I'm in Austin Texas and we're filming with a local musician named Danny Malone, last night was the first session in week of shooting. Last week we were in Nashville with "Carolina Story" and next week we'll be in LA. Our goal? capture the creative process in writing a song - One Musician, One Guitar, One Song, One week.
"Music" is the most inadequate of all nouns, it doesn't even come close to describing what music is. Music should be on the Periodic Table as "Mu". I say that because a good musician has the power to change the temperature of the room by simply playing and singing. I've seen that first hand in the past week and to put a lens on it is the gift of a lifetime.
But, to move forward I have to move back a few months back.
In October of 2013 I was selling a couple of my guitars to make room for a new Bass...There's no pleasure that equals acquiring a new instrument but nothing sadder than one that sits unplayed so maintaining a balance is always a juggling act. Also, I like being married on most days and my marriage can't tolerate another instrument. I could have an illegitimate child and seven secret wives before bringing home "another guitar".
When selling a guitar on Craig's List you meet a lot of interesting people - strangers at first but really a latent family of like-biased souls, all chasing and trying to capture the essence of music. There's a code amongst most lifelong guitar players..something intangible but it transcends, it's one of the unspoken bonuses of playing music.
As a cinematographer, I've been looking to shoot something of my own, something that had my finger prints all over it, something that wouldn't be compromised by anyone who foots the bill in my professional life. It was prudent to do something that I know intimately. I had a desire to reach but wasn't sure what for.
On a Saturday morning Larry Pitts showed up at my front door.an older guy, a life veteran, a firm hand shake and direct eye to eye contact..unflinching wisdom and hard won inner-peace, medium brown skin and a slight southern draw. It's always a gamble to let a stranger in your house, in your dining room, but as soon as he got out of his car and smiled at me I knew that he was someone to know and trust.I had my amp ready to go - louder than I normally play so that he could hear all the subtle tones buried in the guitar. 1982 Fender Stratocaster.
He started playing and it was as if Les Paul or Wes Montgomery walked into my living room..he gave the guitar a life and a voice that I WOULD NEVER be able to do in this lifetime. It's like someone making your loved ones laugh louder than you can, or culling a secret from someone you've known for 5 minutes.
The temperature in the room changed..Finley stopped playing video games to see who was making the glorious racket..my neighbor Tom text me.."who the hell is that playing?" I was even ready to face the grumpy neighbor who had complained about my less than glorious noise a few times before. Larry played faster and faster and whipped the room of two into a frenzy. I felt both inspired and inadequate at the same time.
He suddenly stopped. "WheW" This sounds good Dave - "You know who the best guitar in the room is ? The one who has the most fun!" (incredible because most guitarist are competitive - he had simply moved past that stage in his life and was in sharing mode)
He then started spouting homespun, profound one liners, his own language and perspective, formed by years of living and playing. A 6 string poet who was content in life. Fame and attention were of no interest to him. He simply played for the joy of playing and had a weekly gig at his church. As he kept talking and brighting my life, changing the chemical makeup of my house and life I had one thought and one only..
"Why am I not rolling?"
more to come......
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