This time of year tends to
put most of us in a bit of
a reflective mood, regardless of
whether we’re atheist/agnostic,
hardcore about the “reason(s) for
the season”—which can be multitudinous,
depending on your
spiritual/philosophical bent—or
somewhere in the middle. We’re
moved to consider what we’re
grateful for, whether we view
those circumstances as randomly
fortuitous events of chance or
gifts from above. We put special
thought and effort into offerings
of time, attention, or physical
tokens of affection we hope can
convey even a fraction of our
feelings’ true depth.
It goes without saying that all
of us who have anything to do
with Premier Guitar, both here
on staff and you who enjoy the
stuff we put out, have so much
love and gratitude for the gift of
music that we’d be lost without
it. It’s part of our foundation as
human beings. Life without it
would be shades of grays, and life
without the capacity and opportunity
to create it on our beloved
planks of steel and wood would
be pixelated shades of gray.
But rhythm, melody, and
harmony aren’t one of life’s
most precious facets just
because of the physical and
emotional highs they provoke
as they surge through aural synapses
and into our cerebral cortex.
And it’s not because of any
glory or ego-stoking caused by
the exhilarating act of creating
something almost out of thin
air. I mean, yeah, those things
are incredible—but it’s really
about the relationships music
inspires, creates, and restores.
Sometimes those relationships
are with ourselves—sometimes
hearing a rapturous melody, a
profound lyric, a raging riff, or
a funky beat has the mysterious,
awing power to help us heal from
wounds of body, mind, and heart.
Wounds inflicted by time, fatigue,
heartache, or failing health.
Other times, those relationships
are almost the opposite,
at least in terms of depth and
complexity. Sometimes music
connects us with a person or band
we’ll never meet or know personally
but with whom, for reasons
science will probably never fully
explain, we feel a bond, a connection
that reflects parallel cognition,
spirituality, and/or artistic
sensibility. It doesn’t matter that
we’ll never physically embrace,
confide in, or be consulted by that
musician—we’ve still embraced
each other. They’ve shown generosity
and honesty of character (for
the most part) by putting their art
out there to be exposed to ridicule
or praise, and we’ve shown them
acceptance that supports their art
and being both financially (hopefully)
and emotionally.
Somewhere in the middle are
the music-nurtured relationships
that are at least as important as
those with self or hero. They’re
the ones with family, friends,
soul mates. The relationships
that make or break us as sentient
beings. Whether it’s a tune you
and a special someone call “our
song,” a kick-ass tune that a friend
or lover exposes you to, a song
you write for your sweetheart, or
a jam you write with your pals in
your band, nothing feeds these
relationships like the boundless
powers of song. It’s an intangibly
special and deep-seated experience
that we’re so lucky to have.
In my case, I’m infinitely
grateful to my beautiful wife/
best friend for inspiring me
to write songs and for giving
me newfound appreciation for
certain older tunes and exposing
me to more recent tunes I
never would’ve found on my
own. Songs she’s brought (or
reintroduced) into my life include
everything from Kool & the
Gang’s “Ladies Night” and the
Commodores’ “Brick House”
to newer tunes like Thriving
Ivory’s “Angels on the Moon”
(which also ties us to a dear
friend who passed away three
years ago from cancer) or Neon
Trees’ “Animal.” (Say what you
will, the Trees—who happen to
be from my hometown—write
irresistible hooks and grooving
beats. Not to mention, singer
Tyler Glenn’s fantastic voice is
one of the few on radio today
that’s instantly identifiable, and
bassist Branden Campbell’s a
multifaceted player with bona fide
blues-rock credentials. He and his
former bandmates from Alex and
the Blueshounds won the battle
of the bands when we were both
in college back in Provo, Utah.)
Conversely, I’ve given my foxy
lady an unlikely love for J. Mascis
and Dinosaur Jr., Big Sandy &
His Fly-Rite Boys, Bill Kirchen,
Brian Setzer, the Flaming Lips,
and the National.
But just as close to my heart
are the musical experiences with
our three boys—from the days
when my youngest son was a
baby and, ironically, wouldn’t
stop crying on a long road trip
unless we put Audioslave’s “I
Am the Highway” on repeat,
to the times when my middle
son couldn’t stop asking to hear
Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” or
Oingo Boingo’s “Weird Science”
(he digs dancing to ’em), to the
trio’s current love for Metallica’s
“One” and “Enter Sandman,”
and their propensity to quiz
each other on what band’s tune
is coming out of mom’s or dad’s
phone. (Default guesses for the
younger two: Rolling Stones,
AC/DC, Radiohead, or Elvis.)
For years now, I’ve held off
pushing any of them into playing
an instrument. To me, that
simply has to come from an inner
yearning. But I’ve always hoped
and tried to facilitate. We’ve had a
short-scale Strat around the house
for years, and because my band
practices in our basement, there’s
been a drum kit on hand for
some time now (thanks, “Jerald”!).
For whatever reasons, 2012 has
been the year for musical growth
in our family. My youngest has
taken to the drums quite naturally—
he’ll sneak down there to
jam after school, and we have to
tell him to knock off the body
drumming at dinner all the time.
And my oldest has shown a natural
ability at drums and has really
dived into guitar over the last
year. (The wife and I joke about
hanging a Wayne’s World-style
“No ‘Stairway’” sign at home.)
Even cooler than seeing my
15-year-old studying Zep and
Beatles tablature and figuring out
Rage Against the Machine riffs
by ear is seeing him take the dive
into writing his own progressions
and licks—and then getting the
fun-as-hell pleasure of being his
shoddy groove maker/timekeeper
on the skins. I guess there are a
few benefits to getting older.
Life, music, family, friends
… all are invaluable gifts.
Wherever they come from, let’s
celebrate them and do our best
to ensure they’re all enriching
each other. All our best to you
and yours this holiday season.
(P.S. Sorry for baiting you
with that disingenuous, heartless-
bastard headline.)
Shawn Hammond
shawn@premierguitar.com