Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

1072 Calling Elvis

Calling Elvis

I did battle with my demons again next time I got back to the apartment, late that afternoon. Make no mistake about it, there were several of them. I mean, sure, the demon of self-doubt and I go way back and I've always been able to kick his ass. But then there was the demon that set my fingers on fire. And the one that made my mind go blank whenever I tried to get a song idea.

And Mr. Self Doubt had a new tactic. I know you know how to write a song, he would say, but what if this one's different? What if this is the one that doesn't work?

And I would say shut up, and go back to practicing. What I told myself was until I got my fingers to the point where I could play for more than five minutes without it being excruciating, I wasn't going to get much done on the song anyway.

When it got to be too much–which was after about seven minutes, actually–I stuck my fingers in a bowl of ice water and while I was standing there I opened a drawer in the kitchen counter out of boredom. There was a singed pot holder and a small Yellow Pages directory in there. Huh.

I paged through the phone book and sure enough, there were music shops listed. Guitar shops in particular. I guess we weren't that far from Memphis or Nashville so I shouldn't have been surprised. They're probably all gone now, but in those days before Amazon, small shops scattered all over the country was how a lot of things used to be sold to the people.

I tried the first one that caught my eye. It rang a few times and then a young woman's voice answered. "Strings and Things."

"Yeah, hi." I realized I hadn't really worked out what I was going to say. "I was wondering if you could give me some advice about playing the guitar?"

"Well, we do offer lessons four days a week–"

"No no, I mean, right now. I just have a question."

"Oh. Well." She sounded like she was worried this was going to turn into a prank or obscene phone call. "What's the question?"

"How long does it take after a person starts practicing for the calluses to build up?"

"Excuse me?"

"When you play guitar, the tips of your fingers toughen up and then it doesn't hurt to play."

"Well, it sounds like you know all about it." And she sounded peeved.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be asking," I said. "Are you one of the instructors?"

"No." Chilly. Positively chilly.

"Okay, well, thank you for your time." I hung up before I could upset her any more. Maybe I sounded like her ex or something.

I decided my fingers were numb enough to play again for a few more minutes but when I tried again it was even more painful than before. I gave up and went back to the bowl on the counter and stuck my hand in again. And then, you know, I was standing there with the phone book still open to the page and I still didn't have an answer to my question.

So I tried another one.

This one a guy answered. "Billy's."

I was a little more tentative this time. "Yeah, hi, sorry to bother you, but I am just picking up the guitar for the first time in a long time and I am trying to get some advice."

"Well, I dunno if I can help but I can try." I had been expecting a southern drawl but after he'd finished a sentence I could hear a pure Southern California accent. "What do you need to know, man?"

"How long until your fingers quit hurting?"

"Oh, man. Couple of weeks, I think?" I could hear the quiet, twangy sound of a steel string being plucked in the background. "Depending on how much you practice, I guess."