Inspiration, Music, Chance and Friendship.
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| A pitta the action: Bainton and Iles, circa 2009 |
In 1955, when I was 12, she sent me for piano lessons every Saturday to a knuckle-rapping old dragon in Hessle, near Hull. But rock’n’roll had arrived, and I never got past a shaky rendition of The Carnival of Venice. I didn’t get my first guitar until I was 16. Mam knew that I wasn’t going to be the next Rubinstein on the pianoforte, yet she was un-blinkered in her knowledge that at least rock, R&B, blues and folk were still music, and that my appetite, like hers, needed to be satisfied.
The guitar was an old Hofner acoustic Spanish model bought from Poole’s Corner in Hull in early 1959. The neck had a slight warp which made the action agonizing. You needed fingers like steel claws just to make contact with the frets, but I persevered. I learned my first chords later that year when sailing with one of my relatives on the good ship Borodinobetween Hull and Denmark. Uncle Stanley was the ship’s electrician and a fan of Django Reinhardt. I wanted to be Lonnie Donegan, and that’s about where I’ve been, ability wise, ever since. (Although Donegan was a musician – I’m a musical hack).
By the time I’d mastered about nine different chords and the Donegan/Buddy Holly repertoire, this limited (albeit enthusiastic) ability made the rest of my time in the Merchant Navy much smoother than could be expected. I was a few pegs above the beleaguered and bullied junior ordinary seaman. When mess room parties kicked off and the beer flowed (and such events were frequent), then ‘Tex’ – a sobriquet my guitar had earned me – was called upon to entertain and accompany the inevitable sing-songs. Free beer and pats on the back all round. In New Zealand I bought a smart new Yamaha guitar and my musical status along with even more free beer was assured on every ship I joined.
Back in Hull in the 1960s I continued my adventures into rock’n’roll, joined various bands, went Electric with a Hofner Verithin (their version of a Gibson ES 355) and after a brief flirtation with popularity, blew it all in a band called The King Bees when I had a fit of petulance because the band wouldn’t let my then girlfriend ride in the van. I quit. My temporary replacement was a lad called Mick Ronson. I wonder what happened to him …
Since then I’ve been a musical dabbler. In 1965 I was into folk music after seeing Hull’s Royal Family of Folk, The Watersons. I placed an advert in the Hull Daily Mail for anyone interested in forming a folk group to contact me. And that’s when I began my longest and most treasured friendship with a man who is today as close to me as any brother, Dave Iles. In the 1970s, Dave introduced me to Mal Robson, a true guitar player who did nothing else for a living. He’d played with Long John Baldry and backed Cilla Black at Hull’s New Theatre. We would meet up, the three of us, every Tuesday night at our house, then the old railway station at Ottringham, and jam. But most importantly, we began to study the classical guitar. Mal, a true friend, a very funny man and a great musician, committed suicide. Dave carried on his studies, I let mine fall by the wayside.
Now Dave has done what a true friend can only do: he has inspired me, through a third party and a chance event, to take up the guitar once again and, at the age of 69, to aim at some kind of satisfactory proficiency. Dave went by chance to see a guitar player, Richard Durrant, at a church in Beverley. He then sent me Durrant’s DVD, The Guitar Whisperer. (see www.richard-durrant.com ) Last Saturday I traded in my Turner electro-acoustic for a smart Santos Martinez classical. I’m learning music again; better still, I’m learning to respect it and to play properly. All thanks to Dave, Richard Durrant, and that chance visit Dave made to a church in Beverley.
Here’s a bit about Paraguay from Durrant’s marvellous web site:
A Very Personal Pilgrimage
A great tour is a mixture of a well-planned itinerary and those magical, unexpected moments that make it truly memorable. Richard & Louise Durrant’s visit to Paraguay was just such a tour. There was laughter, tears of joy & sorrow, a toucan, a floating harpist, a parade, stars of all kinds, awards, ovations and the hospitality, generosity and friendship so typical of this mysterious and remote South American country.
The connection between Richard Durrant and Paraguay’s greatest musician, Agustín Barrios Mangoré, made the visit a very personal pilgrimage. Early in the tour, Richard felt moved to compose a guitar solo dedicated to his childhood hero Barrios, which he named Apretón de Manos (The Handshake). His inspiration came from staying in the same hotel as Barrios, albeit nearly a century later. Travelling the Ruta Mangoreum felt more like a homecoming than a trip to an exotic, foreign place. Meeting the familial & cultural descendants of Barrios – such as great nephew Lito Barrios & elder statesman of Paraguayan guitar Felipe Sosa – strengthened the bond, the fraternidad de guitarristas.
The visit to Barrios’s birthplace in Villa Florida, Missiones, was spectacular in many ways. Richard and Louise were rowed across the wide, flat Río Tebicuary, accompanied by a harpist in another boat. They rode from the riverside in a horse & cart, alongside a marching band, majorettes and mounted police. The parade was met by every local dignitary for miles around and the reception party began. Touched by the warmth of the hospitality and bursting with pride at receiving awards for his contribution to Paraguayan culture, Richard played his final concert in the Barrios family home in San Juan Bautista. The joyful ovation was all the more remarkable coming from an audience so used to visiting guitarists.
The traditional, Paraguayan barbecue at the Corrales family’s San Agustín ranch provided a magical ending to Richard’s pilgrimage. In the late 19th century, the Corrales and Barrios families were close friends and so it transpired that this remote estancia gave its name to the Barrios’ famous son. San Agustín is far from the light-pollution of modern civilisation and still home to the Corrales family. On the night that Richard sat outside – where Barrios himself had sat – drinking Paraguayan beer and playing guitar for his friends, the Milky Way shone wide and bright across the vast Paraguayan sky. A sparkling end to a magical journey along the Ruta Mangoreum.
There is a joy in music which transcends the everyday struggling misery of our living, breathing lives. From Bach to B.B. King it’s the same. I spoke with Dave on the phone this morning. He suggested that if I stick at it, then later this year we may able to play a duet together. I have a long way to go, so that seems a tough prospect at this stage, but one thing will fuel my ambition; passion and friendship. That’s what art is all about. Thanks, Dave.
