One Woman's Bass is Another Man's Banjo

I've been meaning to make time to recapture my "creative self" for a while now. Friends and family all agree that I got off track somewhere and haven't been the same person since the days when making art was included in my daily activities (a lifestyle for me, really).

I take full responsibility for shoving the pursuit of creative outlets so far down on my list of priorities. If you don't pay close attention (I didn't), the pesky real world has a way of moving life's checklist around without your permission. Complacency and resignation strengthen its position and years can go by.

Meeting Scott and sharing a life together these past few years has also kept me too busy to pay much attention to letting my right-brain run loose again. Besides all of the "projects" he's invited into our lives (and then there was recreating life after our house burned down), I've been commuting back and forth from the mainland to the island for the last five years. It would be impractical to enjoy my previous artistic pursuit (I claimed I was a sculptural cartoonist), which required dedicated space, plasticine clay, mold-making goo, running water, 100 lb sacks of plaster, production molds, paints, brushes, dental grinders and other dental tools.

My "Previous Life" Fridge Magnet Business

In the hopes of finding a simpler creative outlet, I tried my hand at painting dogs (okay, one cat and two and a half dogs) a few years ago, thinking that it would be less of a production logistically, but then again you still need a place for blank canvas, space for your easel, paint, brushes, etc. Though I enjoyed the process, for some reason it didn't grab hold of me like I thought it might. It could be that the resulting work seemed to reflect the disturbing efforts of a self-taught artist who's got a lousy teacher.

For example:

My Very First Painting:

One hour Earl Scheib Dog Portrait of Olive

(limited by 60 minutes and three available colors)

Painting #2: My sister's cat "Elso"

Painting #3: Anne's "Shotsey"

(you'll notice I beefed up the selection of available colors)

Unfinished Painting #4: Lambert's "Jake"

Hmmm, okay. Not really an inspired or prolific painter. Fast forward to now. Reconnecting with a friend who's an excellent guitarist got me thinking that I might be able to learn an instrument. Plus, I have fond memories of playing standing bass in junior high (sixth grade) orchestra. I enjoyed the simplicity of its four beefy strings and those lovely, low resonating notes. I loved playing a bass duet called "Camel Walk" with Larry Giannecchini (gotta love Google), a boy who was taller than I was (that was rare). I even walked the giant thing home from school with a special wheeled attachment (the bass, not Larry) occasionally to practice with it over the weekend.

A standing bass makes a formidable statement. Once I hit puberty and all of its associated social self-consciousness, the allure of the instrument diminished somewhat. Further, I suffered retroactive angst to imagine that I happily walked it home in full view of my peers. (I've since developed a more carefree approach to what others may think.)

A bass guitar is a conveniently smaller version of a standing bass. You only need to go to YouTube to see how many people play their bass guitars at home in their jammies in the privacy of a tiny bedroom, to realize that the logistics seem favorable. Also, often the bass guitar's contribution to a musical piece is a percussive "lather, rinse, repeat" affair that supports the other musicians working on melodies. I'm thinking that I could probably play a simple tune with my son-in-law (who has excellent guitar skills) fairly quickly.

I started out by downloading bass lessons I found on the Internet for $49. Then I downloaded a virtual guitar app to my iPhone so I could work out the fingering before I ever purchased an instrument. This actually worked out well. If you have five minutes and your phone on you, you've got all you need to educate yourself about the fretboard and chords, even placing your fingers on a smaller version of the frets and playing notes that sound remarkably accurate. You even get good feedback when your fingers aren't in the right spot on the frets. I found that I really enjoyed it!

After three weeks with the virtual "pocket" guitar (someone else's YouTube example here), I realized that my strumming hand was getting no experience whatsoever and I wasn't sure my brain would know how to connect the two once I had a real instrument in my hands. On July 12th, I took the next step and bought a beginner's bass guitar package online at Amazon. It was a Silvertone (I've been told that's the brand of instrument originally sold through Sears) setup, complete with amp, guitar strap, DVD lessons, electronic tuner, gig bag and amp cord. All of that for $199 and free shipping. It arrived two days later!

Oh. Em. Gee. I love this thing!!!

The bass and I have been best friends ever since its arrival. I'm slowly working through the lessons, can play a few tunes and have already had hilarious "jam sessions" (pay no attention to the lung that was expelled as I laughed so hard) with my son-in-law while we work out songs together.

I don't watch TV anymore. I spend every spare moment in the evening with the bass in my lap trying to figure out how to make it sound the way I imagine it could and should. I've extended my waking hours into 1 a.m. territory without even realizing it. I listen to music that I love and watch YouTube videos for guidance on how to play bass lines that I like.

I'm not any good yet, but it's so good for me on so many levels that obsessive passion moved in right away and is firmly in place. It fills a creative need so completely that I can't understand why it took me so long to consider a portable musical instrument as a convenient escape. Plus, once you have the instrument, it's pretty much all you need. No more supplies. Just you, your instrument and of course, your jammies.

Scott's surprise is evident when he calls me in the evening and can hear the sounds of string resonance as I move the bass around on my lap while we chat. I think he's a little confused by the fascination I have for the thing.

I recently emailed him a sound file of my progress and he seemed to enjoy it. I found out yesterday though, that he has some preconceived notions about bass-playing women. When I asked if he's told any of our island friends that I'm learning to play the bass guitar, he said, "Well, I'm a little embarrassed. I've always thought bass-playing women seem trashy..."

Scott mentioned the Robert Palmer music video "Addicted to Love", which seems to be the responsible culprit.

I think it's interesting to hear what makes Scott feel embarrassed, when his Aspergers' has provided us (okay, me) many embarrassing moments that have escaped him completely. My new activity is a change that's outside of his control. I'm sure he finds that uncomfortable since any change to his world or routine is always initially stressful.

As a woman on the cusp of a senior discount, wearing reading glasses (2.0!), I'm fairly certain no one's going to put me in the "trashy wannabe rocker" category (especially when the first song I learned to play was Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes...my version is here). It's almost flattering that Scott imagines I have "trashy potential" at this stage of my life.

I respond to his comment without judgement or hurt feelings. "Oh," I say, simply assuming that he's kept my new hobby to himself...

Then he adds, "...yeah, so I tell them you're learning to play the banjo."

Oh yes, much better...less trash, more hay...

My Film Debut:

(I will not be insulted if you don't stick around for the whole thing...I'd just like to document my progress)