Chords

These diagrams show you the top of the guitar. The line that goes across at the very top (under the letter) is where your strings start. The line that goes up and down on the far left is the lowest sounding string. The one on the far right is the highest sounding string. The dots show you where to put your fingers. The numbers on the dots show you which fingers to use: Learn G, C, D and Em:

Ignore the rest of the chords. Remember, I only said you had to learn four chords.

 Strum

You can use the strum suggestions in the link for each song. Or you can simply play:

down down up down down up

If you’re counting, that’s 1-2-and-3-4-and. If you read music you may understand this pattern as quarter note-two eighth notes-one quarter note-two eighth notes.

That’s one measure. There might be some places where you play that pattern twice and a few places, only half that pattern. Make the strum sound even and smooth.

 Songs

These all come from the Heartwood Guitar site. If you’re a regular reader of my blog you’ll know that I go there because unlike many other sites, his tabs are accurate. He’s a guitar teacher. They’d take away his guitar teacher card if he wasn’t right. Or at least, make him suffer such great ridicule that he’d take up the accordion. I hear “Lady of Spain” is a nice song.

Just click on the song title to get to the chords. Use your back button to return to my site.

Big Yellow Taxi – Joni Mitchell. Fun song, whether you know Joni’s version or someone else’s.

Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrision. A lot of my adult students like this one.

Blowing in the Wind – Bob Dylan. This one’s only three chords. Some versions of this have a fourth chord but I’ve found that this version works just fine.

Dead Skunk – Louden Wainwright lll. Because it cracks me up.

Good Riddance – Green Day. You can ignore the altered G chord. A regular G chord works well. And while it sounds good with the Cadd9 chord it’ll also work with a plain ol’ C.

Hurt so Good – John Mellancamp.

Let It Be – Beatles. The outro has more than the four basic chords but it’s not essential to the song.

Orphan Girl – Gillian Welch. Great folk tune. A lot of her songs are easy to play.

Ring of Fire – Johnny Cash. Everyone knows this one.

Teardrops on My Guitar – Taylor Swift. Country music is always great if you’re looking for simpler songs. My teen students really like this one.

You Are My Sunshine. This one’s great for campfire singing.

 Want more?

Check out my earlier blogs especially for guitar players.

If you’re in the Ottawa, Ontario area, and you want a teacher, contact me and I can show you how to play these and much more. I’ll also be teaching in Durham, NC in June and this summer, at festivals where I’m booked to perform.

Songwriting basics

Write down ideas as they come to you. I always have a small notebook with me. You can record on your phone or computer too — any way to remember those great thoughts as you get them, even if they don’t seem so great at the time.

When you’ve got the space and time to write, pull out that notebook and take some ideas out for a spin. Present your ideas in a clear form. Use other songs as guides. Don’t edit when you first write. You can polish your songs later.

 Look at other funny songwriters

I’m a big fan of Weird Al Yankovic. You could try writing new words to an established song, like he does:

He looks pretty good for a middle aged guy. I could never pull off a bikini like that.

 Write what you know

Sometimes real life is funnier than anything you could make up:

Consider different types of humor

Exaggeration – if it’s funny when it’s small, it’ll be funnier when it’s big. Although it’s based on a true story, a little exaggeration makes Dave’s song funnier:

I love the glee on the baggage handler’s face as he tosses the guitar.

Surprise – “Your mama scares me” is the surprise line in this one. Now pretend you don’t know that and watch this:

Parody – Weird Al is the king.

Satire – “I Wanna Be a Straight Guy” is one of my songs. Just look at me – clearly, it’s satire although that didn’t stop one woman from sending me a page long diatribe scolding me for “wanting to be a guy.”  Um, yeah.

The audio isn’t great. You can catch all the words if you turn it up:

Things to remember

Build up to a punch line – Lisa Koch doesn’t give you the first funny line until she’s lured you into thinking it’s a serious song:

Use vocal sounds – this song of mine uses a few sound effects. It’s always fun to hack up a hair ball in the middle of a song:

Use sound effects and props –  here’s Carla Ulbrich in “If I Had the Copyright.” She used to actually sing the four letter word but found it was funnier (and probably saved her from losing a few gigs) if she censored herself with a noisemaker:

Watch your intros — if you introduce a song by saying “Here’s a funny tune,” you set yourself up for failure. If you treat it like a serious song and just do it, the surprise will make it funnier.

 Want more help?

Find a teacher. I teach songwriting in several places :

Ottawa, Ontario — I teach privately and at a city recreation center. Contact me here for private instruction and get more info here about rec center classes.

Durham, NC — this summer I’ll be at the Durham Arts Council and High Strung Music.

Various festivals — when I’m booked to perform at a festival I sometimes teach a workshop too. Contact me here if you want to know more.

 Want to laugh some more?

You can hear more of my funny tunes here.  The list includes some serious songs because I like to confuse my audience.

When all else fails, balance the guitar on your head.

Photo by Irene Young

In the 70’s and 80’s, women’s music was the soundtrack for my life. There was one performer in particular who made me just a little short of breath and it wasn’t because I had asthma. Meg Christian had the most charming Southern accent, told funny stories, wrote a hell of a song and in her hands, a guitar was an orchestra and every song a folk symphony.

One day in ’77 or ‘78 I visited my local women’s bookstore in Phoenix, Arizona. Instead of breezing past the little rack of LPs like I usually did, I stopped. Even though there was nothing by Carole King or Carly Simon I examined a few of the albums. One sported a drawing of an orange juice can with the words “Lesbian Concentrate.” I knew this had something to do with Anita Bryant, a conservative singer and part time orange juice pusher who thought queer folks were endangering children. (Too much vodka in that juice methinks.) Even though I’d never heard of any of the performers, I bought the album.

Hear it here.

It stayed on my turntable for days. I kept dropping the needle on favorite songs including Meg’s very funny “Ode to a Gym Teacher.” It was love. I returned to the store and found I Know You Know, her first solo album. More love. Then I went to a concert and there she was, with her beautiful guitar playing and that impish smile.  Love … love … love … oh, sorry, I was off in a gym teacher fantasy.

At a concert early in her career.

At my first National Women’s Music Festival in 1988, she gave a guitar workshop where she taught us to play “Sweet Darlin’ Woman,” a wonderful love song written by Diane Lindsay and recorded by Meg for her Face the Music. I sat up front in that crowded room, restless hands on my guitar, and did my best to focus … ooh, she’s so cute … that intro looks pretty easy … she’s adorable … so that’s the chord she plays there … wonder what she’s doing later … if I talked with her afterwards what would I say? I’d casually stand in front of her and thank her for the instruction, then tell her a little joke and chat a little.

Did I stop and offhandedly deliver those rehearsed lines? No. I walked past her, eyes straight ahead, hoping I wouldn’t trip on the way out. Stepping out into the hallway I thought, hey, that song wasn’t so hard to learn.

Then promptly forgot everything. I mean, daaaayum, that was MEG CHRISTIAN.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a professional musician too and I don’t usually lose it around musicians I admire. We don’t get all shook up around really good accountants – and believe me, I have great admiration for what they do. Why should we get twitchy when we meet musicians? I met Melissa Etheridge once – shook her hand even – and if she’d have showed me how to play “Bring Me Some Water” I would’ve remembered every note. I’ve played a lot of festivals with women like Cris Williamson and Holly Near; we’ve had some delightful conversations. I love their music and have a lot of respect for them but I don’t require oxygen to be in their presence.

With Cris Williamson at Olivia's Carnagie Hall concert. Photo by Irene Young.

Even before I started performing at festivals I traveled from my home in Arizona to the Midwest and California many times to attend them. Bonus points if Meg was one of the artists. One time I made a two hour drive to hear her in concert. Well, sort of hear her. I had a raging cold, the congestion plugging up my ears so badly that the music sounded like it was a mile away (although you can be sure I sat up front). With a pocket of cold meds and a box of tissues I was good to go. (My apologies to anyone I infected that night. It was worth the sacrifice, wasn’t it?) Another time, I made a six hour drive to San Diego to hear her on one of her last tours. It was well worth the long miles, fast food dinner and floor space later that night on some stranger’s floor.

She was on the bill for the West Coast Women’s Music Festival in 1981. I didn’t hesitate when a group of friends told me they needed someone to share the drive. I scraped together money from my office clerk job and set off, four of us crammed into a small pickup.

The night Meg was scheduled there was some political turmoil. Rumor had it that women of color working in the kitchen were paid less than the white women. There had been a meeting or two that day and during the act before Meg (the all-women big band Maiden Voyage) a group of women stormed the stage demanding to be heard. The band knew nothing of the issues and stopped playing for a few moments but after a brief period simply started playing again.

At one point – I think it was after the band  - Robin Tyler, the festival producer, came out and gave an impassioned speech, ending up in tears. Activist Flo Kennedy was there too and they argued on stage. Even though they were friends, Flo sided with the upset workers and Robin denied the allegations. They left the stage.

A long moment of awkward silence settled over the crowd. Many audience members left to go to a meeting in solidarity with the workers, including most of the women who shared my blanket. There was no freakin’ way I was leaving and missing Meg. I figured I could investigate the turmoil later.

Several minutes passed. The crowd had grown smaller and was fairly quiet except for a low murmur of whispers from women trying to decide what was going on. There was no recorded music played over the speakers and no emcee making announcements and cracking jokes. Then suddenly, Meg walked on stage. No intro, just there she was holding her guitar and wearing an adorable brightly colored tie dyed jumpsuit. Diane Lindsay took her place beside her, a bass guitar in her hands.

Meg did the first two songs without much talking, unusual for her. Later on she opened up a little, entertaining us with stories about the songs and about her new album Turning It Over; there were a couple of hints that all was not right including a comment about surviving and her insistence that we listen to one song that talked about healing.

Out of the many, many, festival performances I have attended, this one stands out in my mind. The music was beautiful and well-played despite difficult circumstances. I had to swoon, just a little, when she played “Sweet Darlin’ Woman” with Diane at the piano. So beautiful.

You can hear that very performance here. Click on the link in the upper right hand corner that says “click to listen 2.” (The other download button is to hear the rest of the show, a wonderful tribute to Meg’s music including part of an interview from the early 80′s.)The concert recording is a surprisingly good quality. You’ll notice that it starts abruptly, without an intro, just as I mention in my story. (While you’re at the Queer Music Heritage site, make a cup of coffee and settle in because there’s an amazing amount of info about many other artists too. JD Doyle, who maintains this site, is a treasure.)

Meg with Diane Lindsay at a 1981 concert. Photo by Pat Gargaetas.

I probably shouldn’t tell you all this. I’m writing a book about early women’s music. Already I’ve talked with many of the greats but I haven’t yet spoken to Meg. I don’t even know if she grants interviews these days and if she does, I don’t want her to think I’m some crazy woman who’ll blather on incoherently.

Meg left women’s music in the mid 80’s and has led a fairly quiet life that focuses on her spirituality. She still composes and performs but from what I can gather, not often. She’s been on an Olivia tour or two and is scheduled for a big one they’re doing in 2013. I’d go but it doesn’t fit into my budget. Besides, I might want to remember the Meg I knew then, not the one I’d see now.

Hell, what am I saying? It’s MEG CHRISTIAN.

If any of you wants to suggest to Olivia that they book me for that cruise, please do. Just don’t tell Meg I’ll be there or she’ll feel like she has to hire muscle-bound women who are experts at fending off drooling folk singers.

Should I get her a lacy lacy lacy card for Valentines Day?

Worried that you don’t play well enough?

The best teachers are not always the ones with the flashy licks. Sure, if you’re still struggling with barre chords and fingerpicking is a mystery, you might want to wait. But if you have a few years of playing under your guitar strap and know how to read chord diagrams and tab you’re doing great. It helps if you can read notation too but not absolutely necessary. Most of my adult students aren’t interested in reading music although it’s a good skill to have if you’re teaching kids.

Where to teach?

I started by teaching one-time workshops at festivals where I was booked, then moved into teaching at an arts center. It was a fairly easy thing to do because they don’t require a music degree (or any degree at all). You could also start off with private lessons, either in your home or at a music store. If the former, make sure you have a space that’s already set up. Look professional.  You can go to the student’s house but remember that’s going to cost you (and them) more. Not only do you spend money on gas and other transportation expenses but you can’t teach in the half hour before or after that lesson.

What to teach?

The basics are important – chords, strum patterns, using a pick, reading tab or notation – but so is keeping the student interested. Ask them who their favorite artists are and what they’d like to learn. Choose songs that are challenging enough so that they learn something but not so challenging that they want to throw the guitar across the room.  Kids love songs they recognize, like “Skip to My Lou.” Adults usually like songs they can sing and play, like “Brown Eyed Girl.” Many of my students, adults and kids, learn a 12 bar blues  – they learn the two finger shuffle, the chords that go with it (open, barre and/or power, depending on their interest and skill level) and a blues scale and licks in the same key.

Jamie’s top ten songs that students love

This is what many of my students have requested and enjoyed playing, in alphabetical order:

Blackbird

Brown Eyed Girl

Good Riddance

Heart of Gold

House of the Rising Sun (great for fingerpicking in ¾ time)

Purple Haze

Skip to My Lou (for kids)

Smells Like Teen Spirit

Smoke on the Water (for kids)

Stairway to Heaven

 Where to find material

My favorite tab site is www.heartwoodguitar.com because it’s maintained by a guitar teacher and the tabs are right. There are a ton of books out there too. I use the Mel Bay books for my beginners, especially for reading notation. I get my books at discount book sites on line then resell them to students. It’s easier than having students hunt for them.  I also have a whole filing cabinet of things I’ve printed off the net.

Check out my earlier blog Ten Great Songs for Beginning Guitarists  for more about finding tab on line.

I also list tab sites on my blog Free music instruction and tab.

Go slowly

One of the mistakes I made in the beginning was to give students too much material in one lesson. Don’t overload them. If they’re beginners, give them just one or two songs. Practice the strum or picking pattern separately. Go over the chord forms. Talk about singing with the song (if that’s what they want to do). Put it together. Play it several times before you go on to something else.

Diversify

Do you play another instrument that you can teach? Can you teach songwriting or simple instrument repair? Many of my students just want to learn to change strings.

 What age should students be?

I don’t take students younger than 7 and even then, some aren’t ready for lessons. Nine is an ideal age. As for adults, I’ve taught people as old as 70. While learning is slower the older you get, it’s not impossible if they practice and have a good attitude.

How much to charge?

What’s the going rate? See what music stores charge. Look on Craig’s List and Kijiji. Check out other teacher’s websites. Don’t price yourself too low. If you’re only charging $10 to teach them in their home, they’ll wonder how experienced you really are (and if you’re just casing the joint to steal their TV later).

Promote!

I post flyers around my neighborhood on a regular basis. I also have a Kijiji ad that runs all the time. Make sure your website can be found easily in a web search. Try several different search terms like “you city, guitar lessons.”

Want more information?

Some of my other blogs might help you:

When is a good age to start lessons?

Finding a guitar teacher

Evaulating a guitar teacher

Also, Rob at Heartwood Guitar has a great handbook for teachers

Now go learn “Stairway to Heaven” and put up some fliers.

 Grab them with the first paragraph

It should creatively and concisely give the reader an idea of your style. Don’t start with “She’s played the piano since she was 3.” The most interesting information should be first. Here’s how I started one bio:

Debra Cowan was once asked what kind of songs she writes. Her reply? “Bad ones.” Her captivating warm alto carries each traditional and contemporary folk song she chooses with such emotion that you’ll forget that they were written by others.

 Who do you sound like?

We all hate answering this question but it gives the reader a place to start. Ask your friends and fans for suggestions. Be creative and don’t be afraid to combine styles. Do you sound like Maroon 5 fronted by Cyndi Lauper? Old school R&B mixed with metal?

 Who are your influences?

A laundry list of favorite artists is coma inducing. Take a different approach. Did you listen to your grandmother’s Pat Boone collection? Your cousin’s Nirvana albums? Did you see Dolly Parton on TV when you were five and decide that’s what you wanted to do?

 What is something quirky about you?

Journalists and fans love a good story. It doesn’t have to be music related. I once wrote a bio for an Americana artist who was a distant relative of Jesse James so of course, I used that. Do you have any famous relations? Can you juggle chainsaws? Do you raise exotic lizards? You get the idea.

 Do you have any great quotes?

They could be from someone well known or a club that loves you and books you every time you come to town. Has a high profile publication mentioned you? A quote from a lesser known publication is good also if it’s exceptionally descriptive and creative.

 What are some of the most important gigs you’ve had?

Consider prominent venues (even if it was just a showcase), big audiences, wide TV exposure, or Elvis in the audience. (And did you get a quote from him?)

 Have you recorded?

If so, mention titles and year released. Include more detail for your most recent release. Be sure to mention if your producer or session musicians are connected to someone famous.

 Has your music been licensed for TV, movies or games?

A clip on Grey’s Anatomy not only boosts your bank account but in the eyes of some, your talent.

 What are your goals?

New album coming out soon? New tour? Are you pursuing a label deal? Proud of being independent?

 Numbers can sometimes be important

What are your download numbers? How many dates do you do in a year? Have you charted anywhere?

 Who have you shared the stage with?

This isn’t as important but it’ll let people know your general sound. Be honest. If you and Adele played at the same festival, that doesn’t count.

 If you’re a band, include short bios for each member

Include instrument played, experience, and band history. These are usually best at the end or in a separate section.

 Rein in the word count

Sure, you’ve got unlimited space on your website but why use it all if no one is going to get to the end of that novel length tome? Back in the day when we dealt with just paper it was best to keep a bio to around 500 words since that fit nicely on one page. I still try to do that, especially if the artist is sending paper promo.

(A pigeon just strutted by, pecking at stray crumbs. Inside the airport. I love Newark.)

On my flight a few days ago I sat next to a pleasant guy with a warm Kentucky drawl. He didn’t blink when I said something about my wife. (Yes, we’re legally married. How civilized of Canada. Eh?) We chatted about our jobs and our trips; I was headed to Florida gigs and he was going to Las Vegas to gamble. He stumbled when it came time to refer to my partner. He grinned and said “Partner, er, wife, friend, um …” I can’t blame the guy. We don’t know what to call each other either. It was kind of him to try to find the right word. So much for that stereotype about Southerners being bigoted jerks.

(There’s that pigeon again. Guess he came back for dessert.)

A few years ago I sat next to a Danny DeVito look alike. He sported a bright print shirt unbuttoned a few inches down, revealing  several gold chains across a chest matted with thick black hair. After a brief introduction he launched into a monologue about his life as a professional bridge player and his beautiful statuesque blonde girlfriend. Nothing I did could dissuade the chatter about his exciting job and his gorgeous babe. I rummaged through my bag, pulled out my book and opened it in my lap. I stared at my book. I frowned and pointedly looked away.  I did everything short of shouting, “Dude, I don’t care!” Fortunately, it was a short trip. At the gate an impeccably dressed leggy blonde rushed forward, wrapped her arms around him and murmured something into his neck.

Professional bridge players must make a lot more money than I thought.

(Okay, I’ve gotta interject some more – right next to me is a little girl and her dad. She is dressed completely in bright pink. Her sparkly top has a picture of a Disney princess, her little pink carryon features Snow White and on top of her father’s luggage is a pink pillow with another Disney princess. Completing the ensemble are matching pink pants and a petite pink flowered hat. What, no tiara? She just opened her suitcase and it’s filled with cartoon DVDs and junk food. Her clean princess clothing must be in Dad’s suitcase.)

Another time I flew from Salt Lake City to Boise.  Sitting next to me was a young woman in a prim flowered dress. With a friendly smile she said hello. I said hi back and busied myself with a book. She said she was heading home after visiting relatives and asked why I was going to Boise. I just wanted to relax and read but my mama raised me to be polite so I gave a short answer – “I’m a musician and I’m performing there” – then went back to my book. “That’s nice,” she said pleasantly, “Where?”  I thought, okay, babe, you want to talk with me so I’ll be honest and maybe you’ll leave me alone.

“At the gay pride rally downtown,” I responded. Beat one … two … “Oh how interesting” she warmly replied. In the end, we had an enjoyable conversation about LGBT pride. Her questions were respectful and a far cry from the rude “Which one is the man?” kind of inquiries we sometimes get. I told her about Stonewall and about some of my own experiences.

As the plane was touching down, she said she could understand the struggles of my people because she was Mormon and her people have faced discrimination too. I opened my mouth to argue but heck, she got it right on some level.  I pictured her at the next church potluck, telling them about the really nice lesbian she met on a plane.

My first time on stage at the Michigan Women's Music Festival, 2004.

My first tour wasn’t part of a grand plan; I just wanted to get to the Michigan Women’s Music Festival. I had a small problem – money from a part-time clerical job in Tucson, Arizona wasn’t going to buy enough gas to get to Phoenix. My friend Martie and I decided we’d gig our way to the festival. No one told us we couldn’t do it.

We had booked local performances for ourselves but we didn’t have the faintest idea how to book a tour that spanned hundreds of miles. We found a woman who offered to get us gigs. Martie and I set about working out harmonies and lead guitar parts on each other’s songs. I think I even played banjo on one or two numbers. I hope someone got a picture of that ‘cause I haven’t been seen in public with one since. (Next thing ya know, I’ll be taking up the accordion and offending an even greater part of the population … you know I’m kidding right? I love both instruments, I just happen to be a lousy banjo player. I’d have to go to a gym for a year to even pick up an accordion. Besides, injured animal sounds aren’t in high demand at concerts.)

I managed to save enough money for a festival ticket; it had already arrived in my mailbox. I’d also tucked away a few bucks for gas and food but not enough for both. With the money from gigs we should be all right … if only we had some gigs.  Just a few weeks before we were to leave, our esteemed booking agent called us and said she couldn’t get anything for us. What did she do? Call her cousin in Cat Litter, Wyoming, then give up?

Martie, ever the positive one, happily exclaimed, “Let’s pretend we’re booking agents!” Act as an authority and people will treat you as one, right? We started making phone calls to friends, friends of friends and strangers we randomly dialed. This was before email, before cell phones and before many people had answering machines. A lot of times the phone rang and rang … and rang. Sometimes I’d get voice mail. If I was really lucky, I’d get a five year old telling me that Mommy was in the bathroom. I’m great with five year olds and sometimes, I managed to get the little guy to give Mommy the phone.

If they didn’t answer or get back to me in a week, I called again. And again. I called until I got a yes or a no. Even a no was good because that meant I could cross them off my list. (Another musician once told me that “no” was his second favorite answer. I concur.)

We booked a half dozen gigs, all to people who’d never heard us in concert. It helped that we were making use of the fabulous women’s music circuit. Only in existence a few years, there was still a lot of enthusiasm for any women performers, whether you’d just learned how to change from G to C without stopping or had recorded a few LPs. (Back before DIY recordings, albums were very expensive so not many had them.)

We set off in Martie’s van. A few years old and a little battered around the edges, you had to stand on the brake pedal with both feet. As long as no one pulled out in front of us, we were good.

We had some wonderful shows, from a small theatre in Albuquerque to a YMCA basement in Kansas City. We had some interesting* gigs too including one at a small bar near St Louis where, indeed, the van did break down. A tow truck driver helped us by shoving a small twig in a hole in the carburetor, enabling us to continue on our way. There’s much more to that story including a night’s stay in a kid’s bed with sandy sheets, a dog that peed on my foot and a drunk bar owner who didn’t want to pay us but that’s a much longer tale for another blog.

The festival was amazing. After hearing all those strong women who could most definitely change chords without stopping, we felt like freakin’ amazons.  We played at open mike and at the jam tent. I dreamed of playing on stage there and finally did, in 2004.

With no gigs the drive home took a lot less time. The brakes kept working and the twig stayed in place. Plus, I had great new calf muscles and a dream of touring, something I ended up doing for twenty plus years. And still do.

*Interesting = sucks the family dog out loud

Thanks to my friend Mary Ellen for turning me on to that phrase. I’ve used it so many times I must owe her a royalty. It ranks right up there with “butter my butt and call me a biscuit.” My buddy Elaine swears she found that on a website of commonly used southern phrases.

After registering on a website, I was instructed to go to Montreal the following week. (There were no auditions in Ottawa ‘cause you know, it’s only the nation’s capital.)

As someone who’s toured for over 20 years, I’ve negotiated many a big city street. New York City? No problem. Los Angeles at rush hour? Easy. Montreal with lots of construction signs … in French? Dial 911. I didn’t know if those blinking signs were telling me to merge left, stop, yield … or pick my nose. I elected to follow the traffic and to listen to the soothing voice of Marcia, my GPS.

The problem?  Marcia didn’t understand French. When I entered the address of the downtown convention center where auditions were held, she kept telling me, “Address not found.” I yelled, “Of course the address exists! It’s the freaking convention center!” If Marcia could help me navigate the mean streets of Rockford, Illinois and Cincinnati, Ohio, why not Montreal? (I’m kidding about Rockford but Cincinnati? Who designed that town? I didn’t know they had crack back in the 1800’s.)

I thought maybe Marcia didn’t like “rue” so I entered “street.” Another error message mocked me. I entered the address of the parking garage instead of the convention center. Still, “address not found.” I tried the postal code. That was a language she could speak and immediately her soothing voice instructed me to “follow the highlighted route.”

Good thing. I don’t know if I could’ve negotiated the dizzying array of highways without her. Left exits, one way streets, drivers yelling at their kids while periodically stomping on their brakes for no reason, signs only in French … Marcia saved my English speaking ass.

Marcia, I love you even if you don't speak French.

When she intoned “destination on left” I shouted a little hallelujah and parked. Fortunately, the convention center is large and hard to miss. As I entered the enormous structure I noticed the small TVs hanging from the ceiling with the bold red Canada’s Got Talent logo instructing me to turn this way, then that way, then up to the second level, then turn again … it was like being spun around just before you whack a piñata. After a while I had no idea where I was or where to go next. There was no bat, no candy and no cheering group of friends. However, I spotted a group of little girls in pink spandex accompanied by a couple of women fussing with their hair and pulling up costume straps.

I asked one of the adults about the audition. I didn’t just get directions to the main room; I got a rundown of how the auditions work. “You go up that escalator, then in line, then to another room and another line, then you register …” She was still talking when I thanked her and headed off toward the escalator.

I stepped off the escalator and as I rounded the corner, I saw a huge room with long queue snaking back and forth and a sea of young hopefuls with their parents. I took my place in line and decided to get to know my fellow auditioners. With the exception of a dance troupe, they were all singers. The pre-teen girl dressed in jeans, frilly blouse and heels who stood behind me was going to sing her favorite Alicia Keyes song. The young blond headed gentleman in a blue suit beside me was singing, you guessed it, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” His parents confided that they hadn’t wanted him to audition ‘cause, you know, they weren’t those kind of parents. “He bugged us and we kept saying no,” the mother confided, “But then when he told us what he wanted to do with the money, we said yes.” And what was that? I inquired. She named a non-profit that feeds poor African children.

Yeah … after mom and dad pay off the house and buy a Ferrari.

A lot of those waiting knew each other, mostly from other talent shows. They talked about how long those lines were and who advanced in each show. I listened in silence, wondering if I should get my middle aged ass out of there but no, I hadn’t muscled my way through busy Montreal streets just to give up.

“You’re a singer?” they’d ask while eyeing my guitar. “No, a comic,” I’d respond. “Oh,” they’d nod, “You sing funny songs?”

No … the guitar’s actually a weapon.

We stood in line an hour or so before a guy with a megaphone strode into the room and blathered on about how much talent was sure to be there. Then he gave us directions. The doors would open soon. Those auditioning would go to the right, their guests to the left. There’d be another wait. After that you’ll be directed to a table where you’ll register and then you’ll take a seat until they call the range of numbers that includes yours. From your group of 30 you’ll be divided according to your type of talent.

The doors opened and the line moved swiftly. After we separated, I ended up in front of Nicolette, a young woman dressed all in black. She had dark eyeliner surrounding her eyes with extra “eyelashes” drawn in at the edges. Glitter twinkled from her eyelids and under her eyes. Thick black dreads cascaded down her back. At first glance I thought “hard ass” but with her brilliant smile, it was clear she was anything but that. She was young but clearly a few years out of high school and after she showed me photos of her three adorable sons and told me she was a Kindermusik teacher, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit. Sure, she was born after I graduated from high school but at least I wouldn’t have to explain a rotary phone to her.

We had an easy conversation about our families, our hometowns and what we were doing for our auditions. She was singing a Boys to Men song. Bold for a woman singer but then, she was wearing glitter and as she informed me, her grandfather was a stripper. I asked if she thought that would help her win and she giggled and said no, it was just fun to tell people.

I told Nicolette that she should win because she looked like a rock star. Chuckling, she ducked her head modestly and said, “You haven’t even heard me sing yet.”

After an hour or so, it was my turn to check in. I walked up to the long table where several clerks were seated in front of laptops. After answering a few questions I asked if I was the oldest contestant that day. The 20-something woman thought for a minute and replied, “We had someone who was 54.” I was 53. Just put “grandma” on my audition form.

I was issued what looked like a bumper sticker with a huge number on it and instructed to put it on my front. I looked down at my breasts and thought, no, not there, then decided to put it just below, across my belly. I took my seat in the enormous room along with a hundred or so other hopefuls.

I sat next to the kid in the suit and his folks. Again, his mom told me that he was donating his money. Got it, thanks.

Behind us a camera crew was interviewing people. The parent next to me leaned over and said in low tones, “The kids shouldn’t know this but one of the camera crew told me that they’re interviewing the people who are going through to the next level. You’re an adult so I thought you could handle the information.” You learned that without a secret decoder ring?

We slumped in the hard plastic chairs, sipping water and mentally going through our auditions. A dance troupe ran through their moves. A girl sang into her pen, like a mike. Parents hovered and slicked back errant cowlicks. I tuned up my guitar and plowed through a few chords, just to warm up.

Another hour went by before they called my group of numbers. I gathered up my purse and guitar, and then scurried to the front of the room. A young woman with a headset and clipboard instructed anyone who wasn’t a singer to step up closer to her. Three acts moved forward. She looked at my guitar, tilted her head and scrunched her eyebrows together. “I’m a comic,” I explained. “Oh,” she replied with the weariness of someone who’s already seen a couple hundred people with guitars that day. After some dialogue with a colleague about where to send me I was told, along with a dance troupe and a skateboard artist, to follow her. The rest of our group, twenty seven singers, all kids, were told to go in another direction.

I was never so grateful to be a gray haired comic. I can’t imagine sitting in a room for eight hours and listening to nothing Alicia Keyes hopefuls.

After waiting a few more minutes, our little group was ushered into a small conference room. Half of the room was covered with a portable wood dance floor, like the kind you’d rent for a wedding reception. In an opposite corner was a long table where a pleasant faced middle aged woman in glasses sat before a laptop. Next to her was a crew member behind a huge camera. I knew the film wouldn’t be shown on TV because there were no additional lights. I had assumed that earlier and was glad it was confirmed because I hadn’t worn anything special, just the patterned jeans, white t-shirt and purple chucks I’d put on that morning.  I looked down at the chucks, wishing the left one didn’t have such a huge stain.The judge looked at me and started to open her mouth. “I’m a comic,” I said. She mouthed “Oh.”

We huddled in the corner as the friendly judge explained that she’d call each act for their audition. First up was the dance troupe. Dressed all in black and with silver make-up covering the top half of their faces, they made a striking picture. The judge started in French and laughed, probably making a joke about her language skills, then changed to English. The group looked confused but with some pointing and giggling, the judge and their spokesperson came to an understanding. Their leader held up their number and in a heavily accented voice said the name of their troupe and that they were from a small town outside of Quebec City.

The judge hit “play” on their MP3 player and they sprung into action. The twelve of them stomped and back flipped through their hip hop routine. I stood as far away as I could, clutching my precious guitar. Fortunately, none of them ended in my lap. They finished with a flourish as we applauded. They joined the rest of us in the back of the room.

My name was called next. Immediately, I had tumbleweeds blowing across the desert of my mouth. I gripped my guitar with white knuckles and took my place on the “T” taped to the floor in front of the camera. I apologized about the guitar hiding my number. The judge smiled and asked me to take it off my shirt and hold it up in front of me. “Don’t put it on your guitar” she quickly added, “Because you won’t be able to get it off.” I laughed and said, “It’s a two thousand dollar guitar. I know better than that.”

Looking straight into the camera, I spoke with authority. “Jamie Anderson, Ottawa.” I hoped the smear of liner around my left eye wasn’t too prominent. (I’m legally blind in that eye so I apply makeup by feel.  I’ve stabbed myself many times. Wonder if there’s a special ER code for that?)

“You can stand on the dance floor if you want,” the judge informed me. I looked behind me and replied, “I haven’t figured out the dance portion of my act yet.” She chuckled. Yay! I’m already making her laugh.

She asked me a few questions about where I was from and when I told her I’d recently emigrated from the states, she wanted to know what brought me here. I answered “I married a Canadian. Can I help it if you’re all attractive and intelligent?” Again, the judge laughed. The skateboard girl giggled but the dance troupe sat in stony silence.

The perfect comedy crowd.

I introduced my song by saying that it would explain a few things about moving here and then sang:

Thirty below, snow and ice, people look at me and they try to be nice / Then comes the question I dread, they look at me like I’m not right in the head / Yes, I could be in the U S of A, eating cheese in a can every day /Doing without that stuff isn’t hard, I moved to Canada for love … and a health card*  (©2011 Jamie Anderson)

I ended with a flourish, holding the last note out and raising my right hand in the air like a victory salute. The judge let out a loud guffaw, the skateboard kid giggled and the troupe just looked at me, a blank look on their faces. I added “Merci y’all!”

I smiled and strutted off the stage.

Glad that my audition was over, I relaxed into a sitting position on the floor near the dance floor. I couldn’t get to my guitar case because the troupe was standing in front of it. I gently laid the guitar on the floor in front of me.

The skateboard kid took her place in front of the camera. The music started and she jumped on the skateboard, scooted a couple of feet, jumped and missed the board, sending it skittering off into the side wall. I felt sorry for her as she missed trick after trick. For her grand finale she attempted a flip and caught only the tip of the board, sending it zooming off the stage and like an arrow to a target, directly toward my guitar.

I lunged forward, ready to throw my body over the precious instrument. Before I could there was a loud clunk. The judge immediately asked, “Is it all right?” Like a paramedic checking a car accident victim, I quickly looked it over and with a huge sigh of relief, answered, “Yes.” The skateboard kid was mortified, apologizing several times. Out loud, I assured her that it wasn’t her fault. In my head I was screaming a different response. It’s good no one in that room was auditioning as a psychic.

Just before filing out of the room we were given a sheet of paper telling us that we’d hear from them by December 15 if we were selected for the next level . Don’t call us, we’ll call you. And if you are chosen, wear the same clothing and the same make-up.

I think I’ll wash the chucks.

In spite of my stellar audition, I wasn’t chosen. The chucks are still dirty.

I saw Nicolette on the way out of her audition. She said she stumbled and had to start her song twice. I’m still crossing my fingers for her.

*Apologies to my American friends. It’s hard not to brag about free health care.

Learn to play

Did Santa bring you a new instrument? After you kiss him or her, it’s time to get down to business. Don’t expect to play like Segovia right off the bat. Get yourself a book for beginners (I like the Mel Bay books), a DVD from Homespun Tapes or take lessons. If you’re in the Ottawa area, I’d love to be your teacher. Contact me.

Be patient and remember, it takes adults longer to learn than kids. It’s not impossible, you just need to stick with it and don’t try to do too much at one time.

Practice more

We all say that, right? Studies have shown that practicing on a regular basis, even if it’s a short session, is more beneficial than a marathon four hour practice just before your lesson or gig. I tell my students that even fifteen minutes a day can help. More is better, of course, but if you can commit to only fifteen minutes a day, it’ll help you. It’s also good to make it a regular part of your day – always after work or before dinner or after the kids go to bed.

Get a better instrument

Okay, this one involves some money and after playing Santa, maybe you don’t have so much.  Start saving. Like practice, if you can put away a little at a time, it’ll make a difference.

I don’t mean that you have to go out and buy that vintage Fender. Buy an instrument that sounds better and is easier to play. Back when I was a beginner, I struggled with a guitar that had terrible action. (The strings were hard to press down.) There was no way to fix it. I thought I had to muscle through and just deal with it. Wrong. I finally broke down and bought a better guitar – still an inexpensive one but much easier to play and voila! I could play barre chords. Fortunately, my old guitar was pretty – all blond maple – so it was easy to sell. Internal beauty is more important, boys and girls.

Jam more

Playing with other musicians will always make you a better player plus it’s damn fun. Back in the days before TV and radio, that’s what folks often did at the end of the day. You can too. Go to Google and enter “music jam, your city” and see what comes up. You can get more specific and enter the type of music, like “blues jam.”

Call your friends who play. Even if it seems like you’ve got disparate tastes, give it a shot. Who says your polka playing accordion buddy wouldn’t be fun to jam with? It might do your heavy metal brain some good to get out of your box and who knows, maybe it is possible to play “Smoke on the Water” on the accordion.

Nervous about jamming? Worried you’re not good enough? Just jump in. Every jam I’ve ever been to has people of every musical level. If you’re not sure, hang out in the outer circle and play softly. Some jams have a structure – more experienced players in one room and beginners in another. Or it’s more time oriented – beginners at the start of the evening and professionals toward the end.

Learn to play ________

Whether you fill in the blank with “Blackbird” or “Highway to Hell,” take it slow. Break it down by lines or by measure. Don’t expect to get it in a day. Use a reputable tab site (I like Heartwood Guitar) or get a clear video from YouTube. While a video of the original artist is good, don’t overlook other people playing the song, especially if you can hear and clearly see their fingers. It might be a little different than the original though.

Record a song

There’s plenty of programs that’ll help you record on your computer. Or check out a local studio. Technology and me don’t mix so I hate doing that stuff myself. I usually find a nice garage studio. Ask your musician friends or just search for one. It’s extremely gratifying to hear yourself on a recording. It can make a great gift or maybe it’ll be the start of your new album.

Start a band

My old band, Broad Street.

I started another one about a year ago and I’m having an absolute blast. I found them all on Kijiji (used more in Canada than Craigs List). When writing your ad be honest about your playing ability and musical tastes. Remember that you need time to practice so if you just got a new job or had twins, you might want to wait awhile. Your future band mates will thank me.

Write a song

Never done it before? Use existing songs as a guideline. Borrow their rhyme scheme, topic and/or chords. (You can’t copyright a chord progression. Otherwise, blues music would be in Big Trouble.) Just like learning a sport you need to exercise that writing muscle so your first effort may not be something you want to sell to Beyonce but it’s a start.

If you need some help, consider a class. If you’re in Ottawa, contact me. I’ve got a class starting soon.

If you’re an experienced writer, I highly recommend 1000 Songwriting Ideas by Lisa Aschmann. A songwriting circle will also help you get your arse in gear. Don’t have one in your city? Start one. Put an ad online and go for it.

Learn a new instrument

A few years ago a friend showed me her new mandolin. She didn’t get it back for a few days. It opened up a whole new world for me and now I play it in a bluegrass band. You can do what I did and choose a related instrument – I was already a guitar player – or something completely different. If you want something that isn’t a huge challenge, try the mountain dulcimer, ukulele, hand percussion or harmonica.

What are your resolutions for the new year?

American Bandstand

Saturday mornings were reserved for perfecting my dance moves with that eternal teen Dick Clark. Because of this show, I would never embarrass myself at school dances. Or maybe I did and everyone was just polite about it.

American Idol

I know I’m going to get crap for this but it’s a show that’s brought us some truly great singers like Kelly Clarkson and Adam Lambert. I wish desperate contestants would stop sobbing about music being their life but that’s why God invented DVRs.

Andy Griffith Show

It’s Andy’s fault that I’m a bluegrass fan. The Darlin’s – real life band The Dillards – were featured in many episodes. Andy played a pretty good guitar too.

Austin City Limits

One of the greatest live music shows. They skipped Elvis and featured awesome lesser-known artists like blues artist Susan Tedeschi:

Dolly Parton Show

Who doesn’t love Dolly? She sings the heck out of every song, writes killer songs and can play the banjo with glamour-length nails. Here she is with Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt

Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert

It was worth waiting up past my bedtime on Saturdays. He featured all the greats – Kansas, Johnny Winter, The Police – and then some.

Ed Sullivan

The Beatles! My dad was disgusted by their boots and hair but I thought they were dreamy. Ed had lots of other great performers too – the Jackson Five, Doors, Stones and yes, Nancy Sinatra.

Glee

I’ll get rapped on the knuckles for this one too but I just can’t help myself. I fast forward through the syrupy ballads but I love the mash-ups and the dance numbers. I have to pinch myself when I see the gay plot lines. Who thought we’d see two swishy teenagers dancing around “their” living room singing a Christmas song? Dorothy, I don’t think we’re in 1980 anymore.

Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour

What can I say? I’m a sucker for shellacked hair and musical guests like Cher, Linda Ronstadt, Anne Murray and Johnny Cash.

Gong Show

I loved Gene Gene the Dancing Machine, the Unknown Comic and judges like Jaye P Morgan and Artie Johnson. Not all the acts were cringe worthy. Steve Martin played some mighty fine banjo on one show. One year the winner was a four woman band called The LA Lacers. They wore gym clothes (Get it?) and played some pretty good funk/pop:

Mandrell Sisters

I love me some Barbara, Louise and Irlene. Their harmonies were seamless and they certainly knew their way around a lot of instruments. Irlene was no Buddy Rich but she had great comedic timing. I loved the performances where they’d jump around, switching to several instruments in one performance. Barbara is a killer pedal steel player and she’s not too shabby on the banjo either. Here they are on “Dueling Banjos.” Who knew a xylophone was a bluegrass instrument?

The Monkees

Swoon. Say what you will about their cornball TV show, it was popular and included some great songs like “Daydream Believer” and “Last Train to Clarksville.” Here they are with Bobby Sherman:

The Muppets

“It’s time to play the music …” This show still makes me laugh my ass off. They had great musical guests like Elton John, Kris Kristofferson and Julie Andrews. Here’s Animal in a drum contest with Buddy Rich. Animal killed it.

Partridge Family

It’s my dream to master the tambourine this well:

Rainbow Quest with Pete Seeger

This was a little known show from the late 60’s that featured folk, blues and country musicians like Brownie McGhee, the Stanley Brothers, Tom Paxton, Judy Collins, and Johnny Cash. Here’s Pete with  Elizabeth Cotton, doing her well-known “Freight Train”

The Sing Off

Beautiful voices and nothing but. It’s so refreshing to hear live singing that’s this amazing.

Smothers Brothers

Comedy AND folk music? Where do I sign up? Here they are with Donovan and Peter Paul and Mary:

Sonny and Cher

Cher always had the upper hand and looked fabulous. Here’s rock band Fanny on a 1971 show. I had the pleasure of interviewing the members not long ago and they told me this segment was taped ahead of time, without an audience. They put rubber mats on the drums so they wouldn’t make too much noise so the rest of the band could hear the tracks well enough to lip sync.

Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour

Back when TV was all black and white, they offered a glimpse of some amazing talent including a seven year old Gladys Knight and Ann Margaret at sixteen.  Here’s an eight year old Irene Cara:

The Voice

Better than American Idol, it lost some steam toward the end but I love that there’s no age limit. While they had their share of beautiful young pop singers, they didn’t shy away from performers like older rocker  Beverly McClellan. It’ll be interesting to see where this show goes.

So what did I miss? What was your favorite TV show? If I can admit to loving the Monkees, surely you can fess up too.

*************

Thanks to my Facebook friends for their great suggestions.