Banjo Sunday

I tried the banjo for the first time tonight. What a complex instrument. They always show it in the hands of backwoods idiots in stereotypical portrayals, but I am here to tell you that the instrument is not for the faint-of-heart.

I think I might love it.

I have always liked the way it sounds. There's something about the register of it that I find lovely in the right hands, Bela Fleck, Noam Pikelny, Gregory List, and those who truly love it, innovate with it. I don't know if I can teach myself to play it, or even learn it without a teacher. There are a bunch of bluegrass guys at my church, and I might get myself an inexpensive banjo, a starter banjo if you will, and go hang out with them.

It's been years since I played a stringed instrument, and they always feel so foreign in my hands. The banjo, I have to say, feels less so than any I've held. It almost feels...right. The guitar never has. I have always felt like I was fighting with it, trying to get it cradled on my body correctly, wishing that the calluses weren't necessary, and absolutely loathing the sound of them being tuned, that horrible bending of notes and pitches caused by turning the tuning keys. I love to hear guitar played, but I don't like being the one doing it. Maybe the banjo is my stringed instrument.

I feel a little funny taking up a whole new instrument here at thirty-three. I don't know why. The age thing shouldn't matter at all. I guess there is never any better time to start something new than right now, also. Maybe if I can figure out those darn finger rolls, I can at least learn to play with the guys at church and gain a new appreciation for Bela, Pickles, and the rest of those amazing artists I already enjoy.