I went to a jam session for the first time two weeks ago. I am still laughing because I think my guitar was the real star of my show, not me. All the other musicians couldn’t get enough of my little four string wonder.
Yes, you read right – four strings. I had tried my best to master a six-string guitar. I even got pretty good with the C, G and D chords. But I could never get the F chord or any other chord that required much skill.
This has been a lifelong problem for me. In band, I turned down the sax, clarinet and flute because it had all these keys to figure out. It required too much coordination in my opinion. The trumpet? Just three valves to push. How easy was that?
It wasn’t. It took a long time to become decent enough on trumpet to make it past last chair. The French horn was equally difficult, but I was never lower than third chair because that’s all the French horn players we had.
I never had the patience to learn the piano, or enough fingers. I still don’t understand how people can play a piano or organ – the math just doesn’t seem to work out. I marvel at people who can do it, but I can’t even conceive of playing piano unless I woke up one morning with 88 fingers.
Now, I am the first to admit that I am a mediocre musician. I just never wanted to put the time into learning how to play an instrument at the level of professionals. Ani DiFranco puts me to shame in the tenor guitar department, I freely admit.
So there I was, at a jam session. If you’ve never been to one, here’s how they work. You all sit around in a circle. You don’t sing Kumbaya, at least no one has tried yet, but you do go around in a circle and everyone sings a song they enjoy playing.
I initially found that quite exuberant. Everyone was so talented. I did notice in the first song I did that I may not quite understand all the nuances of a “jam session.” I guess for me it was more of a “ham session.” After I finished Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” the entire bar erupted in applause. It was the only applause of the night.
I didn’t think it would be wise to go to the well twice, so I held back and did some songs that had less audience appeal.
I am still amazed at the talent there. I’m just not sure I fit into a jam situation. After 30 years of being the lead, I find it hard to step back and let others take the stage. It’s not that I have some ego or anything – as I said, compared to these guys I am an absolute hack on an instrument. But I am a solid showman. It’s in my DNA to sing and perform my heart out. In truth, it’s probably to compensate for the lack of musicianship, at least on the guitar.
I liked it enough to come back the next week. My friend Pierre showed up too. This time there were twice as many musicians, so it didn’t seem as fun. In some respects I was glad there were so many because I didn’t have to do as many songs. I could just play along to my heart’s content and when in the mood, dabble in some harmonies, which I love to sing.
But it became more evident that I wasn’t very jam-oriented. First, I didn’t know that you’re supposed to lift your foot when you’re going to end a song. I always know when the song is going to end, and it usually includes some looping in chords to let the rest of my band know we’re about to stop playing. We don’t lift feet in my band. But I guess you do when you’re jamming. It’s an unwritten rule.
There seems to be other rules, none of which I can figure out. One of them is that you’re supposed to not sing at various times to let the musicians have a chance to play solos. Well, in 30 years in our group, we haven’t had a single solo, except when Reuben or Nigel were around and they would play the solo in A Pirate Looks at 40.
There’s a reason for this. When you’re playing in a bar, no one really wants to hear a solo. First, without amplification, no one will hear it anyway. Except for those seated right next to you, the rest of the room is only going to hear a bunch of guitars suddenly playing softly. Obviously, someone forgot the words. That is what a solo sounds like in my performing world – someone, most of the time me, forgot the words.
Each time my turn comes around, in a ham session, I sing what I know, and do it the way I’ve learned it and probably played it for 30 years. In the middle, I will remember that I should play well with others and let them have a chance to solo. As I play, I desperately try to find a way to segue into a solo opportunity, but I have learned everything by rote. I have no idea how to improvise chording to move into an instrumental.
So, I don’t seem to be jam material. At least not on a four-string. I have thought about regressing and getting a washtub. I even went shopping for one during the weekend. But I’m just not sure. I’m afraid that eventually I will end up giving a newbie to jam night a dressing down for not building in a gut bass solo into his song. I should call it instead a so-low, because that’s how far into the gutter I will have gone as a performer.
In the Emerald City, knowing darn well that I really don’t play well with others,
– Robb