it’s c / a-minor / g / d-minor, right?
yeah, it’s like…
waitwaitwaittt!!! lemmefigureitout! hang on, ummm…THAT’s the g…and so, the c is…!!!...and the d, d…d…no, d-minor…and the…dude, that’s the a-minor, right?
yeah, that should be it.
ok, let’s try…c / C / C / a-minor / A-MINOR…AND a g / G / G…D-MINOR / d-minor...tsk! NOoooaaaAAARRRGGGHH…doesn’t SOUND right!!!
wait, try it like this...
HANGON, dude! IKNOWTHIS…
NO! NO! NO! you’ve gotto play it OPEN, dude! like THIS...see?
and there i was. feeling like a regressive gene in the room full of impassioned musicians. well, there were just three of them. but within about 56 seconds of saying hello The Absence Of The Guitar had been identified as the unbearably jarring note in what might have otherwise been a perfect set up, and taken over the zeitgeist of the evening. the next hour was fraught with high emotion.
ok i’ve got one, but it’s left handed...
no, no, let’s find a right handed guitar, dude. i’ve got my harp, he plays base, we can totally JAM!
i know who’ll have one! * frantic phone call * ...aWw crap, down with the flu!
* frantic phone call * got through! damn, out of town!
* frantic phone call * found one!! @%#@ won’t lend it!
what about shamik? * frantic phone call * who the fuck eats dinner at malad, #$%#@%!
WHY CAN’T WE FIND ONE BLOODY GUITAR IN ALL OF BLOODY BANDRA!?!
finally, The Guitar arrived - fashionably late like the star she was - and launched straight into a tantrum: I Am Left Handed, she said, ssTRUMmmmMPLINK!
the musicians were unfazed. they hacked her like a bit of kindergarden morse code. the left handed one translated, the right handed one adapted. then the right handed one directed and the left handed one played. then the third one pitched in. this was their thing, hacking the guitar. at some point in their lives, they picked up a code that made talking to each other easier. but they never had to learn her language. they were born with it. they made it look like a such joy ride. singing, strumming, freewheeling…
i, on the other hand, feel like a chump around the guitar. as i type this, mine stands across the room, leaning against the chest of drawers. to all intents and purposes that’s what it’s been doing ever since we met and i can see it’s lost patience. it's been tapping its foot for a decade now, waiting for me to do something...do anything…but not THAT!
THAT is what i do when i lay my hands upon the guitar :-(
image credits: ‘the talk box guitar effect’ by daniel nester, www.danielnester.com; freewheeling dolphins, www.virb.com; ‘the big fart’ by thorarinn leifsson, www.totil.com