DianeB

What a night we had: two hours of pure bliss. Even the weather cooperated, enabling a neighborhood turnout of about 60, an audience which comfortably filled the clubhouse. As we set up our gear, the residents prepared a spread of munchies and drinks. The lights dimmed, we opened with a 15-song set, took a 20 minute intermission for mingling and munchies, returned for a 12-song set, and closed with the Youngbloods' "Let's Get Together". We've rehearsed almost every week for the past five months. Endless back and forth about who takes what part. Add this, drop that. For example, Marie had an exquisite fingerpicking cover of "A Whiter Shade of Pale". So I obtained the sheet music and transcribed the bass part to guitar so I could play it on my Strat. Oh, it was sweet. But what really put me over the moon was having two old friends in the audience — one I've known for 46 years and hadn't seen in 10 — who drove an hour to see us. That will put a song in your heart. My bandmates and I were too busy to even think about taking pictures, and the audience just wanted to take it all in. We did get a few short clips of "Amie", "Harvest Moon", and "Ventura Highway". Clockwise around me in the group picture: Jim (band leader, acoustic and slide), Marie (a pro, electric and vocals), Bob (acoustic and vocals), Jeff (6 and 12 string acoustic, mandolin, harmonica), and Diane G. (acoustic, electric, and vocals). Long may you run, my friends. Amie.mov Harvest Moon.mov Ventura Highway.mov

Every show needs a little promo, right? The recap from Avondale, PA will follow when, and if, I recover.

At last, the entire company:

Half of my former band, "Blurred Vision," moved on last year with other projects. But it didn't take long for those of us remaining to welcome three new members, all experienced local performers. So was born the reconstituted ensemble "Strung Together". We had started rehearsing this spring for a neighborhood show in the fall when an invitation arose to perform at the Wilmington, Delaware, Veterans' Administration hospital. Our Monday afternoon audience consisted of about 20 vets, most of whom were residents in the assisted living unit, and a dozen staff. Respect for patient privacy precluded us taking pictures of them, which left our videographer Angela with a limited angle. Our 80 minutes allowed time for 17 songs, opening with "Take Me Home, Country Roads" and closing with "Teach Your Children". The cast of characters, left to right: Bob (acoustic), Jim (acoustic, electric, resonator), Jeff (6 and 12 string acoustic, mandolin), Diane G. (acoustic), Marie (electric), and yours truly (acoustic, imitation bass with my Strat). As I was packing up, one of the wheelchair-bound vets held out his hand. I took it; he held mine, squeezed it, and our eyes locked. Vets can say a lot without saying anything at all. Yes, we were invited back. Here are clips of "Ripple," "Margaritaville," and "Ventura Highway": Ripple.MP4 Margaritaville.MP4 Ventura Highway.MP4

Epilog I'm home. The rental Camry is back at the dealer with all its alarm systems exercised and intact, with another 1,300 miles on the odometer. A pile of laundry and a mostly empty refrigerator still await me because I returned to a three hour rehearsal with my ensemble, "Strung Together" (a semi-reconstituted "Blurred Vision"). The six of us have a date at the VA hospital next month. Getting from Bar Harbor to our last encore song in two and a half days required some quick changes. But I was glad to have to gang to come home to. Otherwise, it would have been a cold, hard stop to the trip. This was my third year at Guitar Intensives. No longer a newbie, I quickly found the rhythm and my place. New friends were found and old friendships deepened. On the second day, instructor Denise bemoaned a poor night of sleep from that slab of a mattress in her dorm room. I could relate. This year I came prepared. But my room upgrade made it superfluous, so I gave her my foam mattress topper. The next day, she was relief personified. Elsewhere, instructor Shawn and I settled into our own offbeat harmony. As our class wrapped its final practice of "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," he declared: "I think we've got it. If it goes off the rails," — pause for effect — "just blame Diane." Well played, brother. A few of my fellow students were either just starting out, or were capable players who had never performed for an audience. Watching them find the courage and confidence to perform for us gave me goosebumps. I've been there. After a classmate demonstrated a charming original song in Shawn's stagecraft class, I coaxed: "Carol," — not her real name — "if you get up and do what you just did on Friday, I promise you, it will change your life." "In a good way," Shawn quickly added. If there's a better reason for doing what we do, I'd like to know. There is a road, no simple highway Between the dawn and the dark of night And if you go, no one may follow That path is for your steps alone — "Ripple", by The Grateful Dead

Awakening at 5:45 am all this week was made easier by the planet’s rotation turning my bunk such that the full radiation of the nearest star was right in my eyes — before almost everyone else in the United States, except those on top of Cadillac Mountain next door. These broken Venetian blinds get the assist. It helped that breakfast was waiting for me, and I didn’t have to cook it. The early birds at the dining hall had their coffee and commisserated at the picnic table. So began Friday, and the final verse of our collective song. Some classes put final touches on their pieces for this afternoon’s performance. I would be in Shawn’s rhythm ensemble and Denise’s open tuning ensemble. Those final three hours were go-go-go. After lunch we took our group photos, collected t-shirts and hats, made final arrangements for those who needed a ride to the airport, and clarified check-out details. My friend Beth set out for Shawn’s quick intro to MuseScore, and I stretched out to rest. We gathered our gear one last time and hiked up the slope to the administration building and set up for the 3:00 student performances. I was in the first ensemble, Shawn’s Creative Rhythms, where my assignment was simply to lay down E9, A7, and B7 in James Brown’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag”. It’s a safe bet no one here signed up for funk. Ain’t no drag, ‘til you have to hit those 16ths. Yow! Beth was part of Denise’s Beyond Cowboy Chords ensemble, and their tune was “Melissa”. Then I was back up for Denise’s Open Tunings class take on “Big Yellow Taxi” in open D. With the audience singing and those open strings ringing, it was really cool. I ran the battery on my phone all the way down taking videos, which I will upload when bandwidth permits. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner of tasty Mexican fare as the shadows grew long across the campus, while the twelfth root of 2 continued to silently side-eye me from the chalkboard. Chuck, who has a daughter who teaches college physics, is doing his part to help me inquire whether there is some other meaning to this Mystery of the Universe. Meanwhile, the adult beverages emerged from the dorms as Mike, David, Shawn, and Jas traded eights, or maybe twenty-fours, for the sheer fun of it. When their guitars were finally packed up, with the sun going down, we moved indoors for the farewell party. “I am really going to miss this next week,” I sighed to everyone I met as the hugs and handshakes were passed around. I’ll miss the crunch of the sandy gravel underfoot as I walk to the cafeteria, and the comfort of being back on a campus again. I’ll miss the chipmunks and ferns at my feet. I’ll miss seeing the rising sun and the North Star. I’ll miss these amazing teachers prodding me, testing me, coaching me, good-naturedly needling me, inspiring me, and taking me places I’ve never been. I’ll miss the music, the kind that emerges only from the hearts and hands of the sincere and meant only for equally appreciative souls. But most of all, I’ll miss my companions in music. In the end, we are all students on our own journeys. Their joyous company leaves me beyond grateful. There is a universal look in someone’s eyes that says: “You speak my language. I understand you.” Those expressions on the faces of my friends, a gift of music shared, are tonight my prized souvenirs. IMG_3925.mov IMG_3927.mov IMG_3929.mov IMG_3930.mov IMG_3935.MOV

Cooler air Thursday morning put most of us in sweatshirts, at least outside. Rain moved in briefly mid-afternoon during one class, then clear skies returned. The day’s schedule went out by e-mail at 5:45 am, and we resumed our earlier program overload. Shawn’s creative rhythms class has been a revelation and a workout as we’ve examined both imaginative strumming and melodic variations. Denise has a new convert to alternate tunings. Today, we covered open D in “Simple Twist of Fate”, “The Water Is Wide”, and “Big Yellow Taxi”, which we agreed would be our ensemble song. Shawn wants the fingerstyle class to do a group performance tomorrow afternoon at the wrap show. I offered to join the Drone Section, and he said that’s fine. With those two assignments, I’m dropping my second solo bit. I passed up a midafternoon elective block to rest. Those sessions were for more one-on-one with blues, vocals, and how to participate in jams. After my nap, I left the guitar behind and set off for Shawn’s class on stagecraft, expecting general tips on performance. But only two other students were there. “Where’s your guitar?” Shawn asked. “I didn’t expect to need it,” I said. “But, tell you what,” I continued, taking the chair directly opposite him. “Were you around for my Tuesday night song? Critique me.” (See video above.) ”Which song did you do?” “Sweet Surrender.” “Oh, yes, here,” he said as he offered his guitar. “Refresh my memory.” Thus began a half hour professional critique of my introduction, stage presence, posture, and singing — my main concern. It was priceless, personal coaching. I took a chance by performing not my safe song, but the one I really wanted to do, even though I knew it was not ready. This was my reward. The evening program called for jams, and mine lasted over two hours. I cranked it down to double drop D on “Helpless” as if I had been doing it all week. Simply terrific. So much talent and generosity. We closed it out on “I’ll Fly Away”. IMG_3919.mov

Now this, whatever this is. Not my best, but the best I had at the moment. Beth, thanks for the video. IMG_3890.mov

Alan, Don, and Shawn on Coffeehouse Night. This was prepared in advance. Hold on to something. IMG_3884.mov

Wednesday dawned humid and hazy from Canadian wildfire smoke. After two somewhat overscheduled days, today was mercifully pared back. We have roughly divided into two camps: blues with Mike and David, and fingerstyle, rhythm, and tunings with Denise and Shawn, where I am. The blues unit is the larger one, and by some accounts, uncomfortably so. The rooms we use for classes are almost all dormitory common areas which can only seat about 10. I’m little more than spectator in Shawn’s classes, which is to say much is just beyond my current grasp. But that’s the nature of a camp. Today Denise took us into open G tuning for the Stones’ “Wild Horses” which was a healthy stretch for me of the unfamiliar but manageable. Our jam was once more a delight. And a full block of late afternoon sessions was cut to give us time to relax. I took full advantage with a long nap before dinner… …where David Hamburger pulled up a chair next to me. Really? I thought. I must be dreaming. He’s great company. No wonder he has such a devoted following. Nancy will flip out when she reads this. After dessert I slipped down the slope to the dock, where I found a like minded soul appreciating the ocean breeze, low tide, that familiar ocean smell, and a now cloudless sky. Blissful… …but even that was no match for the faculty concert. Mike, Denise, David, Shawn, and Cindy — the vocal teacher — gave us two and half hours of pure joy. When the performers plucked away the chairs before me, I found myself on the front row to soak it all in at arm’s length. Wow, just wow.

More from the Coffeehouse: IMG_3894.mov IMG_3893.mov IMG_3891.mov