Descending the Harmonic Minor

One
two
three
four

“We used to open for Styx, this had to have been over thirty years ago,”

G Em
Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in the
C
bones of a setting sun, all dust and stone and

moribund.


“Here try it like this,”
I can’t get the bar chords. I've had lessons with Glen for six months now and I still can't get bar chords as well as I should. The song starts easy enough but the second we get to the F Major my strings fret out. I just have to press harder. The wall at the back of the guitar studio Is filled with the past, God knows how many, years worth of Guitar World Magazines. As the faces of rockstars, from Keith Richards to Flea, stare at me from there issue covers I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
“You just have to practice more,”
I nod.
“Well that’s all for today, and do you have this months payment,”
I hand over fifty six dollars.
“See you next week.”
It dawns on me as I walk past the poster of his old band "WaaZoo" that, despite the fact that he will be making money off me, a man as Passionate as he is about his art must hate teaching me.

“our name was WaaZoo, and we toured with Styx in our last year,”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle
G
for a New Year's Day.

The the towers of St. Mary's Basilica, are graceful spires overlooking the great square of Old Town Krakow. Every hour you can hear the Hejnal trumped from the taller of the Basilica's two towers. It ends abruptly on it's broken note, to commemorate the Trumpeter of Krakow, Shot through the throat by, of all things, a Mongol arrow.
Here the city is all a bustle with tourists, street performers, and Polish nationals out shopping or working in the many modern locals operating within building over 500 years old. A traveler might focus on the gothic architecture of the buildings and laugh at the name of the tavern "Under the Ram" until stumbling face first into an American who could have starred in a National Lampoon movie. I pretend to not speak English as he asks me where his kids can get a hotdog. If he did know that I spoke english he would want to talk to me, and tell me how strange Polish people are because they don't speak english, and I wouldn't want him to have to explain to his children what a douche bag is.
I head west, behind St. Mary's Basilica. Here things are quite, only a few people, a couple taverns, and a small fountain. Polish taverns will serve you beer with a little raspberry syrup in it, unless you say no. They also have a shot, it’s name translates into Rabid Dog, and it’s a double shot of vodka, half shot of raspberry syrup, and a few drops of tabasco sauce... it’s deliciously violent going down.
When the sunlight is trying to cascade down the buildings but only actually makes it half way from the southern wall of the cathedral to to the table that your sitting at outside of the tavern, your probably better off drinking hot tea with the shot of cream liqueur. Here the sound of the come and go of the great square is turned to a soft mumble by the old buildings, and tight roads amplify the echos from within. Further down two men are playing guitars. two nuns stop in an archway whispering to one another. The players' facial stubble blurs what might be a tan with what might be dust from across Europe. I sit back, fill my pipe...

(RECORD SCRATCH)

“dude you smoke a pipe?”
“yea, since, like, junior year in high-school, now stop interrupting,”

(and spin)

“why did you guys stopped touring?”

Em
I sat and watched it

burn away
C
Then turned and

weaved through the

slow decay.

"Just practice hammers and pulloffs for ten minutes each day."
I’m catching on quick, as always, but then I just hit a wall. I don’t want to tell him that I’m playing video games instead of practicing, “I’m piled under with homework,” (final Fantasy IX has gripping story).
Why can't I focus, I ask myself. After a year of lessons with someone as good as Glen I should be far more advanced than i am now. When I hear the CD all I can think about is being on stage again, Screaming death metal, at a crowd, but even then I’m not playing guitar, I only do that when I hear classical music, and those dreams don’t involve crowds. We’re not working on that same song anymore, I just hope the F major doesn’t come up again. As he explains to me that I all it takes is is an hour each day, pick five fingering techniques, do each for ten minutes and then work on a song for ten minutes. I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
I want to be a musician. I know I do, don't tell me I can't. When I picked up the guitar I was better than most of my friends who were in bands... but I don't get any better, I play, but I should practice.

“Well, we actually were offered a record deal with Geffin”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle.


The pipe smoke rolls inside my mouth like an intangible word, a word I don't want to let out. I inhale for a second, it’s something you know you shouldn’t do. the buzz comes on. I let the smoke fly... I watch as the wind between buildings is exposed for it’s shape as the smoke disperses and twirls into the ethereal to mingle it’s matter with the notes played by the guitar players.
The Streets of Old Town Krakow are cobbled. Back out toward the city square and the front of the Basilica, I hear the clop of horse hooves as carriages are being pulled. A few people are ushered out of the double doors at the back of the church, they shake hands and hug and walk down the street. Before the priest can close the door, a hint of incense permeates the aroma of burning tobacco. Sweet and bitter mix beneath the eyes of gargoyles and cherubs who are hiding among the moulding that adorns the gray, tan, and brown facades of the buildings.
I put the finishing touches on the drawing of a stone angel on the wall of the cathedral, it’s not perfect, but its good enough. Who is this angel? where did he come from what’s his story. the guitarist play their classical style, mixed with Polish folk. I can’t even imagine what how they move their hands. “there’s something in my I, but I’ll be fine,” I can’t play like that.

“But I decided that I didn’t want that, touring wasn’t in me, I wanted to teach, and I wanted to be in chicago. I didn’t want somebody telling me that there wasn’t any money in modern classical, I felt bad leaving the band, but it wasn’t what I was meant for, and I could have done it, but I wouldn’t have been happy with it. So, I teach, and I play on the weekends at bars to help with some of the bills, and I like it.”

C G
And the world may belong
Em
for you,
C G
but he'll never belong
Em
to you.

I’m leaving for Poland in a week, death metal is blasting in the car as I’m driving through the Chicago South Side. I know the shop isn’t too far out of my way so I take a detour. It’s still there “... Guitar Studios,” I haven’t talked to him in five, I think it was five, months, about one month after he told me about leaving "WaaZoo", I miss the lessons and I miss talking with him, but I’m usually too busy to stop in and when I do, he’s giving a lesson. I drive past, “oh well,” I think, “maybe another day.”

“Hey, things are getting busier, I think I’ll have to stop taking lessons for a while, but I want to thank you, you’ve been the best teacher I’ve ever had.”

C
But on a motorbike,
Cm
when all the city lights
D D7
blind your eyes tonight


I take a drag of the pipe, and finish off my tea. I will never be able to play like those two, it isn’t in me.

C D
Are you Feeling better now? ....
G Em
Are you feeling better now?
G Em
Are you feeling better now?