John Watt
Member
I used to play and sing full time. Taking years to make criminal and political changes in my home town of over 50,000, where there are no local live gigs or dance floors, has hindered my musical expression. It's not the same, offstage. I decided to take my self-made guitar apart to redefine the solid body, now semi-solid, and reconstruct my amplifier. Now, years later, both are finished. I'm so happy with the generously donated unusually figured local wood and the way it feels, rubbing it to hear the tuned resonance. I haven't installed the hardware. It's better to let others see the patentable design inside.
Crashing over a friend's house, the kitchen spread with this computer system, my typewriter and portable office, and my tools, I decided to take my guitar outside and sit on the wooden steps after everyone else went to bed, under the roof of the side door. I wanted to get it used to outdoors, like my other guitar. I already took it to a church service, denying all entreaties to play, wanting to imbue it for my own heart's sake.
Looking over the darkness of The Welland Canal, I heard low rumbling, and it reminded me of my reply to Corno Dolce here about McCoy Tyner, how he sounded live. The thunder grew, reminding me of kicking my amp hard when there was a three-spring Hammond reverb installed. I wanted to play. I heard the sound of a large raindrop hitting the roof of the garage. Another, another I think, hitting the roof of my '69 Ford Custom. Phut, phut, phut more and more, reminding me of Joe Farrell's flute solo intro off the first Elvin Jones solo album. Joe hits a note, hits another, and another, hitting the same note until it's urgent, and then he softly descends to a throbbing bass note. By this time I was holding my guitar closely to avoid the perimeter of rain around me. Lightning now moved across the canal sky in slow cadence, wide and glowing. I stood up, more turbulence around me. I held my guitar and imagined myself playing "House Burning Down" by Jimi Hendrix, the most incendiary intro I know, hearing it loud and proud. I kept listening and watching, misting, entranced.
I realized I was swaying, dancing by myself. I wasn't jumping onto a dance floor, or knocking over stands or coffee tables, but I wasn't alone. This non-tantric meditation fading, I thought about just watching The Mask again, and realized I need some new moves. I leaned my guitar against the door, and in my stocking feet I tried to dance some more, out on the wet leaves on the grass, arms outstretched, running up and onto the wet hood of the car, where it got real slippery and good. Too slippery, so I pulled a Prince piano move I saw on The Arsenio Hall show, and slid right off feet down, running out of steam without a guitar and band beside me. If Gene Krupa was here, I wouldn't have stopped. Frederik! Frederik! Can you allow some user profile ambience I can assess and access, jam and learn and dance to now?
as allways, John Watt. tuneUupL8r!
Crashing over a friend's house, the kitchen spread with this computer system, my typewriter and portable office, and my tools, I decided to take my guitar outside and sit on the wooden steps after everyone else went to bed, under the roof of the side door. I wanted to get it used to outdoors, like my other guitar. I already took it to a church service, denying all entreaties to play, wanting to imbue it for my own heart's sake.
Looking over the darkness of The Welland Canal, I heard low rumbling, and it reminded me of my reply to Corno Dolce here about McCoy Tyner, how he sounded live. The thunder grew, reminding me of kicking my amp hard when there was a three-spring Hammond reverb installed. I wanted to play. I heard the sound of a large raindrop hitting the roof of the garage. Another, another I think, hitting the roof of my '69 Ford Custom. Phut, phut, phut more and more, reminding me of Joe Farrell's flute solo intro off the first Elvin Jones solo album. Joe hits a note, hits another, and another, hitting the same note until it's urgent, and then he softly descends to a throbbing bass note. By this time I was holding my guitar closely to avoid the perimeter of rain around me. Lightning now moved across the canal sky in slow cadence, wide and glowing. I stood up, more turbulence around me. I held my guitar and imagined myself playing "House Burning Down" by Jimi Hendrix, the most incendiary intro I know, hearing it loud and proud. I kept listening and watching, misting, entranced.
I realized I was swaying, dancing by myself. I wasn't jumping onto a dance floor, or knocking over stands or coffee tables, but I wasn't alone. This non-tantric meditation fading, I thought about just watching The Mask again, and realized I need some new moves. I leaned my guitar against the door, and in my stocking feet I tried to dance some more, out on the wet leaves on the grass, arms outstretched, running up and onto the wet hood of the car, where it got real slippery and good. Too slippery, so I pulled a Prince piano move I saw on The Arsenio Hall show, and slid right off feet down, running out of steam without a guitar and band beside me. If Gene Krupa was here, I wouldn't have stopped. Frederik! Frederik! Can you allow some user profile ambience I can assess and access, jam and learn and dance to now?
as allways, John Watt. tuneUupL8r!
