I love music, and I always have. It makes my body move and my spirit soar. I have many favorite songs and passages, and I can listen to them repeatedly — thrilling to the skill and nuance of the performers.

My brain plays songs I’ve heard, like a tape recorder in my head.  But sometimes it plays songs I’ve never heard, and those are the hard ones for me to hear, without the skills to make them real.

When I was in first year university I lived in a residence with many other young men. It was a mix of hard working students and party lovers, all learning to live away from home. Many people left their hallway doors open, and there was a real community feel in the dorm.

One of the guys on my floor played classical guitar, and I often heard his skilled and melodic playing floating down the hallway. I was a shy person but, drawn by the sound of his guitar, I introduced myself. Over the next couple of weeks I often spent time sitting in his room, listening to him play. He wasn’t limited to classical guitar — he could play anything, from folk to rock. It was amazing and wonderful to hear up close.

One day when I dropped in my friend was reading a book. He welcomed me, and as I sat down he saw me looking at the guitar. “Pick it up,” he said. “Give it a try.”

I carefully picked up his beautiful acoustic guitar and clumsily sat it across my lap. “You won’t break it,” he said. “Just try.”

I had no clue about notes or how to play, and the sheer number of frets was intimidating. But I plucked out some notes, slowly and quietly at first, and then more enthusiastically. I was surprised by the vibration of the guitar — of the physical pulse that accompanied the start of each note. It was an extra dimension that a non-musician would not have experienced.

With my friend kindly appearing to ignore me and read his book, I tried playing a bit more. After a few minutes of fiddling around I found a series of notes that sounded good to me, and my awkward fingers somehow got them into a loop. It was fun!

Just then another guy from the floor came into the room. No doubt he had heard disturbingly awful playing coming from an otherwise quality guitar.

“That’s not how you play,” he said, shaking his head and frowning. “That’s no way to play a guitar.”

My gut wrenched, and I felt a wave of shame and regret that I had dared to pick up that guitar. I have no memory of anything my friend might have said at that moment. All I remember is a dark hole being punched through my fledgling attempt at music, and then a lot of years passing. I still loved music and appreciated musicians — even more than before — but any thoughts I had of playing music were kept small out of a fear of rejection, and easily brushed aside in the busy-ness of work and family.

Last year at Christmas I received some money as a gift, and with it I bought myself a beautiful guitar, which looks a lot like the one my friend played at school years ago. It sits in the corner of my room — a reminder to appreciate our world’s creative and musical communities, and those who encourage them.

Sometimes I pick it up.  I have taken guitar lessons — from a skilled and lifelong music teacher — so I can play a few chords.

But I can never get back those years when I was a vulnerable young man trying to play music for the first time. I was an impressionable, sensitive person who a jerk successfully shot down.

My son playing my guitar on stage. Please encourage the musicians and artists in your life.

I have a son now, just a bit older than I was in this story. He is a wonderful guitarist and musically skilled in ways that I admire but can not quite comprehend. He has tried to teach me some music, and has encouraged me to play more. “You’re over-thinking it,” he has told me, no doubt correctly.

But the extra 30 years of life have changed my brain, and are not easily erased.

If they could be, and I were back in that dorm room, I would wish for two things to have happened:  My guitar-playing friend would have kicked the jerk out of the room and told me in a clear and supportive voice, “You’re doing great. Keep trying”.

And I would have kept trying — enjoying and knowing how to play a musical instrument.

Please be a patron of the Arts. Whether your child or friend loves music, drama, dance, art or writing — please be supportive and encouraging. The Arts and our community, not money, are the collective value of our world.

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And his interest in music also brings us loads of concert-reviews from Hamburg and elsewhere in Germany. Definitively worth a look and an entry in your feedreader.

Read more:
More blogs from Germany recommended on Blogs of the World
Berlin counterculture at Kunsthaus Tacheles
Oktoberfest recipes

A few days ago my blogging buddy Barbara sent me an email which included a Youtube link to a musical I performed in, back in 1994 called Falsettos.

Thanks Barb!

Well…I was shock to shit because I had no idea this video even existed on the Internet. I’m assuming it was made by one of the cast members.

Throughout my years performing onstage, I’ve collected various video tapes of some of the shows I was in, however I never got a copy of this particular show.

Being a part of Falsettos was one of the most enjoyable and exciting highlights of my acting career. And not only because of the show, but more so because of the cast. Once in a great while a cast will come together that almost seems as though it was destiny – and that was the case with this show. Not only was I honored to be performing along side such great talents, but it was also the respect, support, and love we had for one another that made this experience extra special.

Falsettos was perhaps the most challenging musical I was ever in because it’s basically sung like an opera with no spoken words. All the dialogue is expressed through music. And the challenging part for me is that I can’t read music. Therefore, I had to learn a three hour complicated musical score by ear. The cast was incredibly patient and supportive, as most of them were musically trained. I can sing, but I’ve never had any formal training in music. To be perfectly honest, I felt very insecure being cast in this show but I knew it was something I needed to try.

Falsettos is a story about relationships….

The plot:

After years of being married, Marvin discovers that he can no longer suppress his homosexuality and leaves his wife Trina and son Jason. Eventually he finds a male partner, Whizzer, who he ends up living with, while Trina ends up marrying her ex-husbands psychiatrist, Mendel.

There are also two other characters, Charlotte and Cordelia, the lesbian couple who live next door (one is a doctor and the other is a stay-at-home-wife). The musical is a series of scenes depicting the challenges and struggles, as each couple adjusts to their newly formed relationships. Jason also struggles with his father being gay, but eventually finds acceptance.

Even though this musical is predominately a comedy the plot suddenly changes towards the end, as Whizzer is diagnosis with AIDS and dies.

The story ends as all the characters come together in a hospital room supporting one another, showing us that the one thing all relationships share in common…

…is Love.

The Youtube clip is the opening number in Act 2 – “Welcome to Falsettoland”

I apologize that it’s so long (holy cow…over 8 mins). If you don’t have time to watch it I totally understand. This post will be up all weekend, so if you wish to view it later, please do.

I portrayed Mendel, the psychiatrist. I’m the guy you’ll see holding a flashlight at the opening of the number.

(other cast members include: Lucy Carney, Brad Howell Houghton, Ian Russell, Hilda Philips, Christine Robison, and John McColms, who has since then passed away)

Have a faaabulous weekend everyone!

We each have a personal musical path through our lives, woven by deliberate forces such as radio and TV, shared experiences such as concerts and our friend’s iPod, and in the random, spontaneous music of our community.  We each experience a unique combination of musical influences, which are entwined with our moods, perception and life moments. So while many people “like” a particular song, the way it affects them and moves them is very personal.

As a child, much of my musical environment came from my parents. My father loved the clarinet solos of Benny Goodman and the trumpet work of Louis Armstrong. In a pre-rock era, these guys rocked, and their music crackled with creativity and energy.

My parents ran a small tourist resort, called Bala Cozy Cabins — 16 cottages on Moon River. Once a week we’d have a big bonfire for the guests in the late evening. When the fire settled down we’d roast hot dogs and marshmallows. As darkness fell I became more aware of the music piped down to the beach by my father. I would pause in my game of hide-and-seek, and hear songs by artists like Mitch Miller, who lead a choir in songs like “You are my sunshine” and “Heart of my heart“. Around the glow of the fire we shared the music.

As a young teen, I remember a Christmas in which my parents gave me a Donny Osmond album, when what I had in mind was Led Zeppelin. In that moment a realization came to me: that no matter how much I loved someone, I would have my own choice of music. My parents respected that, and I believe that everyone does.

Music can be communal — winding us together in shared vibrations, moments and even dreams. But always music is personal — a deep celebration of the world around us and within.

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