Years ago, I walked into a Guitar Center like I’d walked into plenty of places before.
I left a few business cards.
Played a few guitars.
Didn't think much about it.
A little while after I left, my phone rang.
It was somebody from the store.
He said, “Was that you playing guitar in here a few minutes ago?”
I told him it was.
He said he'd heard me playing and thought I was pretty good. Then he told me they were looking for guitar instructors and asked if I'd be interested in teaching.
Well, hell.
That sounded pretty good to me.
I figured working around guitars and teaching people to play might not be a bad way to spend some time.
So we set up an interview time.
And because I'm me, I went home and started doing my homework.
I researched Guitar Center lessons. I looked into the job. I wanted to know what I was walking into.
A few days later, I went back for the interview.
And that's where things got real interesting.
One Question Changed the Whole Damn Thing
The woman interviewing me was in charge of the lessons department.
We talked.
She asked questions.
Everything seemed to be rolling along just fine.
Then she asked me something that has stuck with me ever since.
I'm paraphrasing after all these years, but basically she asked:
What would you teach a beginning student early on so they could experience some success?
I knew what she was getting at.
Give them something simple.
Teach them an easy song.
Let them go home and say:
"Look, Mama! I can play guitar!"
Give them that quick little victory.
Make them feel like they're already doing something.
And from a business standpoint, I understand it.
But something inside me pushed back.
Hard.
Because I'd already spent decades going down some of those same damn rabbit holes myself.
And I didn't want to send another guitar player down there.
I Didn't Want to Teach Somebody to Jump Up and Down
There's nothing wrong with learning songs.
Hell, songs are why most of us picked the guitar up in the first place.
But there's a difference between learning to play a song and learning to play the instrument.
Those two things can meet each other.
But they ain't nearly the same thing.
You can show somebody where to put their fingers and teach them enough moves to get through a song.
They'll get excited.
They'll play it for their mama.
Everybody will clap.
That's a beautiful thing.
But what happens when they want to play the next song?
And the next one?
What happens when somebody changes keys?
What happens when they sit down with musicians they've never played with before?
What happens when the little pattern they memorized ain't there anymore?
That's where my mind was.
I didn't want to give a student a shortcut that might eventually become a dead end. Been there.
I wanted to teach them something they could build on.
I Don't Remember Exactly What I Said
I wish I could tell you I gave some beautiful speech at that interview.
I didn't.
Hell, I don't even remember exactly how I answered her.
I just remember knowing that the answer she was looking for wasn't the answer I wanted to give.
And apparently whatever I said didn't satisfy her.
I didn't get the job.
At the time, that stung a little.
You get called because somebody hears you playing guitar.
They invite you to interview.
You start imagining yourself teaching there.
Then...
Nothing.
But looking back now?
Not getting that job might have been one of the best things that could've happened to me.
Fifty Years Will Change the Way You Look at a Guitar
I've spent around fifty years with this instrument.
And when you've traveled that far down a road, you start recognizing some of the places where you took a wrong turn.
You remember what confused you.
What wasted your time.
What you practiced because somebody told you that was how it was done.
And you start wondering:
What if somebody had shown me this differently in the beginning?
That's what matters to me now as a teacher.
I'm not interested in making somebody look like a guitar player as quickly as possible.
I'm interested in helping them become one for real.
There's a difference.
And sometimes becoming one ain't nearly as exciting in the beginning.
Sometimes you've got to learn something that doesn't make anybody jump up and clap.
You've got to understand what you're hearing.
You've got to understand where you are on the instrument.
You've got to start recognizing how music moves instead of memorizing where somebody told you to put your fuckin fingers.
That takes patience.
But you're building something.
Getting Turned Down Gave Me Something Better
Here's the funny part.
If Guitar Center had hired me, I would've been teaching inside somebody else's system.
Their expectations.
Their method.
Their idea of what success for a beginning student ought to look like.
Maybe I would've adapted.
Maybe I would've fought it.
Maybe I would've eventually left.
Who knows?
But they didn't hire me.
And that meant I was free.
Free to keep studying.
Free to question some of the things I'd been taught.
Free to look back over fifty years of playing and ask what actually mattered.
And eventually, free to teach students my way.
Not because my way is flashy.
It ain't.
Not because it'll have you jumping up and down after the first lesson.
It might not.
But because I don't want to knowingly send somebody down a road that took me years to find my way back out.
If you trust me enough to let me teach you, I owe you more than a quick trick.
I owe you what I've learned.
Including the shit I learned the hard way.
Sometimes the Job You Don't Get Is the Job That Sets You Free
I didn't know any of that walking out of Guitar Center.
Back then, I just knew I didn't get hired.
Funny how life works.
Sometimes a door shuts and you spend years thinking somebody wouldn't let you in.
Then one day you look around and realize:
Hell, maybe you weren't supposed to be in that room in the first place.
Maybe you were supposed to build your own.
So no, Guitar Center didn't hire me.
These days, I'm pretty damn thankful they didn't.
Because now when somebody sits down with me to learn guitar, I don't have to teach them what somebody else says I'm supposed to teach.
I can teach them what fifty years with a guitar taught me was worth knowing.
And if it takes a little longer before we start jumping up and down?
That's all right.
We'll have plenty to celebrate later.