The Hardest Part

Some days it’s like driving nails, some days like chopping wood, some days as perfect as skipping a stone all the way across a pond, some days as tedious as threading a sewing machine, some days as clumsy as squirting a watermelon seed between your thumb and forefinger, some days power, some days defeat, some days romance, some days pain, some days as if I’ve always done it and some days as if I never have, but it’s always my right hand. Holding a foreign object in my right hand with enough pressure to keep it in place but enough flexibility to give it room to move on the strings, to change from a caress to a shove in an instant and back again is one of the most dumbfounding, frustrating, rewarding and exhilarating things I’ve ever done, and all this in an effort to make music and tell a story. Well okay, sometimes it’s strictly for a frolic, not always serious as all that. But it remains a mystery as to how it works so well some days and so poorly the next.

Over the past 48+ years of playing stringed instruments I’ve gone from not knowing enough about what I’m doing to even think about how to hold a pick or use it to the point of getting something working that I could at least consistently make a sound with and then learned enough to know I could be better and started paying attention to what the great players in my mind were/are doing. After that I got to a point where I was somewhat accomplished and understood how to get better still in my right hand technique and actually be musical when it was all working, but then I went to work for a strong charismatic personality that created such a huge blank canvas that needed filling with a lot of new things I wasn’t exposed to that I completely disregarded the right hand work and went in search of sounds and harmony until it all came to an end about 6 years down the line and I started back doing some of the other things I had been doing only to find out my hand had been ‘trained’ to do something else and I had to re-train myself all over again. Argh. It was not without a lot of struggling and frustration and self-loathing that I had let myself slide so far backwards (but I learned other things in the meantime). In the process of relearning I got a lot better sense of how I want to do things and actually the differences in one style of right hand and the other, so I guess it was not a loss but merely a delay. So for the next nearly 20 years it has gone relatively smoothly overall. But I have noticed some changes along the way.

As time has gone by and I’ve gotten to know some of the other players it dawns on me that I’m not the only one who is making ‘adjustments’. In the beginning my middle, ring, and pinky fingers stuck pretty much straight out as a matter of course with only my thumb and index finger holding the pick. This was not the nice posed right hand posture you will see on any number of early WSM artist photos. Seems like the right hand coach came through and taught everybody how to hold a pick or maybe it was only the ‘photo grip’. But pretty much the majority of mandolin players and guitar players had the same hold. No, mine was way more reckless and inefficient with the pinky dragging the top (as evidenced by the gouge in the top from my pinky fingernail mining wood). My pinky remains a problem child today which is why I went back to using a pick guard. At this point I count at least three different but similar right hand postures I’ve used. I’m not the only one. Some of the other boys and girls in the mandolin trade have made noticeable changes to their right hand postures whether through trying to improve or to adapt to aging or deal with injuries or following advice or Lord knows what else. At this point in time I’m not of a mind to think that once you get your right hand grip working you’re done with that bit. No way. Let’s take the Father of Blue Grass for instance…

There are ample photos of Bill Monroe out there on the internet to see how his right hand grip changed over the years. Big changes going on and I’ve wondered how much each grip change was responsible for the sound that went with the era, how much of a part it played, which came first. He seemed to still have that loose finger dangle thing going on from the duet days with Charlie on up through the classic blue grass band in the 1946 era, sometimes a tighter fist and a tighter sound (looks like there was a major shift in here someplace after all that fiery/angry phase in the 50’s. I think the old man played his hands out and had to change his grip to survive) and then after that there was the pronounced middle finger leading the way and on to the neat fanned-back fingers in the later days. Of course, Monroe was full of contradictions to any rule assigned to him and I’ve had my own theories dashed on the rocks enough times to know better than to say Bill did this or that because he’s always proved me wrong. Bill seemed to still play alright up until his last days, but it’s very evident he didn’t have the dexterity and power he once had and his style shows adaptations and a very impressionistic take on melodies to compensate for it. But none the less impressive and playing it smart he did.

The aging thing has flat snuck up on me, mostly this year. Aching hands, joints showing signs of wear, osteo arthritis (very common in any trade where you use your hands this much apparently, but I can’t understand how I got it in my big toe. Too much toe tapping I guess. That’s what I get.), tingling fingers, muscle cramps. Now it takes hours of playing to get warmed up and feeling like I can hold my own instead of an hour or so. Still, when my hands are working it’s worth the work to get them there. Nothing like it. And I feel like I play better now than I did even with the aggravation and at least I know more about what I like. But I do wonder how everybody else is fairing, you know? The old saying, “If I’d known I was going to live this long I’d have taken better care of myself” comes to mind often enough. I have learned to be a lot more appreciative now and not take for granted what I have. I don’t assume anymore that I’m immune to the problems that come with the trade because it is proving me to have been foolhardy. I’m wondering at this point if there are supplements or exercises or diet changes or something I can do to reverse some of the effects of wear and tear. Time to check into it.

People find so many different ways to play notes. They rub the notes out, peck at them like a chicken pecking the ground, play with a scooping right hand, hook ‘em from the top, pick leaning left or leaning right, flat on the strings, drive from the wrist, locked wrist and drive from the elbow, drive from the shoulder/neck (lots of medical bills to follow, but go ahead), on the bridge, off the bridge, plant, don’t plant, two-finger grip, three-finger grip, finger tips, knuckles, etc. Beings I tend to do things pretty much one way, I wonder if all these other variants bring so much unpredictable outcome. Maybe I should change. Nah.

As far as use, I can’t tell if it’s focus or fitness that makes it work, or in the case of somebody like Monroe, that all-important lack of doubt. Probably all three. I’ve noticed sometimes there is a delay, sort of like the one you experience when you mash down on the gas pedal and nothing happens, then picks up. Just a micro-second hesitation but noticeable enough to make a difference. Must be the ‘linkage’ wearing out. I had my elbows popped back into place and that seemed to stop it some. And sometimes I get to thinking about something else while I’m playing or practicing and catch myself not paying attention. I’ve always been bad about daydreaming but I think that’s a little ridiculous. I’m sure that the day to day events play a bigger role in concentration and execution than is commonly considered too. I’m sure anybody that has been playing music for a while (or pursuing any other kind of art) has been in a situation where they weren’t really thinking about it too hard and things just happen, the muse seems to be at work and sounds/phrases/inspirations come that feel as if they weren’t of conscious origin although there was no effort made to improvise or create something new. It came regardless. And it’s good. But I don’t look at that as the same thing as not paying attention. On the other hand, there are times when practicing technique just will not yield apparent results and you get nothing but sore digits. So none of it really makes sense. All I know is that I don’t know and that now I’m starting to ramble and have come to no conclusion except that it’s really hard to play well, which I’m sure comes as no surprise to anybody.

I need to practice playing now and practice typing less. Let’s see how that works out.

Life is good. MC