The musician seeks to let the music play the music, but he must practice a long time before that can happen.
- quote tacked to the cork board in my music room
Learning guitar, or anything, is foremost an art. I don't have the ability to sit in a class or in front of a teacher and feel comfortable with what they are imparting. Books are good, but in a physical activity, such as golf or guitar, just moving into it, getting the feel of the stick in hand, swinging over and over, is the crux of the process. The reason why learning an activity is an art is because during practice the analytic mind becomes observer, making notes, and remains silent. Some people possess a scientific mind in which the analysis kicks in during the process, but I am glad I am not one of them - a silent mind is my best friend.
If the analytic mind is silent, how do I learn? Although the silent mind appears deaf and dumb, I believe it is dancing relentlessly to the beat of the will. How else to explain the consistent progress and moving forward in my guitar quest?
For the past 5-6 weeks my main mode of practice switched from sitting in a chair, banging out the Jamie Andreas walking exercise, to a standing one man jam. An hour before the sun sets I feel the pull of the guitar, so I pick it up, open the music folder on the computer, and play along to Canned Heat's first album, minus one song. After finishing the last song from the album I move to Phish's Backwards Down the Number Line. I then select one or two Cream songs, and ready myself for the finale - turning the volume way up and jamming to the 16 minute live version of Spoonful. I am connected to that song for a reason which eludes me, but one of the first things I recognized on the guitar during my first month of the quest was the two note switch back of Spoonful. I did not know it at the time but it would become one of the things which propelled me forward in the quest.
When I began the jamming practice method six weeks ago I was a bit shaky, feeling uneasy with how the guitar felt while standing. But with daily practice (60-90 minutes), my fingers toughened up further and standing began to feel more expressive than sitting. When bending a note my body bends with the string, when doing a fast note progression my eyes close and I get lost in the valley of sound which surrounds me in the darkness. Last week a desert like heat descended upon central Illinois and it was too hot to play in the late afternoon, so I took three days off. I felt uneasy during the absence and knew that I had become addicted to the beautiful sound expression reflected in the mood of a day just lived through. When the heat broke last Sunday I picked up the guitar and noticed a leap in ability and skill - note runs were cleaner and faster, the fingers were stronger, more agile and accurate. The three day layoff allowed the silent, analytic mind to work its magic, without any interference from the conscious self. The art of learning guitar was in bloom on that magical Sunday evening.
Today I experienced a BIG jump - jamming to the usual song list, I was comprehending with more precision and a fuller memory the pentatonic scale along the length of the fret board. During the past six weeks I have noticed a slow and steady increase in comfort with the notes in the scale, and today it felt almost effortless, the fingers moving up and down, back and forth, with little conscious thought, allowing the mind to concentrate upon the emotions and sounds - the meaning of the music - rather than the mechanics needed to achieve the desired sound. Added to this was another increase in speed and accuracy, along with the right hand pick gliding to the strings with greater precision. The music which emanated thus sounded confident, less abrupt and choppy. During the final song, Spoonful, I created a driving avalanche of sound which made me wonder how it all came about.
I have the sensation that I have reached the point of no return - the guitar has become a part of my experience, an extension of my life. It is looked upon with affection and love, and I trust that it will open to me a small part of its beauty and mystery each time I hold it in my caring hands.
