When I was eleven, my parents sent me to a summer camp run by Christian Brothers in Southeastern Maryland. There was the usual swimming, hiking, and softball, but what really caught my attention were the campfire sing-alongs. Two teenage boys had guitars, and could play the popular folk songs of the day, such as “Michael row your boat ashore” and “If I had a hammer.” I had never seen live musicians before, and I was fascinated by their ability to strum chords and make those wooden boxes with strings come alive.
Later that year, the Beatles performed on The Ed Sullivan Show. My dad showed me an article in The Washington Post about it, with two small photos side by side, of Paul McCartney and Moe Howard from the Three Stooges. I guess that’s the only frame of reference they had at the time for that kind of haircut. Anyway, I was camped in front of the TV on Sunday night when the show came on, and after the Beatles played, I said, “That’s what I want to do.” (And so did thousands of other kids just like me.)
I hounded my dad to get me a guitar. He kept saying, “You’ll never learn to play it, it’ll just sit in the closet.” But finally, he took me to a pawnshop and bought me a $13 “Stadium” brand acoustic guitar. It was a pretty crummy instrument, but I immediately started to learn some chords and simple rock riffs. I remember sitting on my front steps one day with my guitar when a neighborhood kid walked up and showed me how to play the opening riff to “Secret Agent Man.” I thought that was so cool. I played it over and over again until I drove my family crazy.
In eighth grade I got a used electric guitar, a Fender Jaguar, and formed a band with some of my friends. We started playing at teen clubs and school dances, with a repertoire of songs like “Louie Louie” and “Gloria.” Those bands were really rough, with everyone just having the most basic skills on their instruments.
When I entered high school, it was the age of the singer-songwriter, and I sold my electric guitar and got a Yamaha acoustic. I taught myself to fingerpick and sing harmony by listening to Simon and Garfunkel and Crosby, Stills and Nash records, and formed a folk group that played at school functions and retirement homes.
After high school, I went to college, but I wasn’t much of a student, and I dropped out after a year and went to work for the Post Office. I really just wanted to play music, but I didn’t have any idea how to go about it. Then, a guy I had known in high school, Steve Yudowich, called me up and convinced me to quit my job and move with him down to Roanoke, Virginia, to form a band with a guy Steve knew. We rented a house up in the mountains from an old farmer, and spent a summer writing and rehearsing, until we had a falling out with the other guy and Steve and I moved to Richmond, Virginia. We formed a duo, called “The Turkeys” and played at the campus beer joints around VCU.
After that, I bounced around for a couple of years, playing at crab shacks in Ocean City, Maryland and coffeehouses in Virginia, until I landed a steady gig with a trio at a Holiday Inn lounge. Playing five nights a week, I honed my guitar and singing skills, and made enough money to buy a new car and upgrade my equipment.
I had become a professional guitar player.


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At age 45, with no experience in guitar, I decided to study flamenco guitar. Flamenco teachers are pretty rare, but fortunately there was a local flamenco guitarist who both performed and taught.
I had no idea what I was getting into. The guitar is a very difficult instrument to play well, and my childhood piano lessons were no help at all. Any time I played, my left hand hurt a lot; this pain lasted for about a year.
More than a decade down the road, I still play almost every day on an expensive handmade instrument. I try to get in a couple of hours of practice every day, which I consider to be the minimum for flamenco. Paco de Lucia doesn't have to worry about me cutting into his CD sales. But for an untalented geezer who never picked up the instrument until middle age, I'm not too bad. Even so, I wouldn't call myself a "musician."
Rated
RRR
I always envied other kids that caught the bug and were allowed to explore it at an early age. And I appreciate them as well. They're the next group I'll be listening to on the radio or the internet.
Thanks for that walk down memory lane.
What I'm trying to figure out is Emily Holleman's fascination with you (assuming she's still "editing." We really have no clue now do we). The writing is decent, no doubt. Not exemplary but decent.
Is it the avatar smile? The Greg Allman-ish hair? Is it that your bio says you are a producer in Nashville? Inquiring minds need to know!
You have more EP's, including this one which to my mind doesn't stand out in such a way to warrant, on your first page of blogs than most do in forever.
Regardless, nice piece and please do carry on..
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Anyway, he's now working the other side of the microphone. If you ever need anything mastered, give Yes Master a call...
So many guys from that generation owe it all to The Beatles!
Great story though.
I recently - maybe 2 months ago - pulled out the Fender Gemini I was given for my birthday 21 years ago - hadn't played it in over a decade. I've had a couple of others come and go, but I always kept that one in the closet. And it was a fun kind of weirdness to recall how I learned on it. Your post kind of gels with that for me. That guitar doesn't have the banged up quality that older guitars do when kept around for a while, I guess I loved it so much I was extra careful with it all the dang time. I saved up the scuffs and banged necks for my later lower end knockaround stuff.
Thanks for the read! Rated!
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