My Lonely City

I sometimes play guitar; I have for several years. I dabble, really. Acoustic guitar – the same one my Dad bought the day he got out of the Navy in 1969, which rode in the front seat with him on his way back from South Carolina. His cars have changed, the wife has changed, the job, haircut, religion have changed since then. The guitar has survived. I dusted it, when I was young; the neck was too wide for my fingers, then, but I tried anyway. It has three small scratches on the front where I tried to scrape off dirt that had been there for too long. The guitar sounds lovely, especially when my father plays it; round and lush, mellow and deep-throated, like Billie Holiday or that guy who sang Old Man River, whom Grandmama likes so much. Dad gave this guitar to me when I moved out. I play that guitar. Not well, and not often (which may have something to do with the ‘not well’) … but I play.

What I like about guitar playing is its sensuality. Here, you’re wrapped around this vaguely human-shaped object, warming the wood with the heat of your body, running your hands along its sinews, pressing your fingertips into it. Your arm sticks to the curve, making a slaaptching sound as you strum; your fingertips throb and tingle on the frets. You can feel the music, the rhythm, the energy of the sounds curled up and purring like a cat against your chest and belly. You can smell the slightly dusty varnish, feel the smooth dryness of its wood on your wrist. Of course, how you sound is rather variable, but … how you feel is great.

Really, there’s not a lot of practical information I can pass on about playing the guitar. Get a tuning thingamajig. If I can only find mine, I’m sure I will sound much, much better. Find songs you like – songs you enjoy hearing, over and over, and over again, and learn them. I took lessons for a while; they helped, but I don’t think they were quite suited to my … learning style. I like learning things that build on one another, like lincoln logs. Except I didn’t like lincoln logs. Scratch that, then. Anyway, the point is, guitars = cheap, obsessive fun. As long as you get the guitar for free.