Hentrix Sucked (Guitars in general)

Member Name: Peakly

Product:	Guitars in general
Date:	23/06/01 (352 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Rewarding In Time, Long-Term , Rock Star?

Disadvantages: Expensive, Difficult To Begin With, Drums Are Cool Too

I got my first real six-string – bought it at the five and dime
Played it till my fingers bleed – was the summer of ‘75
Me and some guys from school had a band and we tried real hard
Tom quit and Brodie got married – shoulda known we never get far


By looking at the above paragraph, we can go some way to establishing whether or not I like you. Firstly, if you spotted it’s a adaptation of a Bryan Adams song – good, I admire your keen detection skills and knowledge of good-time sentimental rock music. Secondly, if you noticed my cunning inclusion of the word ‘Brodie’, and recognised it – better still, I admire your keen detection skills and knowledge of Kevin Smith movies. Finally, if you’ve made the connection between this song quotation and the opinion subject, and then drawn from it the presumption that my own story of guitar playing is similar to that described– aww ‘bless’ and all that, but you’re wrong and don’t be so naive. Idiot. Guitar playing is nothing like this, Adams lies. He lied when he tried to convince us his collaboration with Mel C was OK, and he lied about his first real six-string. Get over it, and read on.


Um, two bits of wood – one long and thin, and one kinda square shaped. Six strings (or four if you’re a bassist and twelve if you’re a ponce), a corresponding knob at the bottom and around twenty bits to put your fingers on. Use your left hand to hold down the strings in different places, and your right to strum the strings at the other end to make a noise. I would make a ‘…but anyway, let’s talk about guitars’ joke, but we both know it wouldn’t work and it would leave you feeling empty inside. Shhh.


As I was lead along the darkened hall-way, I could hear the distance twang of electric guitar. That, combined with the smell of denim and clouds o
f green smoke, confirmed one thing – I wasn’t welcome here. My Fathers giant hands were of no comfort, nor was his enthusiasm a tonic for my fear. The impending discomfort was all too predictable, and the moment I was to be left alone stood over me like the bloody Armageddon, a involuntary swan-dive into fear. Why the hell did I want to play guitar anyway? I liked Madonna records, and football. The hair on my small head, was shorter then the hair on my Fathers yellow arms. I didn’t even wear jeans. And then, after a case of stairs and stares, I was in at the deep end. I hadn’t even had time to prepare.

“Ah, this must be Sam. Take a seat mate”
“Thanks - Sam, meet your new guitar teacher Pete. He’ll show you what you need to do to be a rock-star”
“Well, I don’t know about that Mr. Parker, but we’ll have a go”
“Ok. I’m going to work Son, meet your Mother outside in half an hour. And be good”.

… and so it began. My first tentative grasp of a guitar. Even then, I was alarmingly aware of how pathetic, how ridiculous my every move must have seemed. Awkwardly resting the body upon my aching thigh, clutching my plectrum like it were an object from the unknown. How delicately I brushed the strings, and how red I became as I was told to ‘toughen up’ and strum harder. My first task, was to hold down the string at the furthest point from my body, continuing down through the strings in a ladder effect (an exercise since repeated probably over a million times). The strain was immense, my fingers felt like clumsy chicken-bones attached to my palm and my tiny bicep throbbed, as if to punish me for trying. The tears were forcing their way out. I swallowed and swallowed, rocking gently on my chair. If only the rooms single clock, weren’t obscured from my vision by an empty Jack Daniels bottle. Counting the seconds,
didn’t make them pass any quicker.


But I stuck at it. For the early part of my childhood, I attended weekly lessons, then went home and never practised. Most kids pick up a guitar when they’re teenagers, riding the wave of enthusiasm and inspiration after hearing some band. I didn’t. For the first five years of my playing, I barely played at all. I was more interested in cheese, football and pretending to hate girls. Nothing I listened to had guitars in, none of my heroes were guitarists – what was the point? When I actually did play, I rather quite enjoyed it. When I went to lessons, I quite enjoyed that, too (me and Steve got on eventually, though our tastes and live-styles differed. He told himself it was because I was a child, and I told myself it was because he was strange – the truth is, he smoked dope and that was the end of it). Generally though, I had better things to do. Matthew Brown had new transformer toys, so guitar could wait…



So what about today? What about now? Why must I always stick in some eerie story from my childhood instead of giving you something useful, or even half-way relevant?

Because if I don’t, you’ll stop reading, skip to the end, click VU and leave a comment so that I owe you a read in return. I would much rather bore you about my childhood then bore you with facts about guitars – it’s more fun to write, and lot more therapeutic. If you’ve got a problem, rate SU. If you want to adhere so strictly to Dooyoo rules that it hinders your appreciation of creativity and originality then fine – show me your disapproval and prove to world how community-minded and truthful you are. I already have your 10p anyway.



… But of course, as I hope you predicated – things changed. I did that ‘growing up before you grow up’ thing (puberty.?), decided I was to be long-haired and sens
itive instead of short-haired and popular, listened to (most bad, some good) rock music and never looked back again. This most common of common transitions also meant a renewed interest in my old black guitar, which had until then been gathering dry-skin in the corner. I fumbled my way through the chords of Stairway To Heaven, thrashed my way through the chords of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and, later, bounced my way through the opening chords of Smells Like Teen Spirit. I still can’t play any of them (except Teens Spirit, which is easier then the ladder finger-exercise that had me so frustrated). I did the failed band, teenage-love, hating world thing soon afterwards, all under the guidance of my faithful six-string, which remains with me to this day.


But if you think you’re getting the happy ending - tough. On a sour note – I still don’t practise enough, when really I should be shit-hot after so many years of playing. I have all the inventive ideas, and all the know how of what I should do when and where, though my rusty chicken-bone fingers still make success impossible. As my writing on Dooyoo proves, I’m not a rock-star (famous or other-wise), and I’ll never match the standards of my Fathers Judas Priest lp’s, which was, after all, my main reason for being told to play in the first place. Bummer.


Um, two bits of wood – one long and thin, and one kinda square shaped. Six strings (or four if you’re a bassist and twelve if you’re a ponce), a corresponding knob at the bottom and around twenty bits to put your fingers on. Use your left hand to hold down the strings in different places, and your right to strum the strings at the other end to make a noise. I would make a ‘…but anyway, let’s talk about guitars’ joke, but we both know it wouldn’t work and it would leave you feeling empty inside. Shhh.


If you’re patient (IR
17;m not), good with your hands (I’m not), disciplined and enthusiastic (nope), then the guitar may be the instrument for you. There is a whole world of scales, theory and technique that’s actually rather interesting, so if you’re a logical thinker, you’ll find your bit there. Playing guitar when you’re good at it is a wonderful, relaxing way to spend your time (unless you’re lead in a death-metal band, in which case it’s just a wonderful way to spend your time) – the only ‘icky part is getting there. There are no instant rewards, no immediate delights, only a tough starting period of frustration and discontent. Though if you can plough through it all, there are pleasures that wait. Of course there is a thrill in making music – it’s just like listening to it, just more tiring. Weigh up your reasons for playing, how enthusiastic you are and how likely you are to stick at it, then decide if playing guitar is the right way for you to channel your desire to make music. If you’re doing it in yet another vain attempt to disguise how boring you and your life really are (I’ve seen it a thousand times), then I wouldn’t bother . Buy a car or f**k your sectary (secutary… secutury…) instead.

Now, be honest, did you really need a Dooyoo opinion to tell you all that? I refuse to echo common-sense any longer - long-live good-but-not-good-in-a-dooyoo-sense opinions. They’re the best, and you know it. Now ‘git, before I repeat the ‘two bits of wood’ paragraph again.




Love ya ;) xxx

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