8:39 AM
^@manshu, you've twice again aimed efficiently and accurately!
From my brother's friend:
(While my fiddle-fingers father and i compare folk, what he plays, and classical, what i play on semi-tuba, dance music.)
Yeh, my physical inheritance is almost all arctic, reaching at least as south as Ireland, with an immune-to-poison-ivy/oak hint of indidigeneous American.
But my musical provenance is all ears, hips and thumbs.
(I learned how to play that piece as a pas de deux, from a student of a student of Rostropovic.)
(Yes "pas de deux" on a solo piece stretches every meaning, but Bach did that.)
. . . uh, ever since i gave all but one of my instruments to friends, i've been Jonesing for music in any spare time . . .
(Those instruments were each worth thou$and$ but worth much more as freebies.)
(As if not already touted, a sidewalk strummer has already hewn more than the worth of a flawless guitar passed along. Every time i encounter him, i sit down, shed another fiver, and say: "Nice guitar!")
(The "plucker" has talent and "tracks," but who's to judge . . .)
(And if you don't know what "tracks" means, lucky! Not one of my vices but recogniszed upon sight.)
To philosophisze: When someone asks me for help, the result depends on how strong i feel at the moment.
Lately too strong to resist.
Not always the best result. But who can help it?
(Spoiler: "Tracks" are what hypodermic needles leave as marks of desparately opportune puncture.)
[From someone who has experienced too much because too much is never enough. Someone who refuses to put others through the same.]
