wonderful feeling. But then you go to move your hand to hit another chord and the whole thing falls apart.
It’s like being a baby and taking your first steps. One step… two steps… oops! Then you fall down. You get up and keep taking steps over and over, and the next thing you know you’re running down the street. Same thing works for learning the guitar. (Or, probably anything in life!)
So, George realized I was a neophyte, and simplified the process for me. He taught me a super basic way to get it done with less fingers and still achieve the same sound.
That style that he taught me, is the basis for twelve bar blues. The boogie woogie chord, he used to call it. With my index finger and ring finger he showed me how to play the chord in a simplified manner. He also taught me how the blues worked and the chord progressions. How certain notes went together. What he was teaching me as we sat in my bedroom, was the foundation of all rock music.
George taught me how to play the blues.
Once I understood what sixth route and fifth route was, I was on my way. That was the evolutionary leap I needed to go forward. I don’t know if I ever told him, but in that moment, George was literally the monolith and I was the ape in 2001: A Space Odyssey. I swear to god… it was on that level. That evolutionary leap.
What George taught me on those afternoons, catapulted my music creativity. The first thing I did, once I understood the basics of rock was to start writing songs. They were simple, and sounded like Ramones songs, but it had begun. My rock and roll life as a musician began thanks to George Schauer.
I know in high school he always thought I was cool, because I knew some hot chicks and had art and humor going. But the boy that gave me his friendship and time were more valuable than anything else in my life at that time.
Thanks to George, when I put that guitar on and started actually playing songs by Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Deep Purple, and the Rolling Stones, I had become part of a secret club. Little did I know that my friend who I knew from Saturday morning art classes and English class, had become my mentor.
Once I learned the fundamentals, the rest fell into place and because of my love of the instrument and the music. From what George taught me took me from novice, to rhythm guitarist in the band Union Jacks six months later!
That fifth and six route basic style were the building blocks to some of the heavier riff driven stuff I would go on to write and perform in my future bands. Yes, the building blocks to my heavy metal sound.
I’m sure George didn’t know what he had given me. But he actually gave me his post prized possession.
His time.
That’s the greatest gift you can give someone, because once you give it, you can never get it back.
Thank you, George. You changed my life.
After 11th grade my family moved and I had to take my senior year at Wildwood High, which is documented in this blog. (See: Wildwood Daze)
I never saw or heard from George again.
Until now…
More tomorrow!
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