Inchoate

I have it.  I finally found the right perspective, the right way to view, the right way to think about my musical output.  I can see from the correct place and interpret correctly.  I am a beginner. I am learning how to play the guitar and sing.  What an epiphany! So the musical outputs I publish are the sounds of a beginner learning to sing and play the guitar.  One could question the use of the word "learning" as no one is "teaching" and learning implies getting better.  I have to assume that by playing and singing I will get a little better over time.  It is in this brilliant new light, from this brilliant new perspective that I offer yet another recording from my iPhone.  It bears no title, simply the words given to it by my iPhone, "Memo-1".  What perfect language! So completely apropos!  It's not even a song, only a memo, just a brief note of little to no consequence in the organization of music.

In the memo below, I am riffing, if one were to be so generous, off of one of my favorite tunes, Stir It Up by Bob Marley and The Wailers.  Peep the guitar solo at the end (oh shit, he didn't.  yes he did.):

Memo-1

The word inchoate comes to mind.  Inchoate (from the Oxford English Dictionary): "Just begun, incipient; in an initial or early stage; hence elementary, imperfect, underdeveloped, immature."

I'd like to highlight "elementary, imperfect, underdeveloped, immature."  I like how the OED ends the definition with a period.  Nice emphasis, like you really suck, boom! period. Done.

I provide you fair reader/listener with a subaltern sample of my inchoate musical transgressions.  There may be some pain involved, you may feel pain and embarrassment listening to these inchoate transgressions.  It may hurt to hear someone you love in the throws of shame.  But are we not a species that takes great pleasure in pain?  Are not the things that hurt us the things that we love, sometimes become desperate for, the most?  Do we watch the train wreck?

Yes, we watch the train wreck and the bodies squished in the steel, and we listen to the music of a broken Ferris wheel, screeching to a halt (chocolate malts!).  Thanks to George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr., graduate of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and a Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, bridge-builder.

I wanted to mention a couple other things tonight, totally unrelated.

1. I love Cal Bears Football.  I have since I was born.  Both of my parents graduated from Cal.  My father taught me the love of Cal Bear Football (and Basketball) when I was still a babe in arms.  I remember being four years old, sitting on a Cal blanket in the pre-game afternoon sun on the sloping lawn just west of the Faculty Club.  Growing up a Cal Football fan has taught me a great deal about failure and disappointment, in many, many different varieties.  But we do have The Play, and for that I am forever grateful.

2. I love the San Francisco Baseball Giants.  I have to admit my love was renewed last September and October when the pure magic transpired and the Giants actually won the World Series.  These are the halcyon days of San Francisco.  But I am not a bandwagon jumper in the absolute.  Robby Thompson was my favorite baseball player when I was 8 years old, playing for the Albany Little League Senators, in our black uniforms with yellow trim.  I think I had a small, good-luck, stuffed-animal lobster.  I think I took it to my games.  I was good at bunting.

Love you all,
Anthony

ps - The Good Shit (If I joined AA and someone prodded me to choose a higher power, Peter Tosh's guitar solo at the end of this song would be it.)