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HOW Did You Get Yourself Into This MESS?
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When my mom got pregnant with her first child (my older brother Bobby), my dad bought her a Spanish guitar, so she would have something to play with while sitting around the house expecting.
Dad had been a trumpeter in big jazz bands when he was young. But the Korean War came along and sucked my pop into the Military Industrial Complex. Dad became a GI, then a Cold Warrior... and then family-hood.
Moms never learned how to play that guitar, but Dad did. He was a big Johnny Cash fan, and he kinda looked and sounded like him too.
Apparently, when Bobby and I were still wee tikes, we were afraid of thunderstorms. So, my pop would get out the guitar when there was a thunderstorm, and play and sing this song called "Thunder In The Canyon" and that would make us chill out. We would sit around in our little living room, and pops would put on this little concert, doing his Johnny Cash thing. It was dope. I remember it to this day.
When Bobby became an adolescent, he got ahold of that guitar and started jamming on it, serious rock & roll, and got really good really quick.
He had an attitude too, a real rebel thing, very charismatic. Before we knew it, he was a local rock star. The sexiest girls and the coolest guys in my town would all crowd around my parents' front porch to hear him play rock & roll on that old Spanish guitar.
Then they would all go off to drink and do drugs and have sex. I was too young to go along, but Bobby always left the guitar behind - so I was left alone with it, and started banging on it myself. Of course, I wanted to be like him.
But, of course, it became much more than that. Something about that guitar was magic. It was like touching the keys to the universe, to the Spirit World. And I still feel that way about music, sitting here typing this, surrounded by guitars and synthesizers and percussion instruments, the Pro Tools rig and the recording gear. I love it, and I cannot imagine life without it.
Yes, it is a mess. An interesting mess. A glorious mess. Sometimes a heart-wrenching mess. Like life. Like the universe. Like our species.
Like a woman:
Break my heart though she may,
I cannot imagine life without her.
Music is my mistress,
And she plays second fiddle to no one.