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bbeckner |
As I read the comments from everyone about the joys and frustrations of playing banjo I can relate to almost every word. When I think about the time I’ve spent with my banjo, the people and places associated with this journey, it’s been a wonderful experience. When I started out I wanted to play like Earl, Doug Dillard and Ralph Stanley. I spent countless hours listening to their work trying to figure out what they were doing. I got a copy of Pete Seeger’s instruction book and learned the fundamentals. I guess I liked just about everything banjo. I can remember coming home from school, I would sit or lie on my bed and play rolls for hours. Then I would turn the record player on and listen to Earl, Doug or Ralph work their mastery. I was amazed at how the banjo notes would just keep coming and the tune would be “inside” all those notes. The banjo was always there driving the tune along. When people talk about getting bit by the banjo bug, I realize I had (have) an obsession. I recall taking my banjo to school and would play between classes. When the teacher was giving a lecture my thoughts would wonder to figuring out what roll to play in a song. Later I would take my banjo to work and play at lunch. I even took my banjo on just about every date I went on just in case I would encounter an opportunity to play. A few years later after being married for several months I came home from work and saw my banjo lying on a table. I didn’t own a banjo case then. The sunlight coming through the window lit up the neck and inlay. It was a beautiful sight. I told my new wife that I thought she is “as pretty as mother of pearl inlay on an ebony fingerboard.” I’ve enjoyed the entire process but don’t know how I survived without a black eye or two.
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