We have probably all read stories of a memorable teacher or coach that transformed a young person’s life. Often, when I hear someone’s testimonial, they talk of either a pivotal life lesson learned or the importance of a teacher’s consistent presence. Both are worthy of recognition, recollection even celebration.
A few months back I bought a new classical guitar; nothing exceptional, nor expensive. My local music store had a matte finish, low end, but solid top Yamaha classical guitar that fit the bill.It’s been a joy to play many days each week and get the ol’ Noad-method book out and crank back up my sight reading and fingerpicking. Playing the Yamaha got me remembering my music teachers, or at least most of them. First, apologies to the band director in 6th grade in upstate New York who taught me clarinet. I’m sure he endured serious sqwaking from my split reed embouchure. That was 9 months of sonic pain I think we should all forget; I’m fairly certain my playing was full on disrespect to Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw.
Years later, like when I was about15 years old, guitar-everything arrives when Jeff Rains enters my story. He was a seminary student who my folks invited to Sunday lunch at our house, a lot. He was working his way through grad school teaching guitar lessons.
Yes, please!
My dad put up $50 and Jeff found a low end, terrible action, cheapie-doo, used Hondo guitar at his guitar shop.
Hondo, not Honda.
Hondo.
Then most Sunday afternoons Jeff gave me a legit guitar lesson. Nearly 40 years later, I am so grateful for the gift of those lessons.
After Jeff graduated and moved away and our family moved West, I felt like I should keep taking formal lessons. Alas, another name eludes me. Second apologies to the old Texas-country-picking kat who taught me guitar lessons during my last year of high school while we lived in the DFW area. He was a good enough dude, just not hair metal enough for my dreams at 17.
But then came college. My college days are all an enlivening memory from literally the first day, freshman orientation, when a sweet young lady liked my t-shirt. Sarah liked the band I was repping and here we are nearly 35 years later. College-love-music-dreams-songwriting-church music work-selling guitars-teaching lessons-choral training—all of it was possible because some great people trained me during those years.
Jimmy Turner not only introduced me to classical guitar playing, but was willing to jump in the car and play low pay Christmas shows with me year after year. As I recall, he signed me up to play in classical guitar competitions even when I knew I was waaay outmatched but I learned the beauty of that rich tradition. Again, I’m loving this new Yamaha and picking into those chops again.
“Miss Sandy” Bruce gave me a few voice lessons in my early Wesley College days and was then able to turn me over to JD Longmire! Let it be clearly known—I had no classical, serious music aspirations or inklings; but JD made my ears tune in and decide to listen. Week after week he’d walk into our lesson swiggin’ a Diet Mountain Dew or as he called it “nectar of the gods” and he’d open my heart, mind and ears to another beautiful aria for this baritone to conquer. His training eventually led me to Belhaven College and even a couple of chorus performances with Mississippi Opera.
Jimmy and I kept guitaring while at Belhaven, but it was there that the vocal training got serious, first with Arlen Clarke for a year then with Ouida Bass for the remainder of my college time. My choral experience in college was mostly guided by Dr Angie Willoughby and those choir tours, Christmas shows and even kilt-wearing Scottish concerts were all important to me. I still keep a picture or two from those days on my phone.
Back to the one-on-one voice training…Ms Ouida was a local operatic force in her time. When she became my main voice professor I was in my early 20s while she was probably in her early 70s. Her opera performing career was long over when we met, but her ability to teach was still spot on. I’m remembering her as only about 5 feet tall, white hair bunned up on her head and big round black framed glasses. She’d have to look up to me, of course, but it was always with a bit of wink and finger-wagging command. She knew I had a voice and she kept pushing me. I still have the vhs-converted-to-dvd of my senior recital and any time I watch it I’m a bit amazed all that sound (and foreign language) came out of my cords and lungs. Ouida taught me that.
A light hearted but true Belhaven side note worthy of recounting is about my piano training with Dr Roy Stillwell. Me and the piano have a jerky relationship. I can chord, I can one hand melody, but true two handed playing never took. Dr Stillwell was the organ professor who took all the non-piano students through their piano paces. God bless that man for what he had to listen to week after week from me. In my 2nd required semester of piano, after weeks of disjointed scale running and sight reading, Dr Stillwell looked at me, kinda defeated but honest and said “Joal, you have a wonderful voice and you’re skilled on the guitar. Piano is not your instrument. I’m giving you an A. Don’t come back for anymore lessons.” He was right on all counts and I obeyed.
Lastly, years later, living in Nashville, I was less formally schooled in many ways just playing in the church band. Lots of great players volunteered and would often share insights with me. Songwriting groups and jammin’ with friends also brought new, valuable direction.
Because of Jeff, JD and Ouida especially, my developed gifts have helped me lead church worship services, sing love songs at weddings and songs of peace at funerals. I still sing love songs to my lady and I remember taking my guitar into the NICU to play to Julian days after his arrival. Most days, though, I play and sing for my own soul-soothing; I play and sing because I can.
The voice is a bit raspier these days.
The fingers need some more time with that Yamaha to regain nimbility, if that’s truly a word.
I am grateful for all the music teacher memories.
Blessings to those still singing & playing, rest in peace to those who have gone on.
Your efforts mattered to me.
For the past few weeks I’ve been re-reading and listening to this Psalm daily. It came back to the top of my mental playlist because of a new release from Charlie Peacock. Take a second and go spin “Get Yourself Some” and you’ll hear one of the gentlest, 23rd-esque invitations you’ve probably ever heard!
There are a handful of other, really good tunes centered around King David’s lyric like CeCe Winans’ “Shepherd” and cover of “Goodness of God”, the gorgeous acoustic rendering by Michael Olson some 20 years ago and young Leanna Crawford’s new work “Still Waters”. I’ve started a playlist simply called Psalm 23 so I can readily access reminders time and time again.
