Last night we found ourselves soaking up some Matthew Good acoustic deliciousness from the nosebleed section of the concert hall downtown. The concert was fantastic, just him and his guitar….Oh, and that guy two seats down who felt the need to sing along to every song. The ticket did say “with guests”, and he did start early, so maybe I misunderstood, and each section had their own member of the audience appointed to sing along.
Regardless, the show was fantastic. I love concerts that are one guy and a guitar. That makes me sound like a die-hard folkie, doesn’t it? I’m not, really. I like a mix, but I love the idea of watching someone just sing, without all the extraneous crap. Maybe it’s because I can imagine them noodling on their guitar and writing the song in the first place, or maybe it’s because it shows what fantastic musicians they really are. Or maybe it’s because I’m jealous that I can’t play the guitar.
I learned to play the piano when I was a kid, and even though I hated practicing, I’m infinitely glad I did. My aunts told me I’d be glad, and I didn’t believe them, but now I’m almost 35 and I’m willing to admit they were right. And I keep hoping that, when I finally decide to lay down some cash and learn to play the guitar, all those musical skills I learned as a kid will come into play.
Pardon the pun.
The only thing about learning the piano that irked me is that I was decidedly mediocre. My brother is very talented, musically, and I always wanted to be. I have a good ear, I can carry a tune (if it’s the right tune), but I’m no virtuoso. That always bothered me. Now, as an adult, I think I can suck it up enough to recognize that it’s all about the enjoyment, and that I’m probably never going to be a rock star.
And that’s okay.
I’ll just write a best-seller instead.