4/22/2002 7:19:33 PM

How many princes of the guitar has God laid his finger on?

The first time I heard mention of Django Reinhardt was in 59 or 60 when I read From Here to Eternity, I became a Django fan without ever hearing a note. Prewitt and some of his musician friends talk in the barracks as they play the blues about this Gypsy genius of the guitar. James Jones (quick aside: I consider From Here to Eternity a prime example of “the” American novel that everyone claims, (sure Huck and Moby belong there too, who said there only had to be one)) tired to write a roman a clef about Django with a working title of, No Peace I Find. He eventually abandoned the idea. Jones through the doomed bugle player and his mates sparked anew a desire in me to once again pick up the guitar. It stayed dormant until the years following high school.

As I write I am listening to Nuages and looking at a CD cover with Django, hair greased back, receding hairline (God bless the bald I cannot help but say), cigarette in the right corner of his mouth punctuating his thin moustache, Epiphone arch top f-hole guitar on his right knee, left hand, small fingers resting on the two high strings in a fifth position chord configuration, right hand picking high E. Tweed suit and plain tie. Listen will you to the miracle of Honeysuckle Rose or Djangology.

My life lately has been honed and drilled down to an existence of early to rise (hardly ever a worm) practice (guitar, keyboard), learn (calculus, relative pitch, a polyglot of language) and write (this blog, Lackzoom, some stories) and of course that good old external prod, work (refrigeration) and early to bed (more healthy than I used to be, not a wit wiser and certainly my wealth is laughable (ask Uncle Sam). To paraphrase Dan Hicks, I worry myself. Where are the people? Where is the experience? Where is the recreation? Where is the relaxation? What is the quality of life? Weedhopper?

Forgive me if, as I blog, I dwell endlessly on the raptures of science fiction and the infinite beauty of the guitar. These things are major in my life, now and forever, Amen. I search my memory for significant things to write and finally settle in on the narrow span of my present diminished weltanschauung.

I have to face it and you (if you read on must put up with it), I am hung up on the guitar. I even listen to Tony Motolla and Acoustic Alchemy recordings. How queer and single minded is that? And Django I have been thinking about Django Avec Le Quintet du Hot Club de France. Le Jazz Hot!

When I was a young kid my parents decided that I should play the guitar. I had two uncles worth of footsteps to follow. Actually they played the ukulele more than the guitar, but who was counting strings in that era?. Long days I would sit, wanting to go out and play in the cruel baseball game that unfolded outside my window. Twang high E to low E. I showed such talent and interest that my instructor showed up one day with an accordion and a new lesson book. I did, I can assure you with some supreme satisfaction, learn the beginning strains of Lady of Spain.

Django was a Romany, born in a gypsy caravan in 1910. He played the banjo, violin and finally guitar from a young age in dance halls and night clubs. In 1928 his left hand was disfigured in a fire. Although his index and ring finger still functioned, his two small fingers were twisted and fused. While he was bed ridden he re-learned and re-invented guitar technique. He learned to grip the guitar on the E-string with his little finger and the B-string with the next finger up, which may account for some of the chord formation and distinctive sound to his music. Go to www.lobsterfilms.com/loaz04.htm to see a Quicktime clip of Django playing.

When Segovia met Django the maestro was dazed by the playing that he heard. Segovia asked for a transcript of what was just played, Django laughed and said , Oh that was merely an improvisation.

This was the same Segovia who said of John Williams “A prince of the guitar has arrived in the musical world. God has laid a finger on his brow…..” Django and John My world turns on them. I don’t have much of the technique and musicality of either. Each morning I practice, early, a devotion. I choose to play with p-i-m-a my fingers instead of the pick. I cannot achieve the wonderful rhythms of Le Jazz Hot, but Bach and Sor come more readily to me after a run of various scales from Major to Mixolydian.

I think God was doing more of a finger shaking in my case.