DianeB

@zeve Hello, zeve, and welcome to the course and the forum! It's great to see someone new join in. What you are experiencing is entirely normal. Everyone goes through this. At this early stage, you are asking your fingers to move in strange, unfamiliar, and unnatural ways. They don't know how (yet), so they tend to revert to their more familiar and comfortable positions. Regard them as toddlers learning to walk. Approximations, misses, buzzes are all fine for now. Stretch, rest, and stretch some more. Stop if it hurts. Come back to it later. Your fingertips will toughen up. Do not place a time frame or deadline on any particular skill. Go slow, get it as close as you can, repeat, repeat, repeat, and it will come. Do not be concerned if you can not land a full C or G7 chord at this stage; Steve is merely making you aware of what a chord is like, and a chord only requires three notes. If at all possible, find a teacher who can encourage you and help you develop good technique and practice habits. You don't want to practice mistakes. If that's not possible, absorb as much of the collected wisdom of good teachers as you can. And everyone here on the discussion board is here to help you along the way!

@Triple-o We mustn't leave you feeling lonely and dreary! A full Fmaj9 is, of course, F-A-C-E-G (1-3-5-7-9), requiring a minimum of root (F), major third (A), major seventh (E), and major ninth (G) intervals. The fifth is often absent. If the seventh is absent, then technically we have an Fadd9 (or Fadd2). In the G-F-A voicing/inversion you cite, I suspect that's just a consequence of the way the voicings are moving in the melody at that beat.

It was just another errand on a sunny autumn afternoon as I strode up the sidewalk to the Rite Aid. He was perched on a folding stool at the front door, a high-mileage Fender acoustic in hand, strumming a ballad in A minor. I stopped next to him, nodded, and listened: mid sixties, a stubbly, graying beard, bright brown eyes beneath a knit cap. His battered, open case displayed a collage of picks, old string packs, an elastic capo, some singles and change, and a handwritten sign appealing for donations to our local children’s hospital. He paused and smiled at me. “Nice,” I said, as I propped my foot on the curb. ”How long have you been playing?” “Since I was a kid,” he began. “I’m retired now. Audio engineer. But I still do some work.” He took out his phone and showed me a picture of his mixing board. Rows and rows of faders stretched across the panel. “Whoa,” I said, “that’s one serious system.” As we talked tech, he grew more animated. The conversation swung from speaker horns to Dylan to William and Mary to front of house. “Let me show you where I was a few days ago.” I pulled out my phone and found the group picture from the fingerstyle retreat. His face lit up as if a spotlight hit it. “Wow! And that’s you! Where was this?” “Outside Nashville. It’s a little workshop put on by a friend who teaches and does session work there. It’s like a family reunion.” “That is so-o-o cool.” He handed my phone back. “Hey, what’s your name?” “I’m Diane.” I took his hand. “And you’re—“ “Mike. It’s so nice to meet you, Diane. This is great.” He held out his guitar. “Would you like to play something?” A customer stopped and dropped a bill in his case. I shrugged. “Why not?” I said. “You like the Eagles?” “Sure,” he said, as we traded places. I took his guitar. The strings felt rough from overwork, but it was in tune. I glanced at the headstock and felt a 50-year flashback to my first guitar, another Fender. More customers passed by, coming and going. I serenaded them with “Most of Us Are Sad”. Mike smiled appreciatively. Lost in the song, I forgot where I was until the end. “Thanks, Mike, but l better get my prescription before I forget why I came here. Be right back.” A few minutes later, I returned. He was still strumming, but his expression had turned sober. I was pondering what to say when a middle aged woman carrying a large tote approached him from the parking lot. “You’ll have to go now,” she said solemnly. Shift manager? I wondered. “All right,” he said. He stood up and turned to me. “Hey, Diane, you’ve made my day. Really. I’m lost for words.” “Well, then, Mike, we’re even. Keep on playing.” “And you, too.” He took the sign and money out of the case, gently rested the Fender inside, and closed it. I unlocked my car and glanced back as he gathered his belongings. Two kindred spirits, I thought, crossing paths one afternoon, on a random sidewalk.

Annoying, yes, but there is a simple explanation for why the printed music to many published songs do not include guitar or other instrumental solos. The published music is (almost always) copyrighted, and that requires that whatever is in fixed form be the original work of the author(s), in this situation, the songwriter(s). This normally means the melody, lyrics, and chords. At recording time, any number of embellishments might be added by others: intros, riffs, solos, background vocals, and so on. These may or may not appear in the published music credited to the songwriters, as the recording is typically copyrighted by the production company. Moreover, the owner of the publishing and performance rights is likely a third entity, a licensing company.

@Triple-o That indicates tremolo.

Well, gang, I'm finally home. Thank you for reading and for all your kind words. Correction: the song Steve and Gregg (on the far left in the group photo) played that roused me from my nap so sweetly was Orleans' "Dance with Me". Don Ross is third from the right. The only persons not pictured, I think, are Collin, who was off to do a podcast that afternoon, and, of course, our photographer Chuck. The winner of the big prize, a Fishman Bluetooth-equipped Loudbox Mini, was my roomie Marion, a mere 9,000 miles from her home in Brisbane, Australia. Now, that's dedication.

Eat, tune, play. Just as we get settled into our rooms, adapt to our new routine, and get acquainted, it's time to wrap up. We started with an early 7:30 breakfast, finger exercises, and a bit more ear training. Our final lesson was a kind of panel discussion with Van Larkins, Collin, and Steve in the living room. They offered their thoughts on real world guitar learning. The practice world: mechanics, metronomes, scheduling, goals, motivation, and dealing with frustration. And the performance world: focus, automaticity, dealing with the unexpected and stage fright. I sat in a literal corner, still wearing my metaphorical dunce cap from Thursday night. Don't you dare wear that home, my teachers implored. As I listened, I imagined myself reaching up, snatching the thing from my head and heaving it away into the lobby. Finally it was time to leave. The sweet music that had filled the lodge was now replaced by the bass of thumping guitar cases and the treble of excited goodbyes. Hugs for all, from all. This is my guitar family. As Steve said this week, we leave no one behind. We're on the same mission, no matter what our skill -- to bring some beauty, some love, some magic into the world. I found Patrick. We loaded our gear into my car, and set off for the airport for his return flight. In a few days, my new friend will be in the cockpit of an Air Canada jetliner somewhere over the Pacific on his usual run. Later, he will check into his hotel in Shanghai, retrieve the guitar he keeps there, and add another layer of polish to "Autumn Leaves". Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, I will pick up my guitar, with her new spandex-ey nylon strings and prop her up on my left leg. I will recall Steve eagerly coaxing, "Diane, come on, get up here." I'll be back. I haven't been left behind.

After warm ups today, almost everyone crowded the living room for Collin's lesson. I took a chance and checked into Steve's cozier session on jazz voicings. I knew I had no chance of playing those progressions. But I held my own with the music theory, so I extracted a morsel of satisfaction. We enjoyed an afternoon workshop on ear training -- identifying the I, IV, V, and vi, that is -- then Don Ross arrived to get us psyched for the evening concert. After a bit of baritone funk, it was time for recess. I was roused from my nap by the familiar riff of Orleans' "Still the One" filtering up from the dining room. The source was Gregg and Steve, rehearsing. I stared, mesmerized. After dinner, we had time for a few more student performances. But to my ear, these were too polished and proficient for the word "student". Gregg and Steve performed their duet of "Dance with Me", then Steve officially announced the dates for next year's retreat (Halloween week again). Next we made room for virtuoso Don Ross, with his fan fretted guitars and harp guitar. Don fought off a cold and sleep deprivation (airline issues) to put on a killer show. We took a break for ice cream floats. I plopped into a couch with my nylon and discreetly shadowed Vic's progression for a few bars. Dave appeared with a new Maton fresh from Artisan's, and Collin helped him break it in. Vic and Patrick took turns, then Carol gave us an impressive "Classical Gas". The music went on until we were all exhausted. We pick up an hour tonight but have to start a half hour earlier in the morning. Forgive my brevity, but I'm fuzzier than year old Elixir Polywebs. The finish line approaches.

Sunshine returned this morning and defrosted the Franklin countryside, to our collective relief. After a hearty breakfast, we assembled for Steve's exercises: a medley of finger swaps, spider crawls, and the notorious Phil Keaggy digital stretcher. Van Larkins followed with a surprisingly accessible tutorial on left hand hammering, even taking time to roam among us to check our technique and answer our individual questions. After lunch most of us jammed the upstairs meeting room for Collin Hill's basic workshop. Meanwhile downstairs, Steve taught a session on jazz harmonizing. Collin continued with a more advanced lesson on a couple of his compositions, while I opted for Steve's more basic lesson on "All You Need Is Love" in the dining room. Next to us, my hero Julio quietly went about his business of checkups and setups. Today's master class was led by Ian Ethan Case. "Give yourself permission to experiment, to try things," said the man who invented a wholly new playing style. "Don't sentence yourself to failure from the outset." We recessed for down time. I desperately needed a nap. During Collin's lesson, sleep deprivation, a ham sandwich, and chicken tortilla soup combined to anesthetize me; I could barely focus on the music. After dinner, refreshed and recaffeinated, I settled in the living room for another set of delightful student performances. Four lucky campers won Keyser capos. Then Ian took his post at his monster pedalboard for the evening concert. He is a dazzling, modest, articulate, imaginative, and hard working artist. He and his wife Stephanie packed up the double neck guitars, the fretless guitar, the monster pedalboard and all the rest, waved goodbye, and dashed home to St. Louis tonight, only to return for Tuesday's live lesson. I think they like us. We scattered for s'mores around the fire pit outside, shopping at the store, and jamming in the living room. I curled up under a wool throw in the lobby while Patrick serenaded me with "Autumn Leaves". Eleven o'clock, and Steve was a blur, helping Ian haul his gear, dumping trash, unpacking magazines. I was toast, so I said goodnight to my roomies Nancy and Marion and returned to the, ahem, editorial desk.

Our first day began with more cold rain and wind. I made another run to Gruhn's in the morning to practice my homework on a $14,000 Breedlove. What harm could it do? Then it was off to the airport to pick up Patrick, a veteran of the first retreat. The rain relented as we arrived at Deer Run to a full house, found our rooms and roommates, and settled in the now familiar living room for Steve's welcome. A few of my companions volunteered to get us started with some of their favorite tunes. There are more attendees this year, more women, and some are staying in the freestanding cabins. I counted 32 dinner settings. The opening acts for the evening concert were Carol, Gregg ("with three Gs"), Vic, Dommie, and (gulp) me. Sigh. Nerves got me tonight; it wasn't my best. Fortunately Collin was behind me to clear the air. We have a pro photographer, Chuck, grabbing candids when he's not playing harp guitar in costume as Sasquatch. It is Halloween, after all. Finally, our featured artist, Van Larkins performed for our evening concert. His set was partly a reprise of the pieces he played at the Gathering, which is to say, jaw dropping. I reached for my phone to take pictures, and found the battery was dead. At least my luck this week is consistent. We wound down the evening with hot cider and snacks, passed around the harp guitars, bugged Van for autographs, and milled around the fire pit in the back yard. Collin and Gregg were still jamming in the dining room when I headed for the showers. Time to file this with the front desk before deadline. My fingers need a good night's sleep.

Maybe it was intuition, premonition, or just the weather forecast, but it told me to be prepared and keep my head up on this trip. I'm glad I listened. Monday and Tuesday were beautiful fall days driving through the golden mountains of Virginia and East Tennessee. I settled into my hotel outside Knoxville last night after dinner to watch Steve and Dommie on the live lesson. Okay, I thought, time for one more practice pass on my étude, then I'll watch the World Series. I picked up my guitar and -- Blunngg! -- the D string blew. It's a year old hybrid classical with the original strings, which I figured had just finally finished stretching out. No spares, and I was scheduled to play my ditty in A in 48 hours. Swell. Today, Wednesday, dawned cloudy, then came the Tennessee Wash. A deluge. Remember how I described I-40 west of Knoxville as an exhilarating downhill run in good weather? This time, it was an X Games water slide competition with UPS tractor trailers doing 70. When I landed in the foothills for lunch, it was a hour earlier. Either I was hauling the mail at relativistic speeds, or I crossed time zones. I called Gruhn's and threw myself at their mercy. Yes, Julio would be happy to help with the guitar. See you in a couple of hours. Indeed, not only did Julio restring it for me, he patiently showed me exactly how to do it. My hero! He'll be with us on Friday. As I rolled to a stop and switched off the engine here at my hotel in Cool Springs, Dave White called. What timing. If we were a band, we'd be crazy tight. We scooped up Collin and enjoyed talking shop over an exquisite dinner together. Tomorrow, we'll meet up at Deer Run. Tonight, I have to figure out a way to get new nylon strings to do a month's worth of stretching in 24 hours. Hmmmm, there's a steam iron in the closet. Use the silk setting?

Live Lesson Tonight! Lifelong Music Learning, with Dave Isaacs Nashville musician, teacher, and performing songwriter Dave Isaacs, the "Guitar Guru of Music Row" will be Steve's guest. Dave is the author of the newly published The Perpetual Beginner: A Musician's Path to Lifelong Learning. Live from legendary Gruhn Guitars in Nashville. 7:00 pm CDT. Watch here... https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaKLy681H8BN4DYQkGF_UUw

@Bill Smith This seems to be the pressing question of the day. There's already a thread at:

Here are some clues. And here. I defer to our guitar detectives to do the rest.

From the Anchorage Daily News: the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service intercepted a shipment of ten new PRS guitars intended for Hong Kong, but found to be without permits. They were donated to the Anchorage School District. See the article for photos and more details: “Fish and Wildlife intercepted the instruments in Anchorage in July 2018, said Chris Andrews, supervisory inspector with the federal agency. The guitars, commercially shipped from the East Coast and bound for Hong Kong, were declared as clothing. When wildlife inspectors opened the cases, they found the instruments without required permits, he said. The guitars feature Brazilian rosewood — protected by an international treaty — and can’t be exported without permits, Andrews said. Andrews said it’s rare for inspectors to intercept illegally transported Brazilian rosewood products in Anchorage, Alaska’s air cargo hub. More often, they’re catching products made from crocodile skin such as handbags or watchbands that don’t have the proper permits, he said. Each triggers a specific process. With the 10 guitars, Fish and Wildlife started a civil forfeiture proceeding, and the instruments were eventually given up. Andrews said a guitar dealer shipped the instruments, not the manufacturer. He declined to name the dealer.”

@RaptorRich You'll have a great time, Rich!

@costancr Sure, I have a couple of ideas for you or someone around Session 4. One is to start from a random string and fret (say, fifth string, third fret), and play a major scale from ear. Do, re, me, and so on. Just experiment until you find it. And don't worry about fingering, just find the notes, even if you stay on the same string. Then look for another. Something else you could try is to play a simple riff from a favorite song -- just a few notes -- without looking it up on YouTube first. Try to find it with your fingers and ear. Then tweak it; change a note here and there, and see what happens. This is not "noodling around", this is exploring your instrument with a purpose. No, it's not too early for this. 👍

@rkl312 Lovely! Welcome to the Cordoba owners' family!

@NeilES335 Thanks! And you don't even need Spotify. Listen online here.

@BR-549 I’m not sure if your question is intended to be as straightforward as it seems, but here goes. If you want to play the melody, those are the notes that you play. In this simple example, “Ode to Joy”, the first note is an E, then an F and a G, and so on. If we want to play this song in G, we must transpose it up a perfect fifth (or down a perfect fourth) and start on a B, then C, and D, and so on, with F# as the single accidental in the key of G. In this example, the melody starts on a pitch in the scale (E) which is often, but not always the case.

@Randy120 Pat led off his Side Eye tour here in Wilmington August 27 at our Baby Grand. (!) It's a smallish house, seating 300. I scored center seats in the sixth row (!!) with my guitar tutor, and we were both just over the moon. Afterwards, on the way to my car, we met the keyboardist James Francies and drummer Marcus Gilmore. (!!!) We might have just missed meeting Pat, as the trio was staying overnight in town for a second show -- I presume, at the adjacent hotel. Pat was probably still backstage with the crew. Wah! So close! 🤦‍♀️

Live Lesson Tonight! Creating Walk-Ups and Walk-Downs on Guitar. Whether you're playing Bluegrass, Country or Jazz adding bass lines to your rhythm playing is skill that you'll use constantly. Let's learn how to do it! Live from legendary Gruhn Guitars in Nashville. 7:00 pm CDT. Steve's handout is below. Watch here... https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaKLy681H8BN4DYQkGF_UUw Walk Ups and Walk Downs Complete.pdf

@randyh1953 Randy, whether you should continue with your teacher or not depends mainly upon the relationship. Does your teacher inspire and challenge you? Does he, or she, respect your skill level and goals? Do you practice what you agree to work on? Do you bring specific questions to each session? Are your expectations realistic? I offer this as one who’s now starting my sixth year of private lessons — the fourth with the same teacher — and also as one who has tutored my own students (in another discipline) for 30 years. You don’t have to be friends. But a student and teacher do need to share a mutual love of learning for the subject, and the ability to communicate, to recognize what works and what doesn’t. When you have those, the monetary cost is practically trivial. I wish you success, but keep in mind that luck has almost nothing to do with it. "Old and all that?" did you say? Ahem! Unless you were born in the first three minutes of 1953, I'm older than you! 🤦‍♀️