My musical sins
It's true: of late I've taken to hanging out in a bar on Sunday afternoons.
Wait, I'll explain: my friend and occasional debating partner, The Whited Sepulchre, has organized an acoustic guitar circle that meets on Sunday afternoons in The Corporate Image, a rather unpretentious watering hole over on the east side of Fort Worth.
I'm not sure if the name of this place is supposed to be ironic or not, but the bartender is friendly and more than appreciative of our musical musings.
We've done this about 4 Sundays now. It's great fun. There's four of us who could be called regulars and there's enough overlap in repertoire and musical taste that we all manage to play along, no matter who actually starts any given song. I borrowed a collection of harmonicas from youngest son and add a little harp when appropriate (or I can't figure out anything else to do).
The Whited Sepulchre, by the way, is a natural for this -- he's quite a guitar player with an engaging mike presence and is, as you may have guessed if you follow his blog, quite the musical story teller. He occasionally pretends to be Bob Roberts and I pretend not to notice.
In preparation for tomorrow, I decided to restring my ancient ugly Yamaha FG-230 12 string, which I haven't played in about 10 years. I think I last restrung this beast during the Clinton Administration.
Doing so has reminded me of an old musician's joke:
Wait, I'll explain: my friend and occasional debating partner, The Whited Sepulchre, has organized an acoustic guitar circle that meets on Sunday afternoons in The Corporate Image, a rather unpretentious watering hole over on the east side of Fort Worth.
I'm not sure if the name of this place is supposed to be ironic or not, but the bartender is friendly and more than appreciative of our musical musings.
We've done this about 4 Sundays now. It's great fun. There's four of us who could be called regulars and there's enough overlap in repertoire and musical taste that we all manage to play along, no matter who actually starts any given song. I borrowed a collection of harmonicas from youngest son and add a little harp when appropriate (or I can't figure out anything else to do).
The Whited Sepulchre, by the way, is a natural for this -- he's quite a guitar player with an engaging mike presence and is, as you may have guessed if you follow his blog, quite the musical story teller. He occasionally pretends to be Bob Roberts and I pretend not to notice.
In preparation for tomorrow, I decided to restring my ancient ugly Yamaha FG-230 12 string, which I haven't played in about 10 years. I think I last restrung this beast during the Clinton Administration.
Doing so has reminded me of an old musician's joke:
Q: How long does it take to get a 12 string in tune?
A: No one knows yet!
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