Rationalization? Thoughts about Tone, Taste, and Timing
12:17AM. Luckily I have a blog, otherwise some unsuspecting cohort of long ago would be awakened. At these times I always think of Vonnegut. I, too, smell of mustard gas and roses.
I turned 41 this past May. I’ve been playing music since my 15th birthday. That year I got a guitar and a Frederick Noad Guitar Book to accompany the PBS series hosted by Noad I’d been enthusiastically watching. Since that initial foray into classical guitar and sight-reading, I’ve diligently studied bluegrass banjo, rock guitar, blues guitar, flatpicking guitar, some gypsy jazz, and mandolin (an instrument I picked up several times since age 17, but never took seriously until 17 years later), as well as taking stabs at fiddle and accordion. I’ve played in numerous bands, taught several students, wrote several tunes and songs you’ll never hear, made a good share of gig money, and pissed off several band-mates (as I’ve been pissed off by them). And, somewhere in there, I got a degree in Audio Engineering from IU’s Jacob School of Music.
However, now boldly journeying into middle-age (and saying that hurts, dear readers), my musical “career” (maybe not as a professional, but as someone who takes his musical endeavors very seriously) is only now taking shape. First and foremost, mandolin is the instrument Fate intended me to play. I’m no slouch on banjo or electric guitar, but in no way can I match the heightened sense of creativity I feel on mandolin using those instruments. Those are the instruments I play for fun, to blast the windows out of bars, or to deceive me into thinking I have big cajones. They’re muscle instruments. Mandolin is an extension of me, my personality, my spirit. I play it because I’m compelled to. And thanks to my dear friend Will Kimble those boxes of wood and steel get me even closer to mandolin synchronicity.
Secondly you’ll remember me from the Time Man of the Year cover of a couple years back. Who’s Time’s Man of the Year? I am! YouTube–the website I love to hate (or is it hate to love? My ambivalence runs deep). Dear reader, if you’re familiar with me, then you’re familiar with how I’ve whored myself on YouTube. I’ve got 80 some odd videos on there. 80. 80. Over two or three years, 80 videos. Some are ok, others are good, others are very good. I don’t think any are spectacular or embarrassing. With limited musical performance outlets due to family and work (I gig out as much as time allows), a few minutes steal-away to the iMac’s iSight let’s me unleash whatever is boiling over. These videos also serve as a barometer. The viewership instructs me as to what I’m doing right or wrong. Obviously I follow my own muse, but I’m open to criticism. It’s the path to getting better.
Unfortunately, equally among the musically-seasoned on YouTube, there are the inexperienced or just plain bad. I always feel uneasy about being too closely identified with YouTube. Success on YouTube (if there is such a thing) doesn’t intrinsically make one a professional, an instructor, a resource, or an authority. Just because I post some blues mandolin instruction videos doesn’t make me a blues mandolin authority (even if I have tried to spin it). Rich DelGrosso is an authority. There’s a man who went to the source, is a helluva player, a great teacher, and an excellent historian. Most importantly, he’s put in the TIME. But then again, I started this little exposition out listing my own history. I ain’t no spring chicken. Though I may not have Rich’s blues pedigree, I’ve got chops and 25+ years of experience.
This leads me, in an admittedly awkward segue, to my reason for writing. I am continually bothered by my lack of playing speed on mandolin. I can play fast enough, if I’ve routinely practiced and sufficiently warmed up, but I have a cut off. At 41 and with some messed up wrists, I ain’t no speed demon. I’m never going to be.
This never bothered me before playing mandolin. On banjo, I’ve got a good roll and can crank it out when I have to. Moving two fingers and a thumb, in my opinion, is easier than alternating a flatpick. On electric guitar, between that lovely symbiotic relationship between amp and pickup and bending/hammer-ons/pull-offs, I’ve never worried about speed. Sustain and other techniques other than straight 8 flatpicking could get me through.
Unfortunately in the world of mandolin–which in this country is overseen by the bluegrass contingent–speed is highly prized and sought.
But throughout my musical life, the three tenets I’ve lived by are Tone, Taste, and Timing. It doesn’t matter how technically proficient you are, it don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing. Choose your cliche: less is more, play it clean, get in the groove, etc., but they’re all true. Most listeners don’t care about how technically competent you are–they want good listenable music. I believe this. I love Neil Young’s electric guitar playing–Ynwie Malmsteen leaves me flat. I’m impressed by Malmsteen’s ability. I understand what he’s doing and appreciate the study. But, I personally find the music lifeless. Young pours himself into his music, warts and all.
And, I’ve always wanted my warts in my music. It’s what defines my style. I want the best tone out of my instrument. I make intelligent yet heartfelt note selection and arrangements. I play in the groove. These choices define my style.
As does the lack of speed. Because I can’t play fast, this determines how and what I play. This is one of the reasons I’ve focused on octave as of late–to get more sustain.
I’m getting lost in my thoughts. This isn’t meant to be an essay or treatise. It’s just me emptying my mind. Perusing doubts I can’t shake.
The conundrum I face is: what role does the knack for speed play in determining the professionalism of a mandolinist. Now, I know the answer–it doesn’t and shouldn’t. However, if someone wants to be looked at as a resource, instructor, etc., does it play a role? Does a fellow mandolinist look at a peer with a “slowhand” as someone with insufficient chops. If I have a wealth of knowledge and am a sensitive player, are my chops on the same level as someone who has less musical experience, yet is more technically proficient (like many of the mando wunderkinds out there). I’m not knocking technical proficiency, providing that the player is also an artist (such as a Mike Marshall or Chris Thile). Which is preferred: the amount of Wisdom one possesses or the quality of the Wisdom?
I prefer the quality of the Wisdom. I have striven to refine my playing to embody the three Ts listed earlier. I’ll construct an identifiable signature from what I do well. That will be more than sufficient to compensate for what is lacking. Is this rationalization for not practicing more, improving technique, etc. or have I achieved some Tao-ist level of self-enlightenment? I hope the latter.
As I slowly but diligently eek out a niche in the mandolin universe (and I hope an appreciation for this niche is what brought you here to read this late night lament), I routinely challenge myself to self-discovery and improvement. But as this happens, the Catch 22 of the “Am I worthy? dull ache manifests. I am capable and competent in my ability. . . but then, again, maybe not.
Enough with this. I’m leaving comments open in case any of you tortured by this drivel wish to set me in my place.
As my friend Butch Robins says, Onwards and Upwards.
