Rick Toone | Luthier

NAMM 2012 | Learning & Laughter

PHOTOS (from top): Spurred on by Monster's quick wit, "booth babes" Bart Townsend and Bill Goldy (plus visitor) dissolve into laughter. Wonderment at the strangeness of the neck on Blur guitar. Javier Reyes listens intently.

One large packing crate filled with guitars, amps, and my (desperately awaited) tools arrived at Townsend Machine in New Jersey yesterday. Who knows what adventures they encountered on their road trip from California, but everything survived transit, safe from the evil clutches of airline baggage handlers.

We four horsemen gathered too. My body is back. 80% of my hearing. Half my spirit, perhaps. The other half flickering and blurry but stumbling toward NJ from the desert solitude.

Okay, NAMM...what did we learn?

Most important to me, our booth was a place of laughter and learning. An atmosphere of exchange, discovery, and wonder — fueled by hilarity and great conversations.

If we were better marketers, we'd probably be pimping Facebook with arm-around-the-shoulder look-at-who-I-had-dinner-with publicity photos. But sadly my Nikon SLR was destroyed in transit (airline baggage handlers), so what we have instead is an amalgamation of action snapshots from cell phones and iPads.

I think it is better this way.

The value of the show is the amazing discussions taking place person-by-person, second-by-second. Eyes opening, a snapped head turn, a collision in the aisle, a string of questions. An invitation to play. Hesitancy and uncertainty yielding to exploration and a smile: "How can something that looks so...weird...feel so...intuitive?!"

PHOTOS: Tosin Abasi and Rick Toone try to figure it all out. We collaborated intensely to create a tool that will allow him to extend his playing. Results are as yet unknown, but Tosin's parting comment was: "I think it will shred." A flashed grin, scribbled notes, and a pending tour date. Go!

Just like my lutherie, this entire NAMM adventure was exploration and risk. The value of the human experience is to learn, grow, and share. We tread this earth but once.

I would like to thank my booth mates — Ola Strandberg, too — for making our little space a destination, an oasis of curiosity that invited and welcomed repeat visitors, content to settle in for a while to discover.

Most especially, I would like to thank Bart Townsend and Bill Goldy for making the adventure possible. Cindy Vonschmidt and Tricia Toone for managing logistics and travel. Monster for his humor, psychological insights, and cute little Mesa-Boogie Walkabout that thunders with a mighty voice.

Next we will begin to discuss specifics. If any of you have photos or videos from the booth, drop me an email.

PHOTO: Me & Monster. He is one of the funniest men alive. Swamp ash T2.

Four Horsemen

PHOTO: Self-portrait, post-NAMM.

The driving rains of Los Angeles shredded to tendrils, as sharp peaks of the San Jacinto Mountains eviscerated moisture-laden Pacific air. Twelve lanes of traffic condensed to four.

Sunlight hunted remaining moisture, evaporating a thousand miles of desert in the rain shadow of the eastern slopes. Emotion welled and water streamed from my eyes, involuntary tears of joy, and relief.

The intensity, pressure, and excitement of the trade show uncoiled itself from around my internal organs. Alone, I laughed out loud at the first saguaro, as if an old friend. The gentle shimmering in my ears an audible reminder of thunderous cacophony left behind.

"If you believe god is music, NAMM will make you an athiest."

FMoF

And yet, there were moments of sublime musicality, and musicianship. Great camaraderie, as the four of us rustled like outlaws. A realization that sparks we struck are about to grow into something much larger. We will talk about those moments soon enough.

"Your guitar sticks in my head, and I can’t stop telling my friends. Millions of guitars at NAMM...yours is the one I remember."

LH

Companions dispersed, I drifted south, to Tucson.

I sought council from those who had passed before me, in the form of artifacts at the Amerind Foundation. Master craftsmanship revealed in every chip of each arrowhead, a necessity when working tools are stone. Efficiency, displayed as delicate aerodynamic functionality — a few ounces of precisely aimed rock capable of dropping two thousand pounds of running animal in a collapsed meat pile.

My cousin Scott built the beautiful Mission Style rift sawn oak couches in the main display hall of the museum: BAKER + HESSELDENZ

Mostly, though, I needed nature. My soul is acclimated to solitude, my mind to flowing streams of thought. Metaphorically naked I immerse in the forms around me, artifacts of wind and water.

Reviving the Muse

We were without communications for more than a week, dropped by a tree limb and complacent utilities monopoly. Our total lost service in excess of twenty days over the past six months.

Fragility of the US infrastructure stands naked, and revealed.

Returned to the electronic teat, one of the first things I did was kill my Facebook account. A week of silence offline confirmed for me the Borg nature of social networks.

The truth is I want distance.

I don't want to be liked, I want to live immersed in the full sensory experience of reality. People who add meaning to my life don't mind the friction of emailing, calling, or (gasp) visiting in person. You know who you are, and I am here when you need me.

As the droning subsided, I began to think about my relationship to art. We always talk about art itself, but seldom about how to get to it...

When the muse alights on your shoulder, listen. Immediately.

It is not possible to be in both creative and editorial mindsets. Not at the same time. The language of commentary, or criticism, is a process of listening, judging, and evaluating — be that voice in your mind, or the thoughts of others. Creativity is flow, and pouring outward. Both mindsets have value, however don't confuse which you inhabit at the moment.

Your task as an artist is to grasp the unknown. Grasp and pull into the known. Civilians live in the known. Artists teeter — grasping, and off-balance. It's good work if you can get it.

Vix Camps

PHOTO: Victor Wooten investigates 'Dirty Blonde' Orchid bass at Russo Music Center, Trenton, NJ.

Interesting how sometimes things settle slowly into our consciousness. We hear or see something unusual, unfamiliar, and our brain takes notes — holding that pinprick stimulus just inside the skull.

It could be a bird song, woven into the aural tapestry surrounding us. It could be an emerging concept or trend in our fluid culture: do you remember the first time you heard of Myspace, Facebook, or Twitter?

Remember what life was like before they existed?

This a survival mechanism. It would feel overwhelming (exhausting) to investigate every pinprick, but if one anomaly repeats — our curiosity is aroused. We explore, discover, capture, and dissect.

The unfamiliar becomes familiar, and enriches the lexicon of our life experience.

"I love that photo - particularly the contrast of the seated guy lumbered with the standard bass in the background."

G

Twice this year I made new friends...who both just happened to have attended Victor Wooten's Bass/Nature Camp. Both spoke of their experience there as life changing. I'd never even heard of the camp, prior to meeting them, and now two?!

It seems all waters trickle and flow downstream, to Victor Wooten.

Coltrane & Hartman — "Autumn Serenade"

One of the most beautiful songs ever recorded, timely as those of us in the northern hemisphere splash into Fall. Autumn Serenade was recorded in March, 1963, final track on John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman.

The playing is just gorgeous. Notice Coltrane's melodic choices in the solo, adding harmonic depth to the progression, especially after the three minute mark. His solo resolution, building anticipation for Hartman to complete the lyric.

But as I listen, more and more I am drawn to the mesmerizing drum work of Elvin Jones.

Some thoughts to give this recording context.

This song was recorded in one take, by musicians who had scarcely rehearsed together, barely a month. No overdubs, no DAW edits. What you are hearing is improvisation, quick listening, as each of them adapts and adjusts, playing off one another's musical choices.

I find that so exciting. This idea that moment is captured exploration, never repeated, or repeatable.

1963 was the year Martin Luther King delivered his "I have a dream..." speech during the March on Washington, in August. The Civil Rights movement was nearing high water as an example of political change accomplished through peaceful non-violent protest.

It was not until the next year, 1964, that the men on this recording were fully granted the right to vote and participate in the American political process.

And, finally, our contemporary culture is preoccupied with youth and beauty. We search distractedly for the shiny, the new, the next — ignoring the voice of wisdom and experience. When Coltrane and Hartman recorded together, they and the band were in their late 30's and 40's, relics by today's standards.

What I hear, though, is skill, certainty, and craftsmanship.