I believe that Jonny began playing the guitar around third grade.  He had a kindly teacher named Erica (who as it turned out was a Cajun Zydeco musician) and she started him off with some simple Beatles tunes, which he mastered quickly.  (The only one which comes to mind is “In my life”.)  He played on a nylon-stringed three/quarter sized acoustic guitar, which he enjoyed.

After about a year, Jonny asked us to buy him a new guitar, an electric.  I was surprised by this request, because I somehow assumed that he would be playing Beatles, James Taylor, and folk-rock all of his life (in other world, all my favorites).  Electric guitar was a break from this path, which I came to accept after I saw Jonny’s enthusiasm for it.

Purple Haze

Our most memorable experience with Jonny’s electric music came five years later, at an eighth grade assembly at Shady Hill.  Jonny had told us that he would be playing in a small combo, but that was all the information we had.  We arrived in time to sit near the front.

Of course, Jonny’s act came last.  We got more nervous as the time approached.  Finally, Jonny and his two classmates took the stage.  One sat down behind the drum kit, the other strapped on a bass guitar, and Jonny donned his electric.  Jonny was dressed neatly in a Carol-pressed white shirt and a thin tie.  He looked amazingly calm.

After some tuning and preliminaries, there was a pregnant pause, followed by a soft “one two three four…”  Then out came the loud, distorted, overcranked chords of Jimi Hendrix’ rock anthem Purple Haze.   It was GREAT!  There were no vocals, but the band’s vigorous playing made up for it.  The audience went crazy.  At the end all of the kids mobbed the stage.  (I have a visual memory of Jonny being carried over people’s heads as in a mosh pit, but I am reasonably sure that this is manufactured.)  We were beaming.  I leaned over to Carol  and said “This is the greatest moment of my life!”

Jonny was in the process of applying to David’s prep school, a school which had a tradition of not accepting siblings.  I asked Jonny to burn a CD of Purple Haze, and I hand-carried it to the admissions department of the school.  I don’t know if this had anything to do with Jonny’s acceptance there, but what adult over thirty does not like Jimi Hendrix?

The day after Thanksgiving

Years later, when Jonny was in college, we were invited by his friend Jamie’s family to an annual music-making event which was held on the day after Thanksgiving.  The music selection was eclectic, with jazz and acoustic folk leading the way.  Jonny brought his childhood nylon-stringed three-quarter sized guitar.  My flute was broken (and unused), so I went along for the ride.

When we arrived there was an impressive array of instruments: guitars, a fiddle, a xylophone, a ukulele, an electric piano, and various handheld percussion instruments.  The crowd was also eclectic, but dominated by the my-aged over-fifty crowd.  There was at least one professional musician, a thin guy with a goatee who played very well on a variety of instruments.

The group was focusing on jazz standards, most of which I did not know.  (Stormy weather comes to mind).  However, Jonny eased in and quickly became part of the central group.  (I asked him later how he knew these old songs.  “Jesse (his guitar teacher) taught them to us.”

I sang along with some songs that I knew, which made me feel less like an outsider, and I watched Jonny pick up steam with Mr. Goatee (I do not remember his name).  Soon they were jamming happily, with participation from other members of the group when they knew the song.  Every once in a while they took a break and one of the regulars would sing a song or tell a story.

The evening stretched past midnight, and Jonny lay on his back on the living room floor improvising solo on his guitar.  The rest of the group was also on its back on the floor in a pleasantly comatose state, hypnotized by the music.  I could not believe that this was happening, and I pinched myself to make sure it was not a dream.

Finally a little after one o’clock the group split up.  The tremolo player disassembled his instrument, an imposing process, and the rest of the group stood around and chatted in a relaxed, friendly manner.  Many of them came over and thanked Jonny for his contribution to  the evening.

As is his way, Jonny took this all in stride.  He had gone into another space where the music just flowed out of him.  As his dad, I had a pride which was born of ego. (After all, I must have done something right to have such a talented son.)  But Jonny was ego-less, a conduit for the music.  I have had this experience once or twice in my life, but I have not been able to keep the feeling going.  Maybe I can learn it from my son…