In Which I Undertake The Banjo

Gentle Reader, it should be quite clear by this juncture that I’m suffering from a bad case of Banjo Fever, and the only known cure is 40 cc’s of pure medical-grade bluegrass applied to the auditory canal.

Injection

My banjo lust began, as such things often do, in the back corner of a run-down pawn shop. I had listened to several songs by My Gay Banjo that morning, and when I saw the beautiful piece of wood and steel behind the counter, I was overcome with desire. My hand brushed the drum – the strings fluttered in anticipation; I strummed, and a proud, brash chord vibrated throughout the store, making the other patrons glance up from the gun counter. I had to make it mine.

Pawn

When one is poor, as I am, one seldom has a spare two hundred dollars lying around – and if one does, there are far better uses to put it to than buying an instrument one doesn’t even play. Nonetheless, my dear online friend Ekgo saw how excited I’d gotten from the mere existence of such a thing, and sent me some cash to start my Banjo Fund. Maman, for a Christmas present, kicked in the rest, and since then, I’ve been learning to play.

The sound’s much more robust, more fulfilling than my ukulele, and the length of the neck means that I can actually feel the tension in my muscles as I play. The strings are stout and steel, and the chords are completely alien and new. It’s very strange, having a competancy in strum patterns but being completely baffled by the chords; I’ll be strolling along with confidence and become entirely derailed by having to contort my fingers into an entirely unfamiliar form of origami.

This is how you make a Unicorn. And a D Sharp.

This is how you make a Unicorn. And a F Sharp.

Now, I’ve only had Lear for about a month, now, but I’ve made demonstrable progress. I say demonstrable because, well – see for yourself.

Amber Goss came to visit, and there were buckets of home-made wine, and we attempted to sing Dolly Parton’s Jolene.

On my own, dedicated to Sad Lady Country, I undertook Crystal Gayle. Here you can find Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.

And then, I guess, I tried the Statler Brother’s Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott?

It’s a start, Gentle Reader. Please don’t be too harsh; I’m still learning. I’ll admit that these vids are shit, though. I will try to post at least one banjo video per month, Gentle Reader, but I won’t promise anything – I’m rubbish at promises. Happy … whatever.

 

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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1 Response to In Which I Undertake The Banjo

  1. Pingback: Post the Forty-Second: Madame DeLyte’s Guide to Mother’s Day Gifts | Whimsical Adventures of the Reverend Doctor

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