My first guitar was a 1958 telecaster 022025 and when it was new it was whiter than this one but later it looked quite a bit like this one. I miss it as much as one can miss an object. Now it wasn't brand new. My dad bought it used in 1958 and he brought it home and played some nice George Van Eps on it. We had several tenor gibsons around that I didn't care about and one six string small body gibson which I liked a lot. But they all disappeared. But this one touched me deeply.
You know I wasn't surprised to hear my dad play. It seemed as natural as swimming was. He just got in and swam I thought. And so later on after hearing Bert Jansch and John Lennon, I thought I would play. And the first thing I learned was you only need two strings most of the time. And it was a bit harder than I thought it would be to hear something and then play it.
Of course I admired this guy and I was a bit daunted. Here was a superb songwriter and singer.
Virtually everything I had heard was brilliant. But he had fallen off a bit after they broke up. At least it seemed to me. I was inspired although I worried I would never reach his lyric ability. And his intuitive sense. Where did he get that?
But I got it after a bit and I found that if I did nothing at all but play I could get pretty good. And then my brother grew taller and he was a natural drummer. Suddenly I had a band. And after a few years I finally met Kenny Myers, and then I had a great band.
Kenny was an outstanding guitarist a great songwriter and a great singer. My brother was the best drummer I ever knew. I wrote songs and I could sing cause I had to. We had two singers. Actually three. All we would need was a good bass player and we would be there.
But out of nowhere and for no conceivable reason I got scared. I don't know if that's what it was. I got stoppered for sure. What was I thinking? I don't know. But I saw the cliff and I wouldn't jump. I got a job. A stupid job that I loved and I wasted twenty five years at it. I can't find my old telecaster now and I can't find Kenny. Not that it matters anymore I guess. Why couldn't I just unstopper that? But it seems a bit shameful though doesn't it?
This is really an old old story. I used to go to the Center for Creative studies at the end of the year. The students would be selling their old stuff. It was cheap and it was great. I think it was cheap because most of them all ready knew this was the end of their art careers, not the beginning. They hadn't even graduated yet
Did I think back? Yes I did. Did I try to find Kenny? I don't think so. It was over I guessed. But it was strange. I never thought we would be big, in fact I didn't even care. But I knew we were good. And I let it go. Strangest thing I ever did maybe. Oh I don't know. Like most people I've met, I've seemed to be enamored of throwing away good things in my life. And I bet I'm not the only one either.
When you try to figure out what your parents want. Well you make a mistake. When you try to figure anything out. That's a mistake too. When you try to change. Another. Really. The only thing you can do is relax and float downstream.
The other thing me and Kenny and Guilbert did was constantly make art. We didn't call it that. We just made things. wax on silk. The xr-1, ahh, that was a cool rocket launcher. And it's funny how many painters have this close relationship with music. Motherwell of course. Picasso all those instruments. Picabia. It seems to me that creativity, when it's flowing flows in all directions, or many. Most writers and musicans seem to paint too, or have other creative things that interest them.
I guess that's the thing. When you are young you can unstopper things. In fact if you are lucky they won't get stoppered in the first place. My dad said you should always have one or two more things in the fire than you can handle. He had a job. And he painted. And he played guitar.
It's an odd thing how I often meet painters who simply do not paint. And a few of them have come over to sort of learn how to paint, well how to get in the habit or process of painting. And pretty much every one of them is better than I am. Except they just don't keep at it. Sort of like they don't care. Except they do. I thought maybe I could help. But I guess I can't. No surprise there.
Things just have to get unstoppered and sometimes when you pull out the cork you find the bottle is empty. I think the earlier the better. While it's still full. If you want to be creative.
You might wonder why I offered to help them at all. Was I getting off by their failures? No. I was in fact completely surprised that nothing could stick. I loved that they came over because each was a great artist, studied at the Art Institute downtown, could produce outstanding work on demand with no apparent effort. They taught me a lot and they were good company. But they didn't stick around. They made this great stuff and they left it here.
It was just weird. And I appreciated their friendship and consideration. Funny though. I just don't understand.
Yeah, we all shine on, like the moon and the stars and the sun.
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