During the first few years of my guitar-playing life, I was really livin'. And learnin'.
I'd recently traded in my basic guitar for a very well-made cedar top. The relationship between musician and instrument is an intimate one, and I guard my 6-string with the vigilance of a mama gator.
There was a folk music club where members take turns rendering their favorites. The group's organizer and leader, Walt, is well-known locally as a folk music enthusiast and patron. With his bald head, long beard and black, plastic horn rims, he looked professorial.
Some people think it would be difficult to get up and give a speech. Nothing compared to playing acoustic and singing, which requires complete relaxation and immersion.
In the cozy classroom setting of this club, I decided that "Dark Hollow," a tune derived from bluegrass and made somewhat popular by the Grateful Dead, would be my best bet for a winning debut. I had almost no experience playing for anyone other than myself and my yellow lab, and I hadn't quite mastered this tune. But I just figured this crowd would go for "Dark Hollow." The song ends with the following refrain.
I'm goin' away, I'm leavin' today,
Well I'm goin', but I ain't comin' back (repeat)
I struggled with some of the chord changes; my rhythm was iffy; my vocal was flat. It was a frustrating attempt at communing with like-minded humans.
As I was putting my cedar top back in its hardshell case, and out of harm's way, moderator Walt said, "Well don't go away mad."
I actually replied with, "Oh, I'm not leaving." And I didn't. I slid back down onto my chair where I quietly held my baby in its shell. I'm more protective of my guitar, apparently, than I am of my dignity.
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