About two months ago we had some old friends visit us from
California. It was a couple we’ve known for a long time and their two kids
(ages 12 and 18). The older child (we love her) will be attending college nearby in the Fall and
she was here with her parents for orientation so it was a good time to
reconnect with some old friends.
We go way back with this couple. I attended the same
elementary, middle and high school as the father and his wife went to the same
middle school and high school as my wife. Not sure you’re following all
this…but we all went to the same middle school and high school. I’m a bit older
so it wasn’t all at the same time…but the point of all this is…we essentially have
roots in the same hood and they really area wonderful family.
I hadn’t seen any of them in the 10 years since we’d moved
to the nation’s capital, and both the kids had grown considerably since the
last time I had. The boy, who was only about two the last time I’d seen him
seemed a bit bored with the trip, and though I tried to make conversation with
him as we stood on the porch as they arrived, he just didn’t seem to be all
that into the trip thus far.
When we walked in the house, I noticed the kid appeared to
be mesmerized by the music corner of the living room. Immediately to the left
as you enter the room is an upright piano, a clarinet, a guitar and two ukuleles.
It’s handy having a lot of instruments around because while it might look
impressive, it always seemed to be a good alibi for my inability play any of
them particularly well.
The boy just stood there and gazed…and it was clear from the
kid’s expression that he was interested in music. His father announced that his
son (Jason) loves to play the guitar, and suggested that perhaps I’d allow him
to play mine. Trying to be the consummate host I obliged, but I clearly wasn’t
prepared for what happened next.
Jason picked up the guitar and sat down on the oversized chair
in the opposite corner of the living room by the fireplace. The 12 year-old
looked a bit awkward with the six-string in that oddly large chair…but within
seconds something magical started to happen as it wasn’t long before he was picking
away like Hendrix. I looked across the room at his beaming dad and held out my
hands as to say “what the hell?” as Jason played away. His dad just returned
the “hell if I know” gesture and simply said… “the kid is just a musical
genius.” Jason played for about five minutes and then stopped and abruptly held
out the guitar and said “now…you play something.”
I laughed and said I wasn’t about to touch that guitar after
that demonstration…and that I may not ever try to play again. We begin talking about Jason’s guitar prowess
and I learned that he’d only been playing for about 18-months. To add insult to
injury, he further shared that he was essentially self-taught. I’ve been
playing for about 30 years, and I know about 8 chords. This cat was moving his
fingers up and down the neck like a rock star…and I’m still struggling to play
more than a three chord Willie Nelson song.
Jason asked me to play something again…but I cowardly reiterated
I wouldn’t be touching the guitar again anytime soon…especially while he was in
the house. His dad, who has also struggled to play for years was laughing, and
then Jason said simply “ then play something on the uke.”
For some reason this seemed less threatening, so I picked up
the uke and began to play (and sing) something like Blue Hawaii. Jason was
smiling from ear-to-ear as I strummed along, and when I finished he
enthusiastically said “wow…you are good.” Well, aside from his musical prowess,
it was immediately clear that this little liar has a very bright future. He not
only plays like Clapton but he’s quick on his feet too and knows what to say
even when it’s obviously over-stated. His compliments kept coming…and he convincingly
encouraged me to “play something else.”
I told Jason that I could play all night…but that none of
the old songs would be anything he’d ever heard. He claimed he didn’t care…and
continued to urge me to play. I asked if I played some song if he could follow
along on the guitar and he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and said “sure…no
problem.” I announced that I’d be playing some old country song from the ‘40s
called “Careless Hands,” and he smiled and said “cool.”
“It’s in the key of…” I started to say when he held up his
hand in a stop-like fashion and blurted out “don’t tell me the key…just start
playing.” I hate these arrogant little musical geniuses. I started to strum the
uke and sing and within seconds Jason was wailing on the guitar and dressing up
the tune like never before. When we finished up, we both simultaneously
strummed the same chord…and it was pretty clear to everyone we were headed to
Nashville.
When we finished I asked Jason what key we’d been playing.
He looked up…thought for a minute, smiled and correctly said “C.” We continued
to play several songs…and at least for me, playing with this incredibly
talented kid was true magic. After about four songs we took a break…and I began
to ask Jason how it was that he could play so effortlessly to songs he’d never
heard before. “I have perfect pitch” he responded…but that really didn’t mean
anything to me.
“So what” I said… “how does perfect pitch allow you to play
along to songs you don’t know.”
“Well, once I figure out the key, I just essentially start
playing the appropriate pentatonic scale notes and try to come up with
something that sounds cool.”
“What the hell is a pentatonic scale?” I asked.
“Well” Jason responded… “every key has a corresponding
pentatonic scale with five notes any of which can be played during the song and
it all sounds pretty good. You just have to know the key and the right scale
notes. It’s really pretty much a breeze.”
I was really starting to like him a lot less, but after they
left and over the course of the next few days, I started researching pentatonic
scales on the internet and learned quickly that the kid was right…the theory
(or at least that part) really is pretty simple. It wasn’t long before I’d was
tinkering on the piano…dressing up old hymns I’d been playing for years with
fancy new riffs that dramatically altered the sound (in a good way). Now…regardless
of what I’m playing, I’m all about the pentatonic scale. I come into the office
in the morning, put on some old hymns or country on Grooveshark, and pick up my
uke and play along (most of the time I can find the key). At least while I’m
sitting there in the empty office in the morning…it all sounds pretty good.
On the weekends, I can play the piano for hours just
expanding on what Jason taught me. Whenever I’m done playing, I turn to my wife
and say the exact same thing. “That little sh*t changed my life.”
What’s the point of all this? Well…if you know…please tell
me. For over thirty years I’d be struggling to play guitar the exact same way.
Three chords (maybe four if I was feeling really adventurous) and singing old
cowboy songs as I strummed along. I’ve played for decades with talented guys
that could pick lead and they all seemed to have this just natural ability to
know what to play. I always thought that…but I never really understood it all.
Then, out of nowhere when I least expected it from an unlikely source, this
unassuming yet remarkable little kid walks into my living room on a Saturday
afternoon in April and changed my musical life. I love this kid...and I owe him too.
It’s a great life.
BTW…there’s still a song at the end of this unorganized
drivel each Friday…and I’m always amazed at how many folks don’t bother to
listen (thankfully…there are more that listen to the music and don’t waste time
with the stupid blog). I heard today’s song last Saturday night while driving
with my wife and there was just
something about it. If you take a few minutes to listen, I have a feeling it
will be a good way to kick off your Friday and set the table for a truly
splendid weekend.
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