The Oppenheimer Report - 4/15/13

In keeping with my New Year’s resolution to become more involved with the local music scene, I met with a local songwriter last week and we bounced a few songs off each other. In my thirty years of studying and attempting to learn the craft of songwriting, I have only several times attempted collaboration with anyone other than my wife. My dormant ego tends to flare up whenever someone has the audacity to question my creative genius. In fact collaboration can be tricky, and having just met Doug, I was not immediately convinced he could provide any constructive criticism for my perfect songwriting skills. My Achilles heel, or my Achilles torso as the case may be, is my lack of education in music theory. I imagine most successful songwriters have a more comprehensive understanding of music theory than I do, and Doug was a professional musician for many years. He did come up with some good suggestions and all in all it was an enjoyable and productive meeting. If I am to grow as a songwriter, I must learn to accept constructive criticism. The creative process, for me at least, has been such a mystery, and when the muse strikes I am reluctant to muddy the waters with rules and structure. Anyone who has ever seen my desk understands that organization and structure are not my strong suits.

 I started playing guitar when I was about twelve, and my mother insisted that I take lessons before she would invest in a proper guitar. My first guitar, which I believe I ultimately “el kabonged” was a real piece of crap. It came in a flimsy cardboard box – I’m not sure it wasn’t made of cardboard -- and cost about fifteen bucks. Buddy Guy’s first guitar only had two strings, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I took lessons from a frustrated jazz guitarist named Joe at Sedola Music over on Buffalo’s West end, and it was not a particularly enlightening experience. Let me rephrase that, it was an abominable experience that almost turned me off the guitar forever. My lessons were held in a dingy little back room the size of a phone booth, and Joe was an unpleasant, short-tempered man, clearly incapable of the patience required of any teacher. He would yell “No, no, no, no!!!!” while I struggled nervously through some classic dirge like The Volga Boatman, then show me how Joe Pass would have played it. He seemed more interested in proving to me that he could play the guitar than he was in teaching me how to do it. Sadly, a bad teacher can really put the kybosh on musical aspirations, especially when that aspiring musician is only twelve, and I lasted through about ten or fifteen lessons before I decided that guitar lessons from “Sedola Joe” were not for me. I did take away some valuable practice exercises and scales, which I still use today to warm up. I bought a chord chart for guitar and taught myself how to play over the next several years. Certainly I could have learned faster and improved more had I found a good teacher, but my ambition was to compose songs, never to perform on a stage. Besides, it became apparent to me early on that good guitarists were a dime a dozen. Throughout college, I met a lot of accomplished guitarists, none who intended to make a living in the music industry. When I was in my late twenties and working in Buffalo, the seventeen year old parking lot attendant for our office building was an incredible guitarist who could play fugues by Bach. I knew I’d never make it as a musician, but I began to write songs, which not every musician can do.

Shauna is a classically trained pianist, who as a young woman schooled at the Royal Conservatory in Toronto. She is my biggest fan and has been trying in vain to get me to learn music theory so as to improve my writing skills. She used to teach piano and I think she is pretty good at it. At one point early in our marriage she sat me down at the keyboard and gave me some basic lessons. She told me I was not the worst student she’d ever had (I certainly was not the best), but for some reason the theory wasn’t soaking in, and I never gave it the time it requires. It may be a throwback to that first bad guitar teacher, but I seem to have no patience with learning music theory. I can follow other musicians intuitively, but for some reason, I seem to flesh out melody lines faster when I am not trying to keep the theory in my head. I think there is some math involved in musical instruction and math was decidedly not my strong point. My friend in Alberta composes with a recording software called Pro Tools, and it is remarkable to watch him build a song with a computer. I have even less interest in learning to become a studio whiz than I have in learning music theory, which I suppose makes me both a Luddite and a fool.

In his autobiography blues guitarist Buddy Guy talks about his musical illiteracy. He did a lot of session work at the famous Chess Records in his early days and was self-conscious about his inability to read music. That said, he could learn a song quickly and managed to build a career in music despite his shortcomings. In about a month, I will be performing to a rather large audience of people who may actually be listening to my songs as I play them. I think I’ve reached the point where I can present them passably. A good song is a good song, and hopefully I am closer to writing one. Buddy, are you listening? I wrote Forked Tongue Tango just for you.   Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED