A Fly on the Wall's Lesson Learned

I’d wager most of you have wished to be a fly on the wall perched above our iconic CD rack at least once. As dipteran existences go, it would be hungry but educational and occasionally entertaining. The cliché might be “if these walls could talk,” but they can’t, and neither can flies, but I can. I’m not going to tell you everything that happens here – it’s not Vegas, but certain things that happen here stay here, and I’ve forgotten most of it anyway – but I am going to tell you what, in between a hug from Bill Frisell as he walks through the door and aprés-video oysters with John Pizzarelli, might be the most important thing I’ve learned behind the scenes at the Fretboard Journal.

Let me start by telling you that I latch on to the things I have in common with my musical heroes, using them to lay the foundation for my continuing musical endeavors, from the aforementioned Bill Frisell’s days as a clarinetist to Jeff Parker’s dismissal of his shredding ambitions. Just about every musician who has passed through has mentioned some little tidbit that I can tuck away for encouragement at some later point. Similarly, though, just about every musician who has passed through has then delivered a performance that could be described as equal parts inspiring and devastating, leaving me to wonder how I can share so many things in common and still be a middling musician, at best.

What I’ve figured out is that, although some people do seem to be “born with it,” preordained by Nature, it’s the Nurture part that matters, and, specifically, the motivation. Nobody is in it for the fame, the money, the “sex & drugs,” the gear, the awards. They’re in it for capital-M Music. Don’t get me wrong, after more than 40 years of playing I no longer expect fame, money, et al., but as much as I love music, it is strictly lower case-m in my world, if I’m being honest with myself. I might pick up a guitar and play for an hour or two almost every day, but it’s in front of the TV, watching a hockey or some nonsense on Netflix, and when the dog makes it clear that he’s had enough of my playing I might scowl, but it would be easy enough to ignore him, and I don’t. I put down the guitar, grab a tug toy, and turn the volume on the TV back up. I don’t care how cute and persistent all those Weimaraner puppies are, Bob Minner isn’t putting down the guitar until he’s done playing.

You see, there’s this element of talent that goes beyond aptitude, the thing that makes the creative work these people produce transcendent, simple enough that you don’t need to start throwing around words like “genius.” They’re motivated. Music is their purpose. I’m not talking about some kind of self-help bullshit, something as banal and basic as “drive,” even if it might manifest as compulsive, sometimes – when Bill walks in the door he immediately casts his eyes around the office for a guitar to lay his hands on, even if he’s just stopping by to say hello. They might not, probably don’t, put their fingers on it, so to speak. Nobody sits down in front of us evangelizing, “Lo, did a voice speak to me from on high, that to the mandolin should I turn, forsaking all others…” But, more often than not, when you get to the point where you’re asking those questions about how they got started, you’re going to hear, what else were they supposed to do, it was never really a question of sports or music, music was always there, usually to the exclusion of everything else.

Usually, when folks are packing up after their video shoot and/or podcast, there’s some small talk, maybe a follow-up question or two, some trivial bit about this instrument or that, and, inevitably, the offer of a few Journalsto take with them for the road. The offer is always accepted and greatly appreciated, usually with some variation of, “These will be great to read in the van.” There was a time that’d produce a little scowl from me. I’d wonder why these folks, all of whom appreciate and support the Fretboard Journal, weren’t reading the damn thing until they were stuck on a van, or in an airport, or wherever. Eventually I realized, they read when they can’t play. They’re excited to get something to read on the bus/plane because that’s the only time they read at all…given the opportunity, they’ll play. It’s what they do, and it is its own reward.

Sure, I’ve also learned some cool chord voicings, heard a few NSFW (or publishing) stories, and shared more than a few dubious nail care tips, but nothing has helped my playing or my understanding as much as the cumulative effect of seeing these people, who seem virtually incapable of doing anything else; you can’t even think about asking the classic Marty DiBergi question about what they’d be doing if they weren’t a musician – haberdasher just isn’t an option, doing what they love. Don’t get me wrong, as I said, I love music, and I’d be pretty much devastated if I could never play guitar again, but it’s not the air that I breathe, and if you want to be someone’s hero, it should be.