Still My Guitar Gently Weeps

Today's post began life as a look at love songs. But, as I write, it has changed. Today, my older brother, Hal, would have been 61. I still miss him. He was 9 when I was born, and was instrumental in shaping my musical tastes. Dad liked Elvis, Hank Williams, The Beatles, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and opera. (An odd mix, that.) Mom liked Broadway musicals, opera and John Davidson. Hal saw to it that I was exposed to a wider variety of styles. A teenager in the late '60s, of course he played guitar and was in several bands. I remember sitting on the floor while he practiced his guitar. It was probably 1966, (I was 5, he was 14) and he started slowly playing a new, for him, riff. I was entranced. I had to have a guitar and learn how to play that gorgeous piece. I didn't know at the time that he was practicing the song at a much slower tempo than it should be taken. 

Not long after, I was having a huge fight with my mother about the state of my room: I thought that since all of my toys were out of sight that was clean enough; my mother unreasonably felt that under my bed was not the proper place to store toys. Hal got tired of listening to me sobbing, and came into my room with a deal. If I could clean up my room, with the toys where they actually belonged, by dinnertime, then he would give me his old guitar, a 3/4 size instrument. Not a complete idiot, I jumped on this, and quickly cleaned my room like it had never been done before. By that evening, I was the proud owner of my first guitar, and insisted that Hal teach me to play that song. 

I quickly discovered that proficiency was a long way off. But, I stuck with it and eventually learned how to play my beloved song. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there were lyrics to go with that wonderful riff. And, it was supposed to go a good bit faster than I'd thought.

I was introduced to the pre-fab four - the Monkees; Hal and I used to watch their show together. I thought that was so cool. With our age difference, there wasn't a lot that we did together.

Even as a kid, I noticed things on this video. I noticed that there was no way that what Mike was playing on the guitar could be what we were hearing. And how well could he be playing with that tie constantly flapping into the strings? I began to understand what lip-syncing was.

Hal was constantly in one band or another. At one point, there was a drum kit in the family room. But I was not allowed to touch it, seeing as how it belonged to one of his friends. They weren't allowed to practice at the friend's house, so the drums came to ours. 

The acoustic guitars began to give way to the electrics. His first amp was about one foot squared, but they grew. I learned that amplifiers were different from speakers. He topped out with a 6-foot concert speaker in his bedroom. (Fortunately, it was a very large room.) Even then he could only play it while our neighbors were at work or school. 

We had a wicker swag lamp hanging over the dining table instead of a chandelier. It looked a lot like this one to the right (I guess it went with the Dutch modern style that Mom preferred). When Hal would practice, I'd see the lamp swaying to the beat: I thought that was kind of cool; I don't think Mom agreed. Then Hal took up the bass: That not only made the lamp sway, it cracked the plaster in the dining room. I think Hal's room was directly over that part of the house.

Then came Woodstock. My favorite from that album set was Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit. I'd always like Grace Slick, anyway. 

But, for Hal, Woodstock was all about Jimi Hendrix. Hal worked on that version of the Star-Spangled Banner over and over and over. The swag lamp in the dining room went nuts on that one.

Such concepts as wah, fuzz and feedback were added to the more classical music terms my piano teacher gave me.

Gradually, I began to find my own tastes. This led to my one and only foray into the world of teenyboppers: Bobby Sherman. 

Hal was horrified and ashamed of his little sister for this. He took it as his personal mission to teach me the error of my ways. (Watching this video can still make me smile.) I was 9 when this came out, so I think I can be forgiven for any lapse in judgment. But, Hal, 18 at that point, was determined. He would take me to his room, an otherwise forbidden zone, and play music for me, trying to get me admit that something, anything, was better than Bobby. Crosby, Stills, Nash and occasionally Young, were played for me. I liked them, thought they were really good, but not better. Led Zeppelin - good, but not better. Alice Cooper (Mom would have had a fit!) - fun, but not better.

Part of it was sheer perversity on my part. I knew he was annoyed by my love of Bobby Sherman's music, so I stuck to it.

Then, finally, he played Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. I was entranced. This was amazing. It opened a world of music to me. This was art. Plus, it was just three people! Guitar, keyboards and drums. I could play piano and guitar. Perhaps something like this was possible! (Yeah, in my dreams!) 

My vocabulary expanded to include such words as Moog and synthesizer. 

We lived in a small college town, where Dad taught. I grew up on that campus. Dad's office was just at the end of our street. Hal was a student there. I thought I was grown up and cool. I also knew that I was going to be an opera singer. I'm sure that was a new brand of irritation to a teenager. I began to practice (in excerable Italian) arias that no 9-year old should be singing. Hal, who had practiced so loudly that it annoyed the neighbors, would leave the house when I sang in order to avoid listening. He said that I "sucked."

Not long after, he graduated and got married. But he still managed to influence my musical tastes by introducing me to Elton John, Heart, and Jethro Tull among many others. I'm sure that my love for ABBA, the Carpenters, and Barry Manilow would have been considered blots on my escutcheon. 

Years went by, as they tend to do. We discovered that we both had all of Weird Al's CDs. Hal was shocked that we were both fans. I wasn't: Hal had been important in guiding my formative years. When my kids were surprised to find out the the Billy Idol CD was mine and not their dad's, I knew that was a part of the musical heritage that Hal helped to extablish. 

I played the guitar that Hal gave me until I was 11. He helped to select the guitar that I got for that birthday. We all went to Clarksburg (the closest music store was abut 45 minutes away), and Hal led me to the ones that he thought I was ready for. The clerk came over, and began to talk to him. Hal told him that the guitar was going to be for me. The clerk then became condescending, and started to show me how to hold the instrument. I confidently took it and began to play House of the Rising Sun. I still play that guitar. I have Dad's guitar now, and one of Hal's. 

This is my favorite Beatles' song. George Harrison was a fantastic guitarist, but on the While Album version, the lead guitar was played by Eric Clapton. In keeping with everyone else, Hal thought that Clapton was the guitar god. This version, from 1987, has Harrison, Clapton, Ringo Starr and Phil Collins on drums, and Elton John on piano. All rock stars that Hal introduced to me. It seems a fitting tribute.