Friday, March 7, 2008
Harlot's Dream*
Of the few folks who drift by this blog time to time, I know there's at least one person, maybe two, who understand why the above quote makes me positively cream...
The M3SC, like the former M36, features a 3-piece back, but with an added striking visual and tonal feature — the center wedge is Indian rosewood, with solid mahogany wings, and solid mahogany sides. The rosewood center wedge in the back adds warmth to an already crystalline mahogany tone. This spectacular mix is highlighted by C.F. Martin’s renowned hand-polished, nitro-cellulose gloss lacquer finish.
I returned to a familiar daydream today. One that brought back sounds, smells and sensations of a time long ago and which were intensified when I gave into temptation, fired up the browser and took a stroll.
Many, many years ago I fantasized about being the next rising star on the folk music horizon. My top heroes were the three "J-s" - Joan Baez, Judy Collins, and Joni Mitchell. During my high school years, most of my non-school hour time was spent with a guitar in my hands - I was either practicing or paying a bit of dues in front of an audience in the local coffee-houses.I never gained proficiency on the guitar - picking patterns continually eluded me and were a source of great frustration - but, I never let it stop me from playing. I would spend long hours learning a tune, chord by chord, verse by verse. The song was ready for performance when I finally reached the moment when it would become organic. I didn't need to think about the chords or the words or the tune - it would all just flow together and out.
There was a commercial that ran a few years ago that had a father and a young child sitting on a hill, under a tree, watching the sunset. The sun slowly dips below the horizon and then the young, awestruck child whispers "Do it again, Daddy." It's that kind of intangible magic moment that, when I'd hit it with a song piece, made me want to sing it over and over and over. It's that intoxicating high that made me want to share it with an audience. I loved it.
College days and new interests kept the Gibson in its case for longer and longer periods as time went on. I finally sold it a couple of years after college when it came down to a choice between it or the camera and dark room equipment when I moved from Oregon back to Oklahoma. I couldn't fit both in the car. Eventually, the songs left my memory, the callouses healed and my hands lost their familiarity with the strings and the frets.
Right now there's a ton of good modern folk/accoustic music floating the airwaves and residing on a million iPods. Listening to it provoked me into buying a ninety dollar guitar from the local pawn shop a couple of years ago. I wanted to learn and play that music. I wanted to revive a part of me that had been in a deep sleep for a very long time.
The guitar was at home in my hands. The smell of it evoked remembrances of smoky coffeehouses and sitting alone on a stool on a tiny stage. My hands struggled through the first few chord progressions. Determination kept me at it while I attempted to learn a tune I'd craved to learn since first hearing it. My voice isn't the voice of the singer I once was, but croaking out what I could while stumbling through the chords launched a time machine, of sorts, that took me back to that time when dreams were still possible and magic still happened. It felt good.
Unfortunately, I didn't keep at it. Other distractions took my attention away and the guitar has remained a mere decorative item on its stand in the living room. Today, however, I felt the desire rise again after listening to a couple of great songs. The number of female artists is exponentially greater than it was in those coffehouse days and the songs they are singing are songs I want to play.
And it's what, today, prompted me to type the magic words into Google which lead me the mecca of guitarists all over the world - the Martin & Co. website. I've had the desire to own a Martin guitar ever since the first callous formed on the fingers of my left hand. I came close - my Dad considered getting one for me as a birthday present one year, but stopped short when he saw the price tag of five-hundred dollars.
To buy the Martin I want, today would cost about three to four times that five hundred of thirty some-odd years ago. But, I'm really considering doing it. I hesitate, though, because I fear it would end up occupying space in a closet, rarely to be seen. That's a lot of money to spend for something to toss the laundry on to. However, I'm lured by the tone, the look, the feel and the craving for the high of accomplishment I once felt so long ago.
Select abalone pearl inlays in the Style 45 rosette, and around the top and fingerboard extension, are highlighted by black and white fine line wood fiber borders. The Madagascar rosewood headplate on the square, tapered headstock provides the canvas for the rare Alternative Torch inlay...
I need a cigarette.
*Mortal lovers must not try to remain at the first step; for lasting passion is the dream of a harlot and from it we wake in despair.
-C S Lewis
Posted at 9:25 PM | |
