PHASEFIVE

It all started a long time ago during an embarrassing school talent contest – more like a lack-of-talent contest in reality. With absolutely no grounds for doing so, four of us fresh faced 6th formers decided to be a ‘group’. I can’t remember what we ‘performed’ other than the fact that I was assigned to be the guitar player. As luck had it. I actually had a guitar, acquired from a distant cousin, but I’m not sure I had mastered the art of tuning it, yet alone playing it. Somewhere in the mists of time I have a recollection of vaguely waving my hands across the strings as softly as possible and hoping that the discordant noise emanating from the sound box never exceeded the ambient noise level in the room. Remarkably, we didn’t feature in the prize giving ceremony, and our only accolade was the fact that we took part, although I suspect that some wished we hadn’t. But in modern parlance, it was the start of a journey. 

Armed with a copy of Bert Weedon’s ‘Play in a Day’ (I’m sure that contravenes some form of advertising or naming standard – it would be better named ‘Play Eventually, Perhaps’) I set about mastering the art of the guitar, and I’m still working on it. A few years after the inauspicious debut, and armed with a shaky knowledge of three chords, and possibly a fourth (so long as it didn’t include F major), I became friendly with some work colleagues, 2 other guitarists and a singer, who shared an equivalent level of talent and ambition. We set to work and established a repertoire of three songs, and made our public debut at a Young Liberals’ fund raising evening. Young Liberals?????- the pathway to fame and fortune…..not. When we were called on to work our magic on the assembled audience, basic instincts took over; fear, loss of memory and a nervous twitch. How we got through the opening number without being thrown out I’ll never know. I can only assume the audience was so dumbstruck by the strange discordant noise, they just didn’t know how to react. But on the other hand it was the Young Liberals, so they were probably just being nice. Encouraged by a smattering of semi-polite applause, we recovered sufficiently to perform the other two numbers with something like our authentic sound. Today the Young Liberals, tomorrow the world.  This major breakthrough into the word of performing arts signalled the start of a decade of music making (I use the term cautiously) with a number of different people, different combinations of instruments (6 string guitars, 12 string guitar, banjo, double bass, electric bass), singers and different styles (now known as genres – I don’t think the word ‘genre’ had been invented then). I purchased a 12-string guitar and found myself having to adapt my style, but the fuller sound helped mask some of my inadequacies. Collectively, we were known as Country Union, although I suspect that other names were used when we were out of earshot. As our fame grew, we found ourselves as the resident group in a Folk Club (now knocked down), a regular attraction at a local pub (now knocked down) as well as performing one-off engagements at various events when the organisers were desperate to find a replacement for the group they really wanted to book.
At various times we managed to cast some of our musical repertoire to tape. This was typically achieved by us all standing around a single mike, cutting loose for a single take at the shout of ‘go’, as the reel-to-reel tape recorder was switched to record mode. Sadly, some of these recordings still exist, having been digitised, but are hidden in dark vaults, well away from public scrutiny. But I must confess that a compilation CD of our greatest hits (Country Union – The Noise Lives On) was recently released, but immediately recaptured and assigned to a dank place in the hope that it will deteriorate. 

This awe-inspiring decade came to an ignominious end as marriages, careers or just the overwhelming desire to escape the noise, took over.
For my part, the 12-string guitar took up residence in a cupboard, and over the years was rarely disturbed. I made a disastrous mistake in not loosening the strings, and over time, the tension caused the neck to distort to the extent that the guitar was both unplayable and unrepairable. I’ve still got the guitar, but it’s only fit for the rubbish tip, but I haven’t had the heart to throw it away.
I purchased a new 6 string guitar with the express intention of learning to play fingerstyle jazz. And to see me on my way, I signed up for a series of lessons with a guy called Les Hague. These lessons were nothing like I was expecting! Les was a really interesting guy; in his 70s, and struggling with some arthritis in his fingers, he was still out gigging on a regular basis. Music was his career, and he was always dropping names of established guitarists he knew, and had played with. But when it came to the lessons, he was a tyrant. There was only one way to do things – his way! It took me a while to figure this out, and when I did, we got on fine. I spent 18 months with Les before I opted out, so that I could do things my way, but his disciplined approach taught me a lot – a case of ‘shut up, it’s doing you good!).
‘My way’ hasn’t been quite what I thought it would be; I haven’t become a fingerstyle jazz guitarist at all, but what I play seems to sit somewhere in middle of a triangle that has jazz, blues and country at its three corners. I should point out that ‘country’ and ‘country & western’ are not the same thing; I could go on about this. 

Over time more guitars have come and gone, and team is a Gibson Les Paul Classic (I am not worthy!) and an Epiphone ES339 in Pelham Blue.  If only I could do them justice.