An Ear for Silence

Like 2/3 of Nashvillians, I own a guitar. Like 3/4 of those, I don't know how to play it. I purchased it as a gift for my wife, who worked as a music teacher before we had children. As a true percussionist, she can beat on the guitar body with rhythm. Whereas the actual strings aren't strummed, picked, or otherwise touched by her.

I've tried several times to pick it up - "pick it up" meant as in to learn how to play it, not merely the literal lifting the instrument out of its case, nor the figurative attempt to earn a date with it. G, C and D? Got 'em. A and Em too. Give me a second or three and I'll even throw in an F chord at no extra charge (besides the dissonance). Upon the advice of our church's music minister, I've come close to mastering the strum pattern - down-down-up, up-down-up. (If only it worked like video games and such a pattern opened up new bonus levels with untold treasures and skills. But it does not.)

The problem? I can't play a song.

I own two songbooks - one belongs to me, and one I borrowed from a friend about five years ago with no intent to return. Wonderful Tonight, Brown Eyed Girl, Every Breath You Take (strummed, not picked, sounds awful, but still...), even a couple Beatles tracks are easy enough to figure out. None of them sound like they should; most disintegrate into some audial mush.

I have ideas for songs, but I can't translate chords from my head to my fingers. I know practice makes perfect, and it's a good example to set for my boys if I persist through something I struggle with, but I know it must drive my wife bonkers hearing the same mis-played chord regressions. Even more painful when I sing along.

My musician friend's advice: "Don't fret." Something tells me he wasn't saying not to worry.