The Fastest Guitar in the South
I wore a couple different hats in high school whether it was running around with the school's marketing club putting together business plans and presenting them at conferences all around the country or jumping in on drama productions when they found themselves an actor short and needed someone that could learn lines quickly but the group that I wanted to be part of the most was the high school guitar ensemble. Apart from playing the coolest instrument around, a lot of them had this unmistakable swagger without being douchey about it; they were hip and knew it but wouldn't rub your face in it. They would always play in the school-wide battle of the bands at the end of the year doing stuff on stage I had dreamed of doing since I heard The Beatles for the first time. I wanted in on that and I wanted in on that bad.
In an earlier post, I mentioned the surprise of getting my own guitar from my mom that first high school Christmas and my promise to make it more than just a passing phase. I didn't really have to make that promise both personally and socially because I was practicing on that thing everyday after school just destroying my fingertips trying to get power chords and basic riffs down but, you know, self-teaching means I probably (read: definitely) learned some of my technique improperly; just ask me to play barre chords. I could get by on power pop and pop punk (If you can play a power chord, congrats, you can play just about any song by Blink-182, Green Day, and The Ramones) but I knew I wasn't guitar ensemble caliber...yet.
By 11th grade, a spot on my schedule had finally opened up to where I could take a guitar class as an elective and I leapt at that opportunity. I learned scales and keys from years of playing the piano but it was good learning all that specifically for the guitar, how to play open chords, how to slide, bend, hammer on, pull off across that six-string; really just how to properly handle the damn thing. And I knew that coming spring they would be holding open auditions and any two-bit player that could work a fretboard would go to the back office of the guitar room and each play that same bit of bolero-infused Spanish guitar. I snuck out during lunch with some friends beforehand, got a couple cups of coffee to calm my nerves, and consciously played that riff slow to reign myself in but overanalyzing for days afterward that I played too slow and had my blown my chance.
The ensemble director posted the new guitarists for my coming senior year's ensemble at the end of the week right outside the high school's music wing so after school I worked up the courage to take a look. The lists were in alphabetical order so I followed my gaze downward...
Stone, Samuel W.
I made it. I was going to be in the guitar ensemble.
I ended the school year with the biggest possible personal triumph though, that last high school summer ended with the roughest bit of news that unfortunately was a long time coming. Without going into detail, the person that had gotten me my first guitar wouldn't get to see me put it to its best use. I started my final year of high school with that hanging over me but here's the thing:
My favorite year of high school was my last year of high school.
No, not necessarily because it was all coming to a close but how it was all coming to a close. The friendships and relationships that year taken to a higher level. The usual high school drama was there but took a back seat to genuine adventure. And a lot of that was representative by my time in guitar ensemble.
I walked into that first guitar ensemble class too hot to trot feeling like I had earned my place in the sun. Everyone got out their assigned classical guitars and started tuning up like an orchestra and then each of us launched into our own little warmups.
Ever thought you were really good at something like, I don't know, fucking bowling or Mario Kart and find out you're nowhere near as good as you think you are? That was the case here.
I don't know if I was necessarily the worst guitarist in the room but I was definitely nowhere close to that upper echelon. If I'm being generous, I was probably about middling. There is something both intimidating and exciting about all that. It's intimidating because you feel like a bit of fraud, like you had just made the cut on some fluke. It's exciting because you get to play with all these superior guitarists, you have a visible aspiration to live up to, to show them exactly why you're playing next to them. And, looking back, I never played better.
Like high school on a macro level, the ensemble immediately divided itself into cliques; wheels within wheels. You got the shaggy-haired metal kids that wore black all the time, sat on the far end of the room, tearing through thrash metal like early Metallica and Megadeth. You had the stoners that sat in the back playing jam band numbers from the likes of The Grateful Dead and The Allman Brothers Band. You had the kids that probably only listened to classical music in their spare time that would play flamenco-tinged guitar so cleanly and crisply it was coming off like electricity from their fingertips. And all of these little cliques played VERY well.
But hey, you guys like Blink-182? Here's What's My Age Again. Everybody loves The Beatles, right? Here's Day Tripper. 80s pop is cool, yeah? You guys dig Just Like Heaven by The Cure?
I was a little outclassed and a little vanilla in what I was bringing to the table so I had to actually sit down and learn how to play the music they were into unless I was interested carrying on as a party of one. That meant Led Zeppelin, that meant Iron Maiden; whenever I hear Green Grass and High Tides by The Outlaws, that's what I'm remembering. And as those friendships progressed, they would meet me halfway too: Here's the guitar solo to Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers or PDA by Interpol; I bet you never knew The Killers or Interpol had solos, did you?
We played shows all over Northern Virginia, marched in parades blasting AC/DC and all that but the climax to this whole thing was a trip to a music competition in Orlando. We were given all-day passes to the Universal parks and I would hang out in Marvel World at Islands of Adventure or hang out in the fantasy section before it would be converted to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter years later. In the evenings, we would play at the arcades in Downtown Disney or hang out back at the hotel playing video games after we MacGyvered past the preset security on the TVs in the room (Pair of pliers and an AV adapter go a long way) and eating rice krispie treats with ingredients you can only get in certain states.
But for all that teenage chaos, whenever we had to go on stage, everything just clicked into place; we were a true ensemble with everyone hitting their marks, when to play strong and when to back down, when one section took the lead, all that. We were recognized as the best in that little high school competition and it felt damn good to be counted among the ensemble that year.
Playing in the ensemble made me a better musician, a better team player. It broadened my horizons in terms of interest and I became friends with a lot of the guys in that little group. It definitely made me more humble but it also reinforced that I'm cool being humble; the goal is never to be best, smartest, coolest person in the room but rather the best version of myself.
But I still can't play thrash metal for shit.
In an earlier post, I mentioned the surprise of getting my own guitar from my mom that first high school Christmas and my promise to make it more than just a passing phase. I didn't really have to make that promise both personally and socially because I was practicing on that thing everyday after school just destroying my fingertips trying to get power chords and basic riffs down but, you know, self-teaching means I probably (read: definitely) learned some of my technique improperly; just ask me to play barre chords. I could get by on power pop and pop punk (If you can play a power chord, congrats, you can play just about any song by Blink-182, Green Day, and The Ramones) but I knew I wasn't guitar ensemble caliber...yet.
By 11th grade, a spot on my schedule had finally opened up to where I could take a guitar class as an elective and I leapt at that opportunity. I learned scales and keys from years of playing the piano but it was good learning all that specifically for the guitar, how to play open chords, how to slide, bend, hammer on, pull off across that six-string; really just how to properly handle the damn thing. And I knew that coming spring they would be holding open auditions and any two-bit player that could work a fretboard would go to the back office of the guitar room and each play that same bit of bolero-infused Spanish guitar. I snuck out during lunch with some friends beforehand, got a couple cups of coffee to calm my nerves, and consciously played that riff slow to reign myself in but overanalyzing for days afterward that I played too slow and had my blown my chance.
The ensemble director posted the new guitarists for my coming senior year's ensemble at the end of the week right outside the high school's music wing so after school I worked up the courage to take a look. The lists were in alphabetical order so I followed my gaze downward...
Stone, Samuel W.
I made it. I was going to be in the guitar ensemble.
I ended the school year with the biggest possible personal triumph though, that last high school summer ended with the roughest bit of news that unfortunately was a long time coming. Without going into detail, the person that had gotten me my first guitar wouldn't get to see me put it to its best use. I started my final year of high school with that hanging over me but here's the thing:
My favorite year of high school was my last year of high school.
No, not necessarily because it was all coming to a close but how it was all coming to a close. The friendships and relationships that year taken to a higher level. The usual high school drama was there but took a back seat to genuine adventure. And a lot of that was representative by my time in guitar ensemble.
I walked into that first guitar ensemble class too hot to trot feeling like I had earned my place in the sun. Everyone got out their assigned classical guitars and started tuning up like an orchestra and then each of us launched into our own little warmups.
Ever thought you were really good at something like, I don't know, fucking bowling or Mario Kart and find out you're nowhere near as good as you think you are? That was the case here.
I don't know if I was necessarily the worst guitarist in the room but I was definitely nowhere close to that upper echelon. If I'm being generous, I was probably about middling. There is something both intimidating and exciting about all that. It's intimidating because you feel like a bit of fraud, like you had just made the cut on some fluke. It's exciting because you get to play with all these superior guitarists, you have a visible aspiration to live up to, to show them exactly why you're playing next to them. And, looking back, I never played better.
Like high school on a macro level, the ensemble immediately divided itself into cliques; wheels within wheels. You got the shaggy-haired metal kids that wore black all the time, sat on the far end of the room, tearing through thrash metal like early Metallica and Megadeth. You had the stoners that sat in the back playing jam band numbers from the likes of The Grateful Dead and The Allman Brothers Band. You had the kids that probably only listened to classical music in their spare time that would play flamenco-tinged guitar so cleanly and crisply it was coming off like electricity from their fingertips. And all of these little cliques played VERY well.
But hey, you guys like Blink-182? Here's What's My Age Again. Everybody loves The Beatles, right? Here's Day Tripper. 80s pop is cool, yeah? You guys dig Just Like Heaven by The Cure?
I was a little outclassed and a little vanilla in what I was bringing to the table so I had to actually sit down and learn how to play the music they were into unless I was interested carrying on as a party of one. That meant Led Zeppelin, that meant Iron Maiden; whenever I hear Green Grass and High Tides by The Outlaws, that's what I'm remembering. And as those friendships progressed, they would meet me halfway too: Here's the guitar solo to Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers or PDA by Interpol; I bet you never knew The Killers or Interpol had solos, did you?
We played shows all over Northern Virginia, marched in parades blasting AC/DC and all that but the climax to this whole thing was a trip to a music competition in Orlando. We were given all-day passes to the Universal parks and I would hang out in Marvel World at Islands of Adventure or hang out in the fantasy section before it would be converted to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter years later. In the evenings, we would play at the arcades in Downtown Disney or hang out back at the hotel playing video games after we MacGyvered past the preset security on the TVs in the room (Pair of pliers and an AV adapter go a long way) and eating rice krispie treats with ingredients you can only get in certain states.
But for all that teenage chaos, whenever we had to go on stage, everything just clicked into place; we were a true ensemble with everyone hitting their marks, when to play strong and when to back down, when one section took the lead, all that. We were recognized as the best in that little high school competition and it felt damn good to be counted among the ensemble that year.
Playing in the ensemble made me a better musician, a better team player. It broadened my horizons in terms of interest and I became friends with a lot of the guys in that little group. It definitely made me more humble but it also reinforced that I'm cool being humble; the goal is never to be best, smartest, coolest person in the room but rather the best version of myself.
But I still can't play thrash metal for shit.
