The Futility of My Attempts at Music

When I was sixteen, I pleaded with my parents for a guitar. I wanted, like all teenagers and men having a midlife crisis, to be a rock star. I was successful in talking them into a guitar for my birthday, except instead of an electric (like I wanted), they insisted on an acoustic guitar… “electric? that’s too loud!”

I sat, with eagerness, with my new guitar… and… well… I didn’t learn how to play. Everyone just expects to pick up the guitar and wail* on it, and I was no different. When that didn’t automatically happen, I did like all good American boys do… I gave up.

About five or six years later, I found myself longing to be a rock star again. But I knew how hopeless I was at guitar, so I had to do something else.

“Hey, bass guitars only have four strings! I can handle that!”

So, I bought a bass, and a little practice amp. This go round, however, I was determined to learn and become, once again… a rock star. So I called up my friend Kevin, who was an excellent bassist, and he said he would instruct me in the ways of the funk. Or so he said. As is becoming a habit with me, I became apathetic, and decided to see how much dust I could collect on my expensive new purchase.

So, you’d think I’d have learned my lesson… but the ways of the rock star are extremely persuasive. It didn’t help that many of my friends play instruments and have bands… I mean, come on! Of course I can do this! With that gusto, I walked into CompUSA today and purchased a snappy little midi keyboard to use in conjunction with Apple’s GarageBand software. I’ve always been able to at least pick out a few songs on pianos, and, well… damn it all… if this doesn’t work, I’m going to run out of instrumental options soon. As well as money.

Let’s hope that I stick with it. It’s frustrating having all these ideas and not being able to do anything about them… unless I want to start some sort of branch of Acapella Indie Rock… and that just sounds lame.

* WHALE, for Ashley