6 Dollar Friday Marred By Guitar Malfunction
Bobby Has The Fix
Broken Guitar Blues
I woke up at 1:30 PM, Saturday afternoon, and started to feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My Takamine guitar had one tuning machine on it, that I had "Jerry-rigged*" months earlier, winding the string in the opposite of the intended direction so that I could tighten the string up to pitch.
It had worked, and I had gone right back to busking with it, knowing that the day was coming when the temporary fix would fail. That day was April 20th, 2018.
After seeing if Jerry had any more ideas up his sleeve, I turned my attention to my "back up guitar," which is an Oscar Schmidt brand, made by Washburn, which was given to me by Tim, my caseworker, probably about 3 years ago now.
I was able to put the six new strings on it that I was in the process of putting on the Takamine, and to tune it up.
I went out to busk with it.
I found that the intonation on it was terrrible, probably due to the extra high nut piece that someone had installed on it, perhaps so they could play slide guitar on it, a style that is not dependent upon where the frets are located and if they are properly intoned.
The extra high plastic nut piece, I would have filed down to a more normal height, but it was hollow, making this an "iffy" gambit. And, I never got around to trying to find a suitable nut piece which might make the thing a decent instrument.
I had thought about giving it to David the Waterjug player, as the thing is pretty heavily constructed, so that it is literally a heavy guitar.
This is probably because Oscar used a more inexpensive wood than the types that can be shaved down more, like the spruce or maple hardtops that fetch higher prices. This was a 129 dollar guitar back in 1978, which was around when it was made. That was the kind of money required to buy an entry-level, beginner's instrument that wouldn't be such a piece of crap as to discourage the new student from continuing to learn.
It was probably the installation of the extra high nut piece that had led someone to determine that the whole guitar was unplayable and to give it to Tim, my caseworker.
He fulfilled one of his requirements as my caseworker by giving it to me, with the peace of mind that it brought to me from knowing that I had a back-up instrument, so I could go out to busk with a "go ahead and grab my guitar from me and smash it in the road, I have another one," attitude.
Well, I played the thing.
20 seconds in, it was like: "Houston, we have a problem" as, the strings that were tuned electronically when open, became "way out" when I fretted notes.
I switched to a song that leaned heavily upon open stringed chords and was able to get a dollar thrown to me.
I could see tourists hesitating, as I must have appeared to be playing the hell out of things, and then stepping within range of the horrendous chords that the guitar was churning out, and maybe just throwing the dollar in appreciation of my "effort."
Jerry wasn't finished, though.
I then tuned the guitar to one chord (a G7) finding that the fretted notes were about 20% sharp on the meter, and had to be lowered accordingly.
I then wailed over that one chord on the harmonica until someone threw me a 5 dollar bill, at which point, I felt that I had proven to myself that I could make money with a piece of crap guitar and decided to end the experiment there.
I should have been freaking out, but had a sense of peace and calm within me, as I packed up, having made only 7 dollars on a Friday night.
There had been a bit of shrugging of shoulders from the skeezers who hang out on Lilly's block, as if they were baffled as to why I had came out and sounded like crap this particular night. "Maybe he drunk..." might have been bandied about by some of them.
Having only 6 dollars to my name and a broken guitar, I ran through my options.
If I Was A Great Busker...
A real hero would have set the guitar down and then started singing a Capella: "On the day that I was born!" then throwing in the riff on harmonica "The nurses all gathered 'round!" harmonica riff, etc. and would have made enough money to pay for a 40 dollar set of brand new tuning machines, along with having learned something about interacting with people at that level.
I decided, though, that that would be like someone who still finishes a marathon even though he twisted an ankle and had to limp the last 3 miles of it.
I still bought Harold the cat some food, like I normally do, and even got myself an energy drink, leaving myself only 5 dollars to lay on the coffee table at home, where I had no coffee nor cigarettes.
Then, I woke up at 1:30 PM and was able to feel peaceful and calm, once I realized that the feelings of dread were being created by a mind full of apprehension and anxiety that may have been imagining the worst.
One option would be to pedal over to Webb's Bywater Music, and try to buy a used tuning machine off him for 5 dollars. This is something that I have been able to do in the past, and it left me with a guitar having mis-matching tuners, 4 gold, one silver and one mother of pearl plastic, type of thing.
But, was Webb's still in business, how could a guy who sells pieces off of used guitars to street musicians still be?
I called Bobby's phone.
He didn't answer, but I wound up leaving a pretty detailed message on his machine.
This was option 2: Ask Bobby if I could borrow the 40 bucks to get a new set of machines, and maybe if he would ride me over to Guitar Center in his truck to do so.
Option 3 might be to call my mom to ask her if she could wire me money to fix the guitar, but then she would know that all this time, I had procrastinated and let the problem fester while I was happily playing away and making money that I could have set aside for such a contingency...
My phone rang as I was headed towards the Family Dollar to get a can of food for Harold. It was Bobby.
"Meet me at the apartment," he said.
"I can be there in a couple minutes," I said.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were so close. That's good, if I'm not there, just wait for me."
Bobby was there, just getting out of his truck in front of the building when I arrived.
I had turned the couple minutes into more like 15 (due to the tone of his voice) by running into Family Dollar for the cat food and some instant coffee, which I was just pouring in my mouth and letting dissolve, having woken up with none in the house.
"This is your lucky day," said Bobby as he put the truck in gear and we raced off.
He made only one wrong turn and cussed out only about a half dozen other drivers on our way to what turned out to be the Guitar Center.
"It's that guy up there that's causing it!" he said about a small gray car about 3 cars ahead of us that was moving slowly, causing our lane to back up.
"I should go and ram into the back of him," he added.
Bobby asked me how long it's been since I drank alcohol (27 months), congratulated me on that and then asked me if I would be happy about getting a job "some dish washing job somewhere."
"Sure. If I didn't feel like I was flushing my time down the toilet doing so, I would be filling out applications for one."
He said that we were going to go to The Guitar Center, where they had used guitars, some of them for as low as 75 dollars, and that he was going to solve the problem of the stuck tuning machine on my Takamine by buying me a whole new guitar.
The Epiphone shown in the photo (bottom) is the result.
"No strings attached," said the punster, but made me promise him that I would pursue getting some dish washing job somewhere, insisting that I would be happier then.
A job like that would be a stepping stone on my way to greater success as a busker; I would be able to have the gear necessary to play with Tanya Huang, for example.
I promised him that I would try to get a job. He worries about me being shot by paint balls and other things, the way a parent might worry about their kids, and wants to see me "do better" with my music.
It's probably true that I over-value the amount of money that I make at the Lilly Pad, thinking that the 200 dollar tips that come around every 11.5 months are an indication of prosperity (when I could make that every Friday afternoon playing for 2 and a half hours with Tanya Huang, even splitting things 70/30 like I would propose doing, should I ever be set up at her spot, sounding good and having a small group of listeners to prove it, on a given Friday morning when her van full of equipment arrives.
"I'm holding the spot for you," I would say to immediately assuage any trepidation she might have over her having access to it.
She would already have posted, though, people who are doing just that. People who would have been advanced the 20 dollars or whatever the previous evening so they would have, already, drinks in the holders of the canvas chairs they sat in, and thus no reason whatsoever to leave their posts of duty.
These people know that I know Tanya and that "they like him," and would figure that, if I say that I am only intending to play there until she arrives, then I am to be believed (none of this: "Can I have just one more hour?" b.s.).
And, if I can be pretentious enough to say this, I think her "people," might think it swell if she were to go back, at least here and there, to playing with a live guitarist, if not for the sonic qualities, for the fact that, like his predecessor, this one would be steering the music towards the more "September," by Earth Wind and Fire stuff and away from "The Theme Song of The Character Unknown To You From The Disney Cartoon That Is Very Good, But You Didn't See It" type of stuff.
*Jerry rigged might not even be a term that I have heard before, but if it is, would it refer to the cartoon Jerry of Tom and Jerry, did he rig things?
Bobby Has The Fix
Broken Guitar Blues
I think I will now shoot a short video right here in front of the Uxi Duxi (even though I just told Bobby: "I'll see you in about an hour" and video "projects" can run more like six of them) and then will quickly (because it's short) upload it to Youtube and then turn around and embed it back in this blog; how exciting does that sound.
So, if you are reading this and there isn't a video, then I am working on the video and it will appear here shortly...
I woke up at 1:30 PM, Saturday afternoon, and started to feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My Takamine guitar had one tuning machine on it, that I had "Jerry-rigged*" months earlier, winding the string in the opposite of the intended direction so that I could tighten the string up to pitch.
It had worked, and I had gone right back to busking with it, knowing that the day was coming when the temporary fix would fail. That day was April 20th, 2018.
After seeing if Jerry had any more ideas up his sleeve, I turned my attention to my "back up guitar," which is an Oscar Schmidt brand, made by Washburn, which was given to me by Tim, my caseworker, probably about 3 years ago now.
I was able to put the six new strings on it that I was in the process of putting on the Takamine, and to tune it up.
I went out to busk with it.
I found that the intonation on it was terrrible, probably due to the extra high nut piece that someone had installed on it, perhaps so they could play slide guitar on it, a style that is not dependent upon where the frets are located and if they are properly intoned.
The extra high plastic nut piece, I would have filed down to a more normal height, but it was hollow, making this an "iffy" gambit. And, I never got around to trying to find a suitable nut piece which might make the thing a decent instrument.
I had thought about giving it to David the Waterjug player, as the thing is pretty heavily constructed, so that it is literally a heavy guitar.
This is probably because Oscar used a more inexpensive wood than the types that can be shaved down more, like the spruce or maple hardtops that fetch higher prices. This was a 129 dollar guitar back in 1978, which was around when it was made. That was the kind of money required to buy an entry-level, beginner's instrument that wouldn't be such a piece of crap as to discourage the new student from continuing to learn.
It was probably the installation of the extra high nut piece that had led someone to determine that the whole guitar was unplayable and to give it to Tim, my caseworker.
He fulfilled one of his requirements as my caseworker by giving it to me, with the peace of mind that it brought to me from knowing that I had a back-up instrument, so I could go out to busk with a "go ahead and grab my guitar from me and smash it in the road, I have another one," attitude.
Well, I played the thing.
20 seconds in, it was like: "Houston, we have a problem" as, the strings that were tuned electronically when open, became "way out" when I fretted notes.
I switched to a song that leaned heavily upon open stringed chords and was able to get a dollar thrown to me.
I could see tourists hesitating, as I must have appeared to be playing the hell out of things, and then stepping within range of the horrendous chords that the guitar was churning out, and maybe just throwing the dollar in appreciation of my "effort."
Jerry wasn't finished, though.
I then tuned the guitar to one chord (a G7) finding that the fretted notes were about 20% sharp on the meter, and had to be lowered accordingly.
I then wailed over that one chord on the harmonica until someone threw me a 5 dollar bill, at which point, I felt that I had proven to myself that I could make money with a piece of crap guitar and decided to end the experiment there.
I should have been freaking out, but had a sense of peace and calm within me, as I packed up, having made only 7 dollars on a Friday night.
There had been a bit of shrugging of shoulders from the skeezers who hang out on Lilly's block, as if they were baffled as to why I had came out and sounded like crap this particular night. "Maybe he drunk..." might have been bandied about by some of them.
Having only 6 dollars to my name and a broken guitar, I ran through my options.
If I Was A Great Busker...
A real hero would have set the guitar down and then started singing a Capella: "On the day that I was born!" then throwing in the riff on harmonica "The nurses all gathered 'round!" harmonica riff, etc. and would have made enough money to pay for a 40 dollar set of brand new tuning machines, along with having learned something about interacting with people at that level.
I decided, though, that that would be like someone who still finishes a marathon even though he twisted an ankle and had to limp the last 3 miles of it.
I still bought Harold the cat some food, like I normally do, and even got myself an energy drink, leaving myself only 5 dollars to lay on the coffee table at home, where I had no coffee nor cigarettes.
Then, I woke up at 1:30 PM and was able to feel peaceful and calm, once I realized that the feelings of dread were being created by a mind full of apprehension and anxiety that may have been imagining the worst.
One option would be to pedal over to Webb's Bywater Music, and try to buy a used tuning machine off him for 5 dollars. This is something that I have been able to do in the past, and it left me with a guitar having mis-matching tuners, 4 gold, one silver and one mother of pearl plastic, type of thing.
But, was Webb's still in business, how could a guy who sells pieces off of used guitars to street musicians still be?
I called Bobby's phone.
He didn't answer, but I wound up leaving a pretty detailed message on his machine.
This was option 2: Ask Bobby if I could borrow the 40 bucks to get a new set of machines, and maybe if he would ride me over to Guitar Center in his truck to do so.
Option 3 might be to call my mom to ask her if she could wire me money to fix the guitar, but then she would know that all this time, I had procrastinated and let the problem fester while I was happily playing away and making money that I could have set aside for such a contingency...
My phone rang as I was headed towards the Family Dollar to get a can of food for Harold. It was Bobby.
"Meet me at the apartment," he said.
"I can be there in a couple minutes," I said.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were so close. That's good, if I'm not there, just wait for me."
Bobby was there, just getting out of his truck in front of the building when I arrived.
I had turned the couple minutes into more like 15 (due to the tone of his voice) by running into Family Dollar for the cat food and some instant coffee, which I was just pouring in my mouth and letting dissolve, having woken up with none in the house.
"This is your lucky day," said Bobby as he put the truck in gear and we raced off.
He made only one wrong turn and cussed out only about a half dozen other drivers on our way to what turned out to be the Guitar Center.
"It's that guy up there that's causing it!" he said about a small gray car about 3 cars ahead of us that was moving slowly, causing our lane to back up.
"I should go and ram into the back of him," he added.
Bobby asked me how long it's been since I drank alcohol (27 months), congratulated me on that and then asked me if I would be happy about getting a job "some dish washing job somewhere."
"Sure. If I didn't feel like I was flushing my time down the toilet doing so, I would be filling out applications for one."
He said that we were going to go to The Guitar Center, where they had used guitars, some of them for as low as 75 dollars, and that he was going to solve the problem of the stuck tuning machine on my Takamine by buying me a whole new guitar.
The Epiphone shown in the photo (bottom) is the result.
"No strings attached," said the punster, but made me promise him that I would pursue getting some dish washing job somewhere, insisting that I would be happier then.
A job like that would be a stepping stone on my way to greater success as a busker; I would be able to have the gear necessary to play with Tanya Huang, for example.
I promised him that I would try to get a job. He worries about me being shot by paint balls and other things, the way a parent might worry about their kids, and wants to see me "do better" with my music.
It's probably true that I over-value the amount of money that I make at the Lilly Pad, thinking that the 200 dollar tips that come around every 11.5 months are an indication of prosperity (when I could make that every Friday afternoon playing for 2 and a half hours with Tanya Huang, even splitting things 70/30 like I would propose doing, should I ever be set up at her spot, sounding good and having a small group of listeners to prove it, on a given Friday morning when her van full of equipment arrives.
"I'm holding the spot for you," I would say to immediately assuage any trepidation she might have over her having access to it.
She would already have posted, though, people who are doing just that. People who would have been advanced the 20 dollars or whatever the previous evening so they would have, already, drinks in the holders of the canvas chairs they sat in, and thus no reason whatsoever to leave their posts of duty.
These people know that I know Tanya and that "they like him," and would figure that, if I say that I am only intending to play there until she arrives, then I am to be believed (none of this: "Can I have just one more hour?" b.s.).
And, if I can be pretentious enough to say this, I think her "people," might think it swell if she were to go back, at least here and there, to playing with a live guitarist, if not for the sonic qualities, for the fact that, like his predecessor, this one would be steering the music towards the more "September," by Earth Wind and Fire stuff and away from "The Theme Song of The Character Unknown To You From The Disney Cartoon That Is Very Good, But You Didn't See It" type of stuff.
*Jerry rigged might not even be a term that I have heard before, but if it is, would it refer to the cartoon Jerry of Tom and Jerry, did he rig things?
Take the guitar with the too-tall nut and use that for playing slide. People love slide! I have this thing where I don't tip guitarists because there are too many of them on the street, but if they're playing slide, that's different. I'll always tip someone playing slide.
ReplyDeletePeople who love slide are going to request stuff from the slide "greats" and will be able to see through someone who just took up the art form for more tips...it's like when people want me to play Blues Traveler or Little Walter harmonica solos because they can see that I know how to play the harmonica. But, if I see you coming, I'll grab the slide and start sliding away indiscriminately; anything for a dollar LOL!
ReplyDeleteSo in other words, you're not going to play slide if your heart's not in it.
ReplyDeleteYou seem to be a Grateful Dead/Evis Costello/Bob Dylan kind of guy, so yeah, maybe for you, slide would be out.
This makes tons of sense, because for instance, if I really don't want to be out there playing trumpet, I'm not going to be able to convince people that I do.