something about the banjo

 I have been meaning to write something about the banjo. In October of 2020 I faced a long winter and a Covid lockdown. So I wondered, what am I going to have to show for all this time of lockdown? What will I have accomplished, or have to show from all of this?

I decided I would learn to play either the guitar or banjo. I sought the advice of various articles online, as to which was easier to learn. It was a toss-up. Pick one. So I went to Amazon and search for a good beginner banjo. I bought a cheapo for around $200. 

It was a bad banjo, but I didn't know that for a while. It did get me through those first months of deciding whether I wanted to stick with it. Last summer I spent about 6X as much as originally and bought a good one. Deering Blackgrass Special. I like it. I wouldn't say I love it, as it is a demon that has taken over most of my mornings. But I'd rather be with it, than without it, I suppose. 

I am 65 years old. Learning a new skill is difficult but in retirement I need difficult things to do. Things that challenge me both physically and mentally. This is one of the most challenging things I have attempted. It is right up there with passing all three levels of the CFA exams in succession. 

I practice around 2 hours each day, every day that I am in town. That is most days. The only day I take a break is on days when I have a lesson. On those days I just do the one hour lesson. My teacher is a master, and a hard driver. But I need to be driven, so I don't complain, much. 

From the first time I picked up this devil, I have been mesmerized with it. How is it that one can do one thing with the right hand and something completely different with the left? How is this happening? Day to day there is no noticeable progress. But I keep records. Watch that metronome. Write things down. I am playing a few tunes at half the speed a professional would, but a few months ago I played them at a quarter speed. Slow progress, but progress. 

Chords, licks, rolls. Chords, licks, rolls. Memorization. Manipulating my old fingers just right so that I don't buzz the string or deaden an adjacent one. Don't look at the right hand. Going too fast and going too slow. Playing for my favorite audiences of one, my wife, or one of my grandkids. The oldest grandkids, age 5 and 7, think I'm pretty good. If I can keep up with them, where ten years from now they still think I'm good, even if they don't like the music, will be an accomplishment. That's my goal.