Why I make the music I make

Today I want to again talk things musical, and this time on a highly personal level.  Today my topic is “Why I make the music that I make”.

What prompted my thinking on this topic undoubtedly stems from an incident last summer where I played at an event back in my old neighborhood in central South Dakota. I was asked to “provide the music” at this event, which I gleefully agreed to (without a predetermined price, I might add).

 My partner and I opened the event in the mid-afternoon sun while the audience searched strategically for shade and opportunity to catch an occasional breeze. They weren't so concerned about being able to see or hear us, it seems.

We played for hours throughout the afternoon and late into the evening. We took only a few breaks, mostly because I had so much material that I wanted to do, and by the time we’d ended our first two-hour set I was sweat-soaked, and I’m sure my face was flushed a scarlet red.

At this time an old friend approached and greeted me, and after a few casual “Whatchu been up to?’s” we got to talking about my music activities both at home and abroad. After listening soberly to my account of my current musical status, he made the comment that maybe I should think about doing something else.

I’ll admit that I was a bit taken aback, but not in the way you might think.

It wasn't a put-down, or at least I don’t think it was meant to be. My friend knows well my love of music --  he’s watched for years as I sat enthralled listening to albums, he’s endured listening to me practice instruments, he’s come to jam sessions I played at and followed the progress of the first real band I joined over 30 years ago.

 I even once got him to go half on the purchase of an old electric piano so that I could add it to my practice studio. He was briefly interested in learning to play, which I enthusiastically supported, but I was far from proficient as a piano teacher, and some of the keys didn't work anyway.

So now after watching me sweat it out in the July-in-South Dakota-sun to a less than energetic crowd, playing my greatest hits collection that no one seemed to recognize, I suppose he just thought that it was finally time for me to rein in my musical aspirations and start riding a horse of a different color. After all, it didn't appear as though the whole thing had “success” painted all over it. . . it might have even appeared to be a bit pathetic.

My feelings weren’t really hurt, however; in fact I was a little amused. Little did he know that my unexpressed thought was “Quit now? I’m just starting to get good!”

So again, what makes me go traipsing around these out-of-the-way musical places that my fans and friends are generally unfamiliar with? Or, to be more direct -- What makes me make the music that I make?

The best way to explain myself is to list a few albums that made significant changes in my musical outlook:

·         #1 - “Mother & Child Reunion”, Paul Simon (Columbia Records, 1972).

·         # 2 - “Fingerpicking Guitar Techniques”,  Stefan Grossman, Kicking Mule Records (circa 1974 – but I didn’t hear the album until around 1984)

·         #3 – “Neck and Neck”, Mark Knopler & Chet Atkins (Columbia Records, 1990)

·         #’s 4&5 –  “Old No. 1”, Guy Clark (RCA, 1975), and “Bruised Orange”, John Prine (Atlantic, 1978)

It’s hard to stop with only these few albums, but I need to stop somewhere, and this list should suffice to make my point, which is – Have you heard of any of these people? (which is okay, since they haven’t heard of you. . . or of me, for that matter!)

Paul Simon came busting out with his first solo album following the bitter split with partner Art Garfunkel. Simon had something to prove after the supergroup had been riding high with songs like “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and the quintessential classic “Sounds of Silence”; in my book, he proved it. There simply was never an album like that before or after. I love it for the clever lyrics, simple yet profound arrangements, and top-notch playing by some of the greatest studio players existing at that time (Just listen to David Spinozza’s guitar lead on the track “Run That Body Down” to get my drift). Other players on that sterling album were Stephane Grappelli (Django Reinhardt’s violinist, playing on the track “Hobo’s Blues”), and Stefan Grossman (who you might have noticed is listed as the #2 influencer in my list).

Only guitarists might recognize Stefan Grossman’s name, and I’ll wager darn few, at that; but Stefan Grossman introduced me to those spectacular musicians whose works will always be a part of my repertoire. Grossman was a protégé of Rev. Gary Davis, who in turn was a disciple of Blind Blake, and once again I could go on and on, but few would recognize or care. I find it ironic that all the big-name British cats of the 60’s onward were so successful with the music of these people, and yet they were never able to play without ‘dumbing it’ way down! To think of all the mileage that Eric Clapton got from Robert Johnson songs -- and Clapton was never able to finger pick!

There is one British cat who maintained the American music traditions faithfully. Think Mark Knopler, and you’ll likely think “Money For Nothing”, but isn't it interesting at the same time that when Knopler decides to produce an album apart from his Dire Straits band, he chooses the legendary Chet Atkins as his partner? And frankly, Knopler takes Atkins back to school in that album.

The last two albums listed aren't quite as connected as the first three I mention. The reason why I list them is because of the profound songwriting that comes forth in these albums. Guy Clark, the Texas songster, lives in humble simplicity in his Nashville home, where he repairs (and occasionally builds) guitars. Clark left it to Jerry Jeff Walker to make a splash with his songs, but Clark’s playing is exceptional on his albums (just give a listen to the track “Let Him Roll” to hear melancholy Texas folk/blues at its finest). The same holds true for John Prine; his singing and guitar playing are matched exquisitely (The track “Fish and Whistle” supports my opinion, I think).

So I list these minor works here to explain why I make the music that I make. Basically I’m a snob about music, convinced that most people really don’t know what they are talking about. I cringe at Jimi Hendrix posters, believing he was a fairly mediocre player that somehow managed to capture the imagination of a fairly musically naïve generation. Granted, I've never had anyone compare my playing to any of the British guitar greats, and that might have been nice, but shortly after I started learning how to Travis pick and play country blues, a friend compared my playing with Chet Atkins’. The strange thing about that was that I was never that much of a Chet Atkins fan because he had such a different niche (mostly played instrumentals) and he was from corny old Nashville – (see, at one time I used to be musically shallow. . . just like you!).

Now, since I’m spouting all this information about the truly sublime players, where do I fit into all this? Can I play Robert Johnson tunes with panache? Can I play a Skip James tune that will make your jaw drop? My answer is, “No, probably not, but I can sure play them a lot better than Clapton ever did!”

The reason I play the music that I play is because I've heard something excellent, and while I might fall short of this excellence that I seek, I’m  gratified by each step in the progress. Just think of Mark Knopler’s comment post Dire Straits: “After awhile, though, the group just wasn't a good vehicle for the songs I’d written”.  http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/m/mark_knopfler.html#Y9p3cufoOprmi0Z5.99 

Knopler had apparently gotten bored with the musical routine he’d established. I think he knew that there was a lot more ‘out there’ for him to sink his teeth into. As the endearing singer/songwriter Hoyt Axton (who would have been next on my list) sang, “I am less than the song I am singing, I am more than I thought I could be. . . (“Less Than The Song”, A&M Records, 1973)

And so my response to the realists and rationalists and Republicans who suggest I take another look at what I’m doing, investing all my time and enthusiasm into something that doesn't seem to be reciprocating –  “Hold on, now. . . maybe, just maybe I'll get lucky, and I'll finally get some help from a few of these musical geniuses out there, and I'll make an album nearly as good as "Mother And Child Reunion"; hey, I’m just starting to get good!”