Published April 7, 2025

This machine kills fascists. I probably won’t write that on my new guitar, but I’ll probably buy some stickers and put them somewhere close to it. Maybe on the case when I can buy one.

You know who Woody Guthrie was, right? Boy, would he be pissed off right now.

This land was made for you and me.

My goodness, the songs. Look them up. They’ll keep you busy.

If he were around today, he’d be writing about the dumbass-ification we see in politics every day. He’d go after them all.

That’s from Chuck D.

Woody had fun, too. He didn’t just kill fascists.

You owe it to yourself to listen to that. It should start at the right place, but if it doesn’t, steer it to the 5:56 mark. Trust me.

Like I said, I have a guitar again

The Seagull guitar is the first regular guitar I’ve bought since 1981. I bought a couple of Martin parlor guitars 25 years ago and gave them to my nephew, a more accomplished guitarist than I’ll ever be.

My favorite story about playing guitar goes back to when I played in church every Sunday. One of the members of our group played an album for me at his house, focusing on one song in particular.

The live version, which he played for me, is not on YouTube. It’s my favorite version, slower and more sparse than the version above. There are videos of other people playing the song, but no videos I can find of the live version.

We played instrumentals during parts of the Mass, and I was always looking for something new to play. When I heard the concert version of John Pell’s song, I told my friend, “I want to learn it and play it in church someday.”

He was skeptical.

“If you could play like that,” he said, “you wouldn’t be playing here with us.”

It sounded like a challenge.

I couldn’t figure it out

At first, I was stumped. My fingers and limited guitar knowledge couldn’t make it happen.

I’d been rewinding the song back to the part after the spoken introduction, when Pell began playing it for real, and I continued to be frustrated. Then one day I started it from the beginning, and I heard something along with Joe Wise’s intro.

 

I didn’t know about open tunings, so this blew my mind. Pell was lowering the top E string down to a D note. I suspected he may have changed the A string below it down to a G.

Tinkering with it, I was on my way.

To someone like me, it was as if someone had given me a typewriter with a DVORAK key configuration instead of the more standard QWERTY arrangement and expected me to be able to type normally. This was the guitar version of that for me. Guitar without a map.

I practiced and practiced until it was “good enough,” as close as I could get it, with me able to play it without mishap. The song sounds better on a nylon-string guitar than one with steel strings, so I needed to borrow my friend’s nylon-string Ovation guitar to debut the song. I picked a Sunday when I was ready and didn’t tell anyone what I’d be playing.

He looked puzzled when I changed the tuning of the guitar. This was going to be fun.

I played it without a hitch

The congregants got their host, the body of Christ, and went back to their seats. While they reflected in the pews, I began playing the song.

I never looked at my friend, and I don’t recall if he ever said anything to me about it, but his respect for my musicianship seemed to jump up a notch or two.

After being doubted that I could ever “play like that,” I stuck around and kept playing at the church. Didn’t take my guitar and head off seeking fame and fortune. I did stop playing for years at a time, and with fatter, tired hands and fingers now, relearning will be hard.

And I face another challenge.

I’ve got to learn how to play with longer, manicured fingernails.

But hey, Dolly Parton does it, right? And she recorded her first record in my hometown, riding a bus for hours to do so, so this will work out, yes?

Anyway, if I am going to stay alive, I’m going to need something to do to distract me from the  horrors between sleeps and while I try to recover as my leave from work continues. Find yourself a way to survive the madness.

I won’t likely ever dazzle anyone again with my guitar-playing ability, but I can maybe kill fascists, yes? She’s finally ready to play, so here’s one last look at her.

I was so excited when I found out it was ready to play, the action all set for my tired old fingers, and the neck was straight. Good to go.

The excitement got the best of me, and the man who brought me lunch saw me trying to spring back to life. Poor man, he was so flustered.

Wouldn’t you have been?

Sending love.

♥

Thank you

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Photo looking down a guitar neck by Nik Waller Productions via Shutterstock.

Photo of a woman tuning a guitar by Vitalii Stock via Shutterstock.

Photo of a person with nail polish on their fingernails by Serge Vo via Shutterstock.

Postscript

Two summers ago, I thought of my friend from the folk group for the first time in many years. I searched his name online and learned he’d died the week before. It was a blow.

He was protective of me, and generous with his time and help. And despite how this “I’ll show him” story might read, I have only fond memories of him.

Remember some of us sitting around playing “Seagull?” There’s no relationship that I know of, but it makes me smile that this guitar is a Seagull.

Rest in peace, Freddie.