DianeB

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. 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. Simply terrific. So much talent and generosity. We closed it out on “I’ll Fly Away”.

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

A bit of “Summertime” with the some of the gang In Denise Adorante’s jam class: IMG_8871.mov

We’re finding the groove. Today, as expected, was a continuation of Monday’s lessons. Shawn had great examples of tunes that vary rhythm with each measure: some James Brown, some Metallica, some Beatles. With Denise we reviewed yesterday’s tunings and studied Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl” in double drop D. Then back to Shawn for fingerstyle with a Carcassi exercise and “Dear Prudence”. I capped my study day with another small jam session with Denise, where I might have overtaxed my voice on one of my own selections, “California Girls”. I was tired, tonight was Coffeehouse night, and I hadn’t rehearsed my song in almost a week. So I skipped the voice class to get some rest before dinner. At 7:30 we filled the reconfigured dining hall for our open mic “Coffeehouse Night”. Tables were topped with snacks and sodas, and Anthony and Mike rigged the PA system. Alice dimmed the lights, Mike Dowling kicked us off, and the show was on. We had the full spectrum of both musical tastes and proficiency. A couple performers said this was their first open mic. Some of my fellow campers can hang right in there with the pros. My turn was 15th of 22 — so two thirds of us (32) performed. I began with This Week in Unnecessary Music Theory, briefly explaining the significance of the Mystery Symbol on the other side of the wall behind me, and noting that nobody around here seems to know who wrote it on the chalkboard, or why. Which brings me to The Sensitive Female Chord Progression, as now illustrated by “Sweet Surrender”. It was okay-ish. Not recently rehearsed, and my voice was all over the map tonight. It happens. I gave it my best. Videos later. Tomorrow night, it’s the faculty’s show.

Our first full day began at 8:45. I’m back with the brilliant Shawn Persinger for creative rhythms. We touched on funk, reggae, Zappa and I can’t remember what else. On to Denise Adorante for alternate tunings, leading off with drop D and inverted drop D. For lunch I passed on the pork sandwich — for obvious reasons — and elected to help finish off the leftover steak, which was much improved form last year’s offering. I texted my band to remind them I would miss our 2:30 rehearsal because, you see, I have mission critical things to do, so there. After lunch, back to Shawn for fingerstyle work, then to an eagerly anticipated course in vocal improvement by CIndy Scott. Then back to Denise for a jam. I brought the gang “After the Gold Rush” and “Come Monday”. Yes, three full afternoon sessions. This year we start earlier, shortened the lunch break, and extended the afternoon. After dinner, another jam with Denise and Beatles songs. We wrapped at 9:00, for a total guitar workday of almost 8 hours. Intense enough yet? The jams were a blast. I just cut loose. I’m a familiar face now; I know where I can add something and when to sit back. Everywhere I look there’s someone showing me something interesting. On the guitar. Today was sampling day, meaning if you’re not sure what course track to follow for the week, you can still change tomorrow. But then you are expected to stay with that instructor so the lessons can build upon each other and no one gets left behind, or so we hope. This means I will not be able to report on Mike Dowling’s or David Hamburger’s sessions, but I do know they are popular and have no shortage of students. David joined me for breakfast today and asked me what I liked to play. I said, “I’m stuck in the seventies, and I never met a major seventh I didn’t like,” which drew a laugh. And yes, he was enormously relieved that Jim retrieved his Collings from the airport. The Mystery Symbol is back on the cafeteria blackboard again this year, alone with simply “Welcome!” It’s visible in the photo below. Not a soul I’ve spoken to knew its significance, or who put it there. Alice, our host, did not know. The librarian said it had been there since Friday. I am on a mission from Pythagoras to get to the bottom of this!

We are under way. It was another perfect day down east as I made my pilgrimage to the Chart Room on Hull’s Cove for my traditional lunch of lobster roll and blueberry ice cream. At the College of the Atlantic we found our dorm rooms and unloaded. I opted for a modest room upgrade in a small dorm with only five occupants, air conditioning (!) and a toilet that flushes (!!) rather than a composter that presents a 15 foot drop from the second floor into a a biological black hole. Ahem. There are 32 students, a significant increase over last year, with several new people. There were lots of introductions. It’s great to see familiar faces among my fellow campers and the faculty. Sadly there is not enough time to work with them all. After dinner, at our welcome and orientation, each instructor gave a short course description of each of their offerings. Then we broke up into small groups to visit with each one, ask questions, and get a tally of how many students would be with whom. The prep is done. Time to play guitar.

(1) That’s Brunswick Stew on my plate, and Jim has the baked beans. Yes, it was as good as it looks. (2) Actually, I have. I got my first rejection slips when I was 17. I still have them: a short story submitted to Seventeen magazine/Ingenue magazine (long defunct)/Scholastic publications. I’m in the Journal of Organic Chemistry and the Journal of Chemical Education. More newsletter pieces than I can count. Yes, I’m aware that’s a sentence fragment 🙂, and I appreciate the compliment.

A brilliant Maine sky greeted me today as I hopped the Piscataqua River. Two days out and 600 miles up the Atlantic coast in Bangor tonight, it’s been a sweet ride. And an educational one as well, as I left my faithful V6 Camry at home to rest. This time I rented — a 2025 Camry hybrid — for a full-throated test drive. Last night I got word that someone was needed for a rescue operation at the Portland airport. Our instructor David Hamburger’s guitar had been, ah, transposed by American Airlines a hundred miles down from its exceedingly nervous owner. Panic in Bar Harbor Blues was not supposed to be our opening number. Not to worry, our own Jim Nash was on it. Guitar retrieved, crisis averted! Jim now lives in Portland. We met for lunch downtown at Wilson County Barbecue: a happy surprise at this high latitude. Volunteers and Tar Heels, take note. Tomorrow, down east I go.

To be certain, I would try to contact the venue. From what I can make out on the accessibility page, it seems like one enters at the bottom and must walk up, although that limousine drop-off point is a possibility. From Visit Colorado: Concertgoer Tip: Getting from your parking spot to your seat is part of the adventure. Wear comfortable shoes and expect a bit of light hiking with some amazing views along the way. (Although it’s easy to arrange to be dropped at the top entrance if you’re unable to make the trek by foot.)

An update here is overdue. Since the unauthorized copy was removed — it used Steve's materials but an unauthorized instructor — Legacy has licensed the Gibson-branded Learn and Master Guitar Course to Udemy. You'll find it here. I should add that Steve receives no royalties for it. The original was a work for hire.

From CNN: The destinies of ebony trees, a critically endangered mammal, Cameroonian communities and a leading US guitar maker are all inextricably intertwined. Yet this future has not been read in tea leaves or the stars but instead gleaned from a new kind of divination tool: elephant dung....