The Psychology of Guitar

Yes, it is. I once worked with his mother, and she introduced us some time before Countdown to Extinction was released. We became friends instantly, and it was that was for half my life. He passed away almost two years ago, and was only six months older than me. I saw him two weeks before he died, and I'm glad that happened. It was purely by accident, at a music store.

He loved to play guitar, and that custom guitar pick represents a beef that existed between him and Mustaine. He had an interest in playing guitar, making music, and growing as an artist. I remember when he was let go, Mustaine said that he "wanted a drummer who was actually interested in playing drums." I always felt this was horrible, because playing guitar did not get in the way of his drumming, any more than his mountain biking, swimming, or acrylic painting. I'm sure there were other issues. Mustaine will be Mustaine, and I should probably leave it at that.

After Megadeth, we would have some jam sessions, where I would play drums. Lots of good times. He is missed.

Wow - what a lucky man you are to have known him. I'm not a drummer, but I can watch this old video all day of him drumming during a Megadeth souncheck in the early 90's with Friedman and Ellefson. Truly a remarkable drummer! Not great video quality, but you really see his skills (and fills!) from about the 2:27 mark:


And Marty Friedman's no slouch either. ;)

P.S. Don't mean to derail the content/spirit of this thread - great topic and many honest and heartfelt thoughts have been shared.
 
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First, my post was way to long but I realized I left out a very important (to me) aspect/phase. Before Al and Eddie, my BIGGEST actual influence was Frank Marino. That really fast riffing style of his was where I first developed my speed and was a big influence on my style. The riffs themselves often weren't hard or complex necessarily, but he played them really fast and as a 17 year old, that was GREAT!

Second to the post above, the first time I saw Megadeth, Nick was with them and while I was there to see Marty and Dave, Menza blew me away that night. I mean, he brought the thunder! I was there with another guitar player friend, and when we left we both said the same thing about being surprised that we spent so much time watching the drummer. He's a BAD man!
 
Warning: This post will be way too long and probably boring.

Not at all, I'm the poster child when it comes to long and boring. :p

Reading about everyone's experiences does wonders for perspective, it's never dull. It's also fun to compare people's influences against what instruments we all end up on.
 
I'm sure there were other issues. Mustaine will be Mustaine, and I should probably leave it at that.

After Megadeth, we would have some jam sessions, where I would play drums. Lots of good times. He is missed.

That's amazing to read, thank you for sharing. I met him just briefly in a meet & greet and he was warm and cordial. Friedman as well. (I agree with your other assessment 100% too...)

And Marty Friedman's no slouch either.

No kidding, wow. Scorching player, I've loved his style for ages, even though I can't come close to duplicating that right-hand technique. :eek:
 
I'm really enjoying the responses here, as I'm being reminded of lessons forgotten, what is important to me, and what should not be.

My grandfather was the kind of musician who played roughly one dozen instruments. I'll be including a few photos of him with his guitars from 1938.

t4owU5p.jpg
Every year, a good lot of our family would get together at their home to celebrate Christmas. Everyone got a song book and grandpa would sit at the organ play while we would sing these songs. He would not rehearse ahead of time, and so he'd be rusty. This would result in him going to the wrong note, and then doing a chromatic descent to the right pitch. We'd have to hold notes extra long, just so we could start back up once he found his place. The scene was just as funny as you might think.

I start my first year in college as a Percussion Arts major. This includes a lot more than one might think, including string bass, marimba, piano, and so on. I had been putting some serious work into all of my instruments, and was getting better at piano.

My grandmother had the idea that I could play the organ this year. She got me the sheet music, and I would stay up at all hours of the night, practicing these Christmas songs. I was going to give them a perfect performance.

Flash forward, after dinner, grandma decides to announce to everyone that I would be playing the organ this year. Everyone seemed a bit surprised.

I sit and play the first song, and the performance was perfect. Every chord, note, and nuance was there, thanks to a few months of work. After the song, everyone was clapping.

But I noticed that grandpa looked sad. He was almost in tears. Everyone is telling me that song was well done, and they were asking what we would be doing next. Their accolades meant nothing, for they weren't even reaching me. I couldn't stop looking at grandpa and his sadness. I had been too busy being the perfect performer to recognize that I was ruining grandpa's Christmas.

I stood up told everyone, "Sorry, but this was the only song I learned, what with being busy with my studies and all." This was a total lie, for I had every single song worked out and had spent countless hours on them. I just couldn't do that to grandpa.

So I asked him if he could please take over, and he did. He gave me the music book, took a seat, and started playing. We weren't 20 seconds in, when the chromatic weee-da-ne-da-ne-da-neeeee happened. Everyone had the usual laugh while holding notes way too long.

I really have no idea how I held my composure in that moment.

It's a lesson that I learned during Christmas of 1983, that I had long forgotten. Music might be about perfection in certain circumstances. Sometimes the perfection can ruin it. But music is about much more than getting it all right. It's about friendship at best, or about avoiding loneliness, at least. There were many times when it was just me and my instruments. So many friends I've made over the years were made over a song. Music is supposed to be about community, and that's something I miss.

Remembering things like this are helping to put today in context. As David Lynch once said, "Move forward, think backward."

Thanks, grandpa.

rQdQtvE.jpg
 
I'm really enjoying the responses here, as I'm being reminded of lessons forgotten, what is important to me, and what should not be.

My grandfather was the kind of musician who played roughly one dozen instruments. I'll be including a few photos of him with his guitars from 1938.

t4owU5p.jpg
Every year, a good lot of our family would get together at their home to celebrate Christmas. Everyone got a song book and grandpa would sit at the organ play while we would sing these songs. He would not rehearse ahead of time, and so he'd be rusty. This would result in him going to the wrong note, and then doing a chromatic descent to the right pitch. We'd have to hold notes extra long, just so we could start back up once he found his place. The scene was just as funny as you might think.

I start my first year in college as a Percussion Arts major. This includes a lot more than one might think, including string bass, marimba, piano, and so on. I had been putting some serious work into all of my instruments, and was getting better at piano.

My grandmother had the idea that I could play the organ this year. She got me the sheet music, and I would stay up at all hours of the night, practicing these Christmas songs. I was going to give them a perfect performance.

Flash forward, after dinner, grandma decides to announce to everyone that I would be playing the organ this year. Everyone seemed a bit surprised.

I sit and play the first song, and the performance was perfect. Every chord, note, and nuance was there, thanks to a few months of work. After the song, everyone was clapping.

But I noticed that grandpa looked sad. He was almost in tears. Everyone is telling me that song was well done, and they were asking what we would be doing next. Their accolades meant nothing, for they weren't even reaching me. I couldn't stop looking at grandpa and his sadness. I had been too busy being the perfect performer to recognize that I was ruining grandpa's Christmas.

I stood up told everyone, "Sorry, but this was the only song I learned, what with being busy with my studies and all." This was a total lie, for I had every single song worked out and had spent countless hours on them. I just couldn't do that to grandpa.

So I asked him if he could please take over, and he did. He gave me the music book, took a seat, and started playing. We weren't 20 seconds in, when the chromatic weee-da-ne-da-ne-da-neeeee happened. Everyone had the usual laugh while holding notes way too long.

I really have no idea how I held my composure in that moment.

It's a lesson that I learned during Christmas of 1983, that I had long forgotten. Music might be about perfection in certain circumstances. Sometimes the perfection can ruin it. But music is about much more than getting it all right. It's about friendship at best, or about avoiding loneliness, at least. There were many times when it was just me and my instruments. So many friends I've made over the years were made over a song. Music is supposed to be about community, and that's something I miss.

Remembering things like this are helping to put today in context. As David Lynch once said, "Move forward, think backward."

Thanks, grandpa.

rQdQtvE.jpg
Great memories and photos.
 
DTR I forgot about Frank Marino. Great player. Guitar drummer, my grandfather played guitar also. Had a D28 back in the late 20s but due to the depression, had to pawn it. Would love to know what happened to it. My other grandfather played banjo so I guess I come about it honestly
 
I'm sloppier live than in rehearsal. Mainly because I don't want to stand there like a statue. I move around so I lose a little bit doing that.
Other than that, staying out ruts or my own tendencies.
I'm not a music store player...meaning, I won't dazzle anyone with my awesome shred ability. I'll play if there's something I want to try out. But I'm not in the store to show anyone what I can do. I'm a song guy. What I do outside of the band context, isn't very interesting.
 
When I walk into a music store I already kow that 95 percent of the folks in there are better skilled than me and I don't care.
I am a great asset to most any band I'm in because I work on having great tone, I can construct harmonies and phrases in songs to help make songs more interesting and I am aware of what needs fixed when I hear it. I own a ton of gear and I know how to use it.

I was asked to be a consultant for a group that I know. Wasn't sure what to think about it but I am doing it.

I took a Tascam 2488 to their rehearsal and tossed up some mics. Not looking for quality recording but rather to show where improvements could be made. They are convinced I'm helping.

When I try gear at a store I need to hear and feel how the guitar or amp responds to my inputs. Hard to do when somebody has a rig cranked up close by. If the gear I'm trying isn't working I am uninspired and I think it shows to anybody that's listening.
If it feeling good then I can sit there for hours doing unimpressive stuff but to me it's helping me make a good buying decision.
 
I'm a song guy. What I do outside of the band context, isn't very interesting.

I'm a song person as well. Regardless of what instrument I'm playing, my goals are to serve the song, and to make the other parts sound good.

When I first got to LA 31 years ago, I'd go see bands all the time, so that I could observe what they might be doing right or wrong.

This one band really stood out. Their name is irrelevant, but what they were doing confirmed that I had made the right decision, as someone who wants to be in a band and play for the song. These four guys did not sound like a band, and they did not behave like a band. Instead, they were four individuals who were all fighting for the spotlight. The "look at me" factor was big.

As an empathetic person, the pain and embarrassment that I experienced was powerful. I never wanted to be that guy.

In conjunction with this is the "star factor." Typically, the star or front person has a charisma about them. At that time, the look was also of some great importance. Now, one has to add youth to the mix. I was realistic in the acknowledgment that I was not the person who would be up front. The last thing I wanted to do was take attention away from what I consider to be the band's "outward interface" with the public.

Lay back. Play for the song. Pay attention to band members. Develop that telepathy, where a look or nod could mean 28 different things, and yet you know exactly what it means in that moment.

In the end, I get something that is greater than myself.
 
Not if they are all this way but the sam ash in Charlotte has a room for taking an amp through it's paces. I have tested a few in there. Gives you a chance to light it up without the pressure to perform
 
I'm really enjoying the responses here, as I'm being reminded of lessons forgotten, what is important to me, and what should not be.

My grandfather was the kind of musician who played roughly one dozen instruments. I'll be including a few photos of him with his guitars from 1938.

t4owU5p.jpg
Every year, a good lot of our family would get together at their home to celebrate Christmas. Everyone got a song book and grandpa would sit at the organ play while we would sing these songs. He would not rehearse ahead of time, and so he'd be rusty. This would result in him going to the wrong note, and then doing a chromatic descent to the right pitch. We'd have to hold notes extra long, just so we could start back up once he found his place. The scene was just as funny as you might think.

I start my first year in college as a Percussion Arts major. This includes a lot more than one might think, including string bass, marimba, piano, and so on. I had been putting some serious work into all of my instruments, and was getting better at piano.

My grandmother had the idea that I could play the organ this year. She got me the sheet music, and I would stay up at all hours of the night, practicing these Christmas songs. I was going to give them a perfect performance.

Flash forward, after dinner, grandma decides to announce to everyone that I would be playing the organ this year. Everyone seemed a bit surprised.

I sit and play the first song, and the performance was perfect. Every chord, note, and nuance was there, thanks to a few months of work. After the song, everyone was clapping.

But I noticed that grandpa looked sad. He was almost in tears. Everyone is telling me that song was well done, and they were asking what we would be doing next. Their accolades meant nothing, for they weren't even reaching me. I couldn't stop looking at grandpa and his sadness. I had been too busy being the perfect performer to recognize that I was ruining grandpa's Christmas.

I stood up told everyone, "Sorry, but this was the only song I learned, what with being busy with my studies and all." This was a total lie, for I had every single song worked out and had spent countless hours on them. I just couldn't do that to grandpa.

So I asked him if he could please take over, and he did. He gave me the music book, took a seat, and started playing. We weren't 20 seconds in, when the chromatic weee-da-ne-da-ne-da-neeeee happened. Everyone had the usual laugh while holding notes way too long.

I really have no idea how I held my composure in that moment.

It's a lesson that I learned during Christmas of 1983, that I had long forgotten. Music might be about perfection in certain circumstances. Sometimes the perfection can ruin it. But music is about much more than getting it all right. It's about friendship at best, or about avoiding loneliness, at least. There were many times when it was just me and my instruments. So many friends I've made over the years were made over a song. Music is supposed to be about community, and that's something I miss.

Remembering things like this are helping to put today in context. As David Lynch once said, "Move forward, think backward."

Thanks, grandpa.

rQdQtvE.jpg

I love this post!
 
One thing I've noticed about myself is that I've lost some of my mental and psychological resilience as I get older. My younger self was all about the possibilities, while my older self tends to be about my actualities. This entry is not about any instrument in particular, and is more about music learning in general.

Music Theory was a big challenge in college. I originally did not want to go, because I did not want someone telling me what the rules are, or how things have to be done. My grandmother challenged me. "Look at you, being the big rule-breaking rebel, when you don't even know what the hell the rules are in the first place."

Challenge accepted. I went to university as a Percussion Arts major.

My Music Theory professor, name withheld, was not a good teacher. She did exactly what I feared she would do, by demanding that things MUST be a certain way all the time. Most students powered through her irrational tirades. I zoned out and my mind went elsewhere. She is the reason why I told my current guitar teacher "no" when he asked that I interrupt him if I already know something. I trust nothing that this old professor may have accidentally taught me.

String bass had its own set of challenges. To briefly paint the picture, imagine waking up early to get to the music building before anyone else. It's cold and depressing. Check out a bass and take it to a room so small that the instrument barely fits in it. Pick up the bow, and feel the cramp in your hand as you try to hold it properly. Drag the bow across the instrument, and nothing resembling music comes it. It's more like a an injured cow suffering its final moments after being hit by a truck. For every hour of class, two hours of rehearsal is recommended. I ended up getting just good enough to pass.

Marimba was the biggest mind-screw of all, mostly because of the not-so-surprising behavior of my professor, King Richard. I'll refer to him as that, even though I've used his name elsewhere. Think Whiplash.

He was present for my first marimba lesson, which was weekly on a Monday at 8:00am. He had to drive from Indianapolis to Muncie for these instructions. Apparently, he did not feel like attending my lessons as much as I did, because after the first lesson, I never saw him again for the rest of the year. It's a 66-mile drive that takes over an hour in good weather. There is no such thing as good weather for most of the school year. Still, I showed up for class every Monday at 8:00am. I'd sit in the room and wait five minutes before starting to teach myself.

During this first lesson, I was instructed that I had to learn Paul Creston's Concertino. It was a piece where I would have piano accompaniment. This piece may have appeared simple on the surface, for it was only four pages. But other students informed me that the last page alone can take 4-6 months to learn, depending on one's aptitude and ability. Since this was a piece that I would be performing at a year-end recital, I figured that I should put all of my focus here, and do my best.

Here's what I was up against (video of someone else performing the piece), and how it should have turned out:


Based on comments that I got from other students, I broke up the work by pages. When I got to the fourth page, I felt overwhelmed, so I made the decision to get the first three pages down as best I could, while completely ignoring the fourth page.

Flash forward to the spring, when recital was approaching. King Richard was still AWOL in my tutelage, and I had a decision to make. I could decide to not show up to the recital and quit, but quitting did not feel like an option. I had to do this recital, fourth page present or not.

The auditorium was full of about 300 of my peers, as well as the entire music school faculty. The pressure was on. There was no backing out now.

I stepped onto the stage, and received the typical welcoming round of polite applause. I pick up my marimba mallets, when all of a sudden, a few things hit me. The first was that I had never worked with the piano accompanist before. Thanks to my lack of instruction, I did not even know that this was something I could have done. I didn't think about it, because I rightfully assumed that I could follow the sheet music, and all would be fine. Well, at least 75% fine.

Even worse, I had absolutely NO plan for the fourth page.

We perform the piece, and even I was surprised at how well it was going.

We get to the fourth page, and I stop. The entire place goes quiet, save for a few mumbling voices from those who were shocked because this was most unexpected. The pianist asks me if I want to go back a bit and pick up. I agree. Still no plan. What will I do?

We back up and start playing. The fourth page arrives, and I stop. The pianist asks me if I want to pick up again. King Richard and his colleagues are staring at me. The people in the audience are quiet.

I ignore the pianist, and quietly step from behind the marimba, walking to the front center of the stage. I carried myself as if I had a big announcement to make. Slowly, and a bit dramatically. Each foot step is as audible, threatening, and terrifying as a David Lynch midnight movie. I look at everyone from left to right, panning slowly. Still no plan on how I'm going to get out of this.

Then, it hit me.

I threw my mallets out to the audience, like a rock drummer would throw sticks. I yelled out, "That's all I know!!!" while thrusting up rock devil horns a-la Dio and yelling, "Woooooooo!" The entire theatre erupted. The applause was deafening. It felt as if everyone else had suddenly forgotten that the fourth page even existed.

King Richard took me aside, and I was ready to get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. In fact, I was expecting him to punch me in the face, even though he'd never done that before. That's how scary he was. Studying with him since junior high school, and tolerating his language and tone lead me to this conclusion. But those thoughts went away when, for the first time in my life, I saw a smile on his face.

He admitted that he had failed me miserably. He also admitted that he did not believe in me, and that was what allowed him to sleep in on Mondays. I wasn't his star student, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I went from the biggest fish in a small town, to a baby guppy in a place where everyone was way better than me. I went from being the star of the town, to a place of utter irrelevance. By this point, I had no ego capable of feeding any delusions.

He said, "Had you just stopped, or just walked off, everyone would have been uncomfortable with the situation, and I would have had no choice but to fail you. But you put the work into the three pages, with no thanks to me, and you made the performance entertaining. Music is about more than the perfect performance, and you've shown your understanding of this."

"Congratulations. You've passed my marimba class."

By my estimate, based on what school cost, I was paying King Richard $300 per hour to fail me. Adding insult to injury was the requirement that I purchase my own marimba, which cost $13,000. I sold it two years later to another student for $18,000 so I consider it a semi-wash in that regard, but only because I quit while I was ahead.

Leaving the music program made me feel like a quitter and a failure. At the same time, it was not working out for me, and I could not see pumping more money into a school that felt to me like it existed merely for the benefit of itself. These feelings of failure and inadequacy were alleviated by the fact that I showed up, did my best, and ended up making it entertaining.

I had to realize that passed this course, not with any help from a professor, but on my own. This also inspired me to leave school, for I felt that I did not need it. Looking back, I was right. Not only did I not need it for rock music pursuits, but I ended up doing lots of things with music in spite of this. Nobody ever asked me if I had a degree in music, except for one time when I considered being a teacher.

This is another one of my lessons learned, and then forgotten, that I'm remembering thanks to this thread.
 
One thing I've noticed about myself is that I've lost some of my mental and psychological resilience as I get older. My younger self was all about the possibilities, while my older self tends to be about my actualities. This entry is not about any instrument in particular, and is more about music learning in general.

Music Theory was a big challenge in college. I originally did not want to go, because I did not want someone telling me what the rules are, or how things have to be done. My grandmother challenged me. "Look at you, being the big rule-breaking rebel, when you don't even know what the hell the rules are in the first place."

Challenge accepted. I went to university as a Percussion Arts major.

My Music Theory professor, name withheld, was not a good teacher. She did exactly what I feared she would do, by demanding that things MUST be a certain way all the time. Most students powered through her irrational tirades. I zoned out and my mind went elsewhere. She is the reason why I told my current guitar teacher "no" when he asked that I interrupt him if I already know something. I trust nothing that this old professor may have accidentally taught me.

String bass had its own set of challenges. To briefly paint the picture, imagine waking up early to get to the music building before anyone else. It's cold and depressing. Check out a bass and take it to a room so small that the instrument barely fits in it. Pick up the bow, and feel the cramp in your hand as you try to hold it properly. Drag the bow across the instrument, and nothing resembling music comes it. It's more like a an injured cow suffering its final moments after being hit by a truck. For every hour of class, two hours of rehearsal is recommended. I ended up getting just good enough to pass.

Marimba was the biggest mind-screw of all, mostly because of the not-so-surprising behavior of my professor, King Richard. I'll refer to him as that, even though I've used his name elsewhere. Think Whiplash.

He was present for my first marimba lesson, which was weekly on a Monday at 8:00am. He had to drive from Indianapolis to Muncie for these instructions. Apparently, he did not feel like attending my lessons as much as I did, because after the first lesson, I never saw him again for the rest of the year. It's a 66-mile drive that takes over an hour in good weather. There is no such thing as good weather for most of the school year. Still, I showed up for class every Monday at 8:00am. I'd sit in the room and wait five minutes before starting to teach myself.

During this first lesson, I was instructed that I had to learn Paul Creston's Concertino. It was a piece where I would have piano accompaniment. This piece may have appeared simple on the surface, for it was only four pages. But other students informed me that the last page alone can take 4-6 months to learn, depending on one's aptitude and ability. Since this was a piece that I would be performing at a year-end recital, I figured that I should put all of my focus here, and do my best.

Here's what I was up against (video of someone else performing the piece), and how it should have turned out:


Based on comments that I got from other students, I broke up the work by pages. When I got to the fourth page, I felt overwhelmed, so I made the decision to get the first three pages down as best I could, while completely ignoring the fourth page.

Flash forward to the spring, when recital was approaching. King Richard was still AWOL in my tutelage, and I had a decision to make. I could decide to not show up to the recital and quit, but quitting did not feel like an option. I had to do this recital, fourth page present or not.

The auditorium was full of about 300 of my peers, as well as the entire music school faculty. The pressure was on. There was no backing out now.

I stepped onto the stage, and received the typical welcoming round of polite applause. I pick up my marimba mallets, when all of a sudden, a few things hit me. The first was that I had never worked with the piano accompanist before. Thanks to my lack of instruction, I did not even know that this was something I could have done. I didn't think about it, because I rightfully assumed that I could follow the sheet music, and all would be fine. Well, at least 75% fine.

Even worse, I had absolutely NO plan for the fourth page.

We perform the piece, and even I was surprised at how well it was going.

We get to the fourth page, and I stop. The entire place goes quiet, save for a few mumbling voices from those who were shocked because this was most unexpected. The pianist asks me if I want to go back a bit and pick up. I agree. Still no plan. What will I do?

We back up and start playing. The fourth page arrives, and I stop. The pianist asks me if I want to pick up again. King Richard and his colleagues are staring at me. The people in the audience are quiet.

I ignore the pianist, and quietly step from behind the marimba, walking to the front center of the stage. I carried myself as if I had a big announcement to make. Slowly, and a bit dramatically. Each foot step is as audible, threatening, and terrifying as a David Lynch midnight movie. I look at everyone from left to right, panning slowly. Still no plan on how I'm going to get out of this.

Then, it hit me.

I threw my mallets out to the audience, like a rock drummer would throw sticks. I yelled out, "That's all I know!!!" while thrusting up rock devil horns a-la Dio and yelling, "Woooooooo!" The entire theatre erupted. The applause was deafening. It felt as if everyone else had suddenly forgotten that the fourth page even existed.

King Richard took me aside, and I was ready to get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. In fact, I was expecting him to punch me in the face, even though he'd never done that before. That's how scary he was. Studying with him since junior high school, and tolerating his language and tone lead me to this conclusion. But those thoughts went away when, for the first time in my life, I saw a smile on his face.

He admitted that he had failed me miserably. He also admitted that he did not believe in me, and that was what allowed him to sleep in on Mondays. I wasn't his star student, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I went from the biggest fish in a small town, to a baby guppy in a place where everyone was way better than me. I went from being the star of the town, to a place of utter irrelevance. By this point, I had no ego capable of feeding any delusions.

He said, "Had you just stopped, or just walked off, everyone would have been uncomfortable with the situation, and I would have had no choice but to fail you. But you put the work into the three pages, with no thanks to me, and you made the performance entertaining. Music is about more than the perfect performance, and you've shown your understanding of this."

"Congratulations. You've passed my marimba class."

By my estimate, based on what school cost, I was paying King Richard $300 per hour to fail me. Adding insult to injury was the requirement that I purchase my own marimba, which cost $13,000. I sold it two years later to another student for $18,000 so I consider it a semi-wash in that regard, but only because I quit while I was ahead.

Leaving the music program made me feel like a quitter and a failure. At the same time, it was not working out for me, and I could not see pumping more money into a school that felt to me like it existed merely for the benefit of itself. These feelings of failure and inadequacy were alleviated by the fact that I showed up, did my best, and ended up making it entertaining.

I had to realize that passed this course, not with any help from a professor, but on my own. This also inspired me to leave school, for I felt that I did not need it. Looking back, I was right. Not only did I not need it for rock music pursuits, but I ended up doing lots of things with music in spite of this. Nobody ever asked me if I had a degree in music, except for one time when I considered being a teacher.

This is another one of my lessons learned, and then forgotten, that I'm remembering thanks to this thread.
Keep on playing that sweet guitar, you’re a success story in my opinion. You know what your limitations are, but try not to let them dictate your progress.

It only really matters that you enjoy playing music. If you can, separate bad experiences of your past and make your guitar playing the now and your musical future.
 
Keep on playing that sweet guitar, you’re a success story in my opinion. You know what your limitations are, but try not to let them dictate your progress.

It only really matters that you enjoy playing music. If you can, separate bad experiences of your past and make your guitar playing the now and your musical future.

Succeeding does mean beating my competition, which is myself. Today, I have more confidence that I can do that.

Thanks for the support. You and everyone. Talking about it, hearing the stories of others, and remembering my own forgotten lessons has been a most valuable thing for me.
 
Succeeding does mean beating my competition, which is myself. Today, I have more confidence that I can do that.

Thanks for the support. You and everyone. Talking about it, hearing the stories of others, and remembering my own forgotten lessons has been a most valuable thing for me.
I understand where you come from, I had a similar experience with my vocals several years ago.

I had performed on a semi-pro basis with a band and my confidence was sky high. I had an infection and the doc told me to stop singing as she could not guarantee that I wasn’t causing irreparable damage (not a bad thing some might say!)

A couple of years rest and I was offered a regular gig. That first time stepping up to the mic, not knowing what the result would be was very nerve racking!

It took some time to gain the confidence.

Now I play for my own interest, but like you I realise more and more my limitations. I try not to dwell on them and like you put in the practice until I’m satisfied I’m playing to the best of my ability.
 
Good stuff in this thread. Just a thought from an older PRS player, it has been medically proven that keeping your brain active as you get older is extremely helpful. Playing guitar, learning songs, etc. fits nicely into that category. I, too, at this point, play for myself. I find it extremely enjoyable and relaxing. What's not to like?
 
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