The Tracy Chapman Syndrome

Why is it that when I mention that I have started taking guitar lessons, one of the most common responses is, "Ah, the new Tracy Chapman," or some variation on that theme? Are there so few black female guitarists out there that Ms. Chapman (and India Arie) have become the standard "go-to" examples?

Tracy Chapman is a wonderful musician and I respect her talent enormously. I just don't happen to look anything like her . . . 

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

And neither does Lauryn Hill.

The Spirit of Beginning

My new copy of Zen Guitar finally arrived today, and if I'm not careful I'll read it too quickly, which seems in conflict with the spirit of zen. Or perhaps it's a book that is constantly picked up and put down no matter how many times it's been read completely. 

In any case, I like it and am encouraged by Sudo's take on beginnings and beginners:

No matter how adept you are with the guitar already, wearing the white belt means you have agreed to set aside all knowledge and preconceptions and open your mind to learning as though for the first time.

In zen circles this attitude is called carrying an empty cup. It stems from an oft-repeated parable about the visit of a university professor to the home of a nineteenth-century zen Master named Nan-in. The professor had come to inquire about zen but in conversation, he spent more time talking than listening. In response, Nan-in began pouring the professor's tea until it flowed out of the cup and onto the table.

"What are you doing!" the professor exclaimed.

"Like this cup, you are full of your own ideas," replied the master. "How can I teach you unless you first empty your cup?"

When we empty our cup, we agree to rid ourselves of the preconceptions that block new learning. This is the attitude of the true beginner, the mind required to know Zen Guitar.

See? Being an absolute beginner is kind of cool. At least my cup is well and truly empty.

Fancy Guitar Tuners & Music Theory

Last Thursday's lesson raised the bar a bit. 

Okay, it was only my third lesson, so I guess each one of them raises the bar to be honest. Or more simply, each time I leave Gernot's flat, I know a lot more about guitars than I did when I walked in. Obviously, this is a very good thing. 

So, first thing first: he replaced my guitar string in less than five minutes and now I at least have an idea of how to do it myself next time. We then went through the tuning process and he suggested that I get a digital tuner (and his has a metronome function, too). The explanation was a bit complicated, but basically speaking, I might not be ready yet for my pitch pipe, and the digital tuner gives fairly precise information about what needs to be tuned and how. 

There are a lot of choices out there, including software (for Mac OSX) and hardware like these. I'll probably try the free download first, and if I'm not satisfied, I can buy a "real" one.

Okay, back to the raised bar. On Thursday we began discussing music theory. No, it's not just fun and games over here, with me playing Dust in the Wind repeatedly and memorizing one chord after another. Nope, there's also a "serious" side to the path of instruction I've chosen. One of the main points for this is if I understand at least a bit about music theory, then I don't have to memorize the chords, I'll know how to put them together . . . a strategy that proved very useful for me with calculus formulas back in the day.

So now I am working on whole and half steps and becoming comfortable with (finding) and playing individual notes on the guitar.

I'm really enjoying this. 

Update: The Mac software I linked above isn't free, so I'd just as soon buy a "real" one.

Ouch!

I have been injured. 

Struck down, as it were, by a rebellious E string (the high one). Now I wish I could front like I was playing so hard—you know, rocking out or something like that—but the truth is, I was just trying to tune it. So let me now just say how much I hate that bloody pitch pipe.

Or maybe it's my ears.

Whatever. Every other string seemed to follow my rather lame-assed attempt to make it sound like the noise that was coming out of the pipe. Except the high E string. I couldn't tell in which direction I was supposed to turn the tuning key. All I know is that in whichever direction I turned it, the sound didn't match the pitch pipe. And just when I thought I had it all sorted out and was on the road to guitar tuning heaven, SNAP!

If I knew where my camera was, I'd take a picture of the stinging U-shaped welt left by the snapping E string. 

*sigh*

Ah well, I'll bet Pete Townsend has tons of scars—granted probably none of them with a background as silly as this one—and there seems to be a LOT information out here in cyberspace about how to change guitar strings. But something tells me that I'll just wait and let Gernot show me on Thursday. That way, I can act really pitiful and perhaps gain some Zen sympathy or something . . .

Luckily, I don't need that string for Dust in the Wind anyway.

Picking Pattern for Dust in the Wind

(Andreas, look away: it's Dust in the Wind . . . again.)

Here's a YouTube (what else?) video illustrating the finger picking pattern for Dust in the Wind. 

I'm most happy to report that I'm playing this a bit faster than I was last week. Yipppeeeee!!! 

When I can actually play it at the correct speed, I may even post my own video . . . not on YouTube, mind you, but here on the blog. 

Friday's Lesson

I almost ditched it.

You know how it is: you've been practicing but somehow it just doesn't seem right and you're too embarrassed to makes sounds like that if front of your teacher. The lesson was scheduled for 16:30, so around 12:30 I started trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for calling to say that I couldn't make it. Now given that I have done private lessons (in English) myself, I think that canceling a lesson a few hours before the scheduled lesson is akin to parking in the disabled spot—some people do it, but they're assholes. So, despite my fantasy excuses, there was never really any possibility that I wasn't going to show up. Even though the Netherlands and Brazil were battling it out for a spot in the World Cup quarter-finals . . .

Of course, it was a great lesson. The first "real" one. The other real one was meant to give him the once-over as an instructor (and vice versa) before deciding if I really wanted to make a commitment to continue working with him. So, yesterday was for real. The commitment had been made. As for the lesson itself, one of the most important things that came out of it was pretty simple:

I had been doing it incorrectly.

Only great teachers can make you not feel stupid, when in fact you truly are. For the past week, I had been going about my "Dust in the Wind" duties in the wrong way. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, that the "right" way made a world of difference. Gernot just smiled (Zen Guitar teacher that he is) and acted like what I had been doing was a perfectly normal mistake. He then reminded me of what I was supposed to be doing and we went on from there. So now I have the rest of the chords that comprise this song and can sort of play it through to the end. Hallelujah! 

I also started using a capo, which was suggested by Black Betty and Gernot. I have to say though, that the one Gernot has (and let me test on my guitar) sounds a lot better than the plastic one I have. Hmmmm . . . Perhaps an investment is in order here. 

In any case, the moral of the story is: "Don't skip a lesson with a Zen Guitar teacher because you think you sound like crap; nothing is as bad as it seems."

Wild Thing

What I was supposed to be learning this week, in addition to Dust in the Wind, I was meant to be learning Wild Thing, or at least the chords that make up the introduction—A, D, and E—as well as the strumming technique. In fact, I spent most of my time trying to find chords and pick appropriately. Without much success, I might add.

Happily, though, they don't hurt as much as they used to.

In any case, here's a sample of what I am NOT aiming for, but love deeply . . .

Now to practice like crazy until I have to leave for my lesson . . .