At the pinnacle of a mind-blowing concert, inevitably, unconsciously, you are covered in sweat and flailing hair with fists raised in the air before Gods of Rock. As they reach into your twisted heart and release untapped depths of angst into ecstatic fucking union, your hands form a shape of devil horns. Index and little fingers outstretched while the shared tendons of the middle and ring fingers contract inward toward the palm.
September 18 marks the 43rd anniversary of Jimi Hendrix’s death. In my last few blogs I’ve been appealing to the mystic side of the guitar-playing community and feel it's safe to say that between the un-ending variations of deified imagery of Jimi, we all acknowledge Jimi Hendrix as high priest of the Muse.
In my last column, I left off encouraging shaking up "ordinary" life routines as a way of tricking oneself into unblocking and remaining inspired. For example, brushing your teeth with the opposite hand, switching the knife and fork hands, washing yourself in the opposite direction of habit, etc.
In my last post, I purposely tried to push the buttons of technique junkies (such as myself) by saying, "No one remembers technicians, only great musicians!" In this week’s post, I’d like to back this up and focus on how to properly respect your potentially magnificent role as "instrument for the muse."
I thought we could kill two birds with one stone if we focused on recalling our earliest musical influences. This way, I can give you a feeling of where I’m coming from and will encourage you to dig into your own early musical influences and possibly have a clearer idea of where your musical voice was first formed.