The Murphy Method Blog

Sort of a sad day here. Brill’s Barber Shop and Musician’s Shop where I have taught for the last 22 years is now empty. All the guitars that were hanging up—attached by metal shower curtain hooks and dangling from a long metal pipe attached to the wall—are gone. The shelves filled with CDs and cassettes are now empty. The pegboard that held strings, capos, kazoos, and a musical saw is now barren. All the banjos had made their departures earlier, purchased by lucky students who got some really good deals.

The talking moose, Buck, given to Dalton on his birthday by David McLaughlin and Marshall Wilborn, has found another home. (“What am I gonna do with that?” Dalton asked. “I’ll have to put it up somewhere.” He ended up having loads of fun with it, teasing the little kids who came in for hair cuts by going out in the hall and making Buck talk to them with the remote microphone.) The jackalope that Lynn Morris gave him has also been hauled away. Even the old-fashioned barber chairs are gone. My friend Patty Henry bought the ancient cash register. Dalton never rang up any sales on it, he just kept his money in there. The drawer opened when you pulled the handle. I’m glad it found a loving owner.

This was the first time I had seen the shop empty. The auctioneers loaded things up while we were out of town for Thanksgiving. I came in today to get a few of my things out and as I stared at the empty showcase and the walls devoid of pictures, I thought of a great song we used to sing at our regular Wednesday night concerts in the basement of the shop. It was called “There Was An Auction At The Homeplace” and it was written by Mike Henderson, of Shepardstown, West Virginia. One of the most poignant phrases to me has always been “the house’s heart was empty.” That’s the way the barber shop felt today. The auctioneers had come, they’d “put everything in boxes,” and they’d hauled a life away.

One of the few things remaining is my little table where I keep all my teaching stuff—Banjo Newsletters, picks, bracket wrenches, tiny screw drivers, wire cutters, cassette players, blank cassettes, Murphy Method DVDs, CDs to give away. It’s very crowded. I’ll be teaching in the empty shop though December while I look for a new location in which to ply my trade. I’ll have to dig up a couple of chairs, though. Those are gone, too. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll put up a Christmas tree.

Here’s something that came up at a lesson yesterday that I thought I’d share. One of my beginning fiddle students, who is taking up fiddle for the first time at age 71, bless her heart, was having a not-too-good lesson. Her playing was not as smooth as she wanted it to be and her bow was skittering around. Somehow, as she was talking, she mentioned that she’d been raking leaves all day. Well! There was the answer! I told her, “Suzi, you cannot do something strenuous like raking leaves—especially all day long—and then expect to come to a fiddle lesson and play well. Your fine motor skills have been shot! Your muscles are tired, your brain is tired. It’s just too much!”

I learned this the hard way, thirty years ago in Florida. Sometimes before a gig, I would work in the yard for several hours. Mowing the grass, using the clippers to trim the edges, maybe even doing some weeding. (I was young, I had lots of energy! I think this was also BK—before kids!) When I got on stage that night, I found out my hands felt like LEAD. My fingers wouldn’t move like I wanted them to. They felt clumsy and huge. I think I even remember them trembling after one particularly long afternoon with the clippers! I finally figured out: no yard work before a gig! (I later extended that to housework, too! No vacuuming!)

I know it’s not always possible to avoid doing heavy work before a lesson (or even your own practice session). But, if you have a choice, put off the strenuous activities till later! Or as one of my banjo students said (when I told him this story), “I just think I’ll take a nap before my lesson!” That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Bob! Always a smart alec…..

These were the excuses from two of my teenaged banjo students last week. Logan you’ve already met.

So this is me: Okay, Logan, what are your excuses for this week?

So this is Logan talking. (My responses are in parenthesis.)

I had two prep sessions for the PSAT, from 6-9 in the evening. (What else?)

I needed to get a good night’s sleep. (Right. What else?)

And there was all the partying and drinking. (He’s just messing with me about this…)

Then Monday was a layoff day. (I took this to mean after a hard weekend of partying….)

My thumb still hurts and I lost my brace. (He’d sprained his thumb playing soccer injury. I give him points for this since the week before he did play with the brace on!)

In spite of all this, we had a good lesson. I’m showing him, piece by piece, how to create a simple break to “Faded Love.” We just did the same thing for “Amazing Grace” and “White Dove.” (This stuff is almost sure to show up on a DVD sometime!) Logan can absorb this because he plays in a regular twice-a-month jam session with some of my other students. They regularly play “Faded Love” and “Amazing Grace” because Patty (one of my Fiddle Sisters) plays them on the fiddle. When I heard from Bob (the Bass Player and a guitar student) that Logan routinely bailed on these and went to get a soda (or as we’d say in Georgia, went to get a Coke), I knew I had my work cut out for me! And because Logan already knew the chords to these tunes from repeated listenings, he was ready to absorb what I showed him. This would not have worked otherwise. The moral: Keep listening to this stuff!

Now for the excuses from Teresa, a younger sister to Gina, Malia, and Christina Furtado whom I have written about in Banjo Newsletter. (And Malia plays on both of our Slow Jam DVDs.)

This is Teresa talking. (My comments are again in parenthesis.)

I had to study hard for a test.

I was gone all day Saturday. (To a banjo contest where she won first prize! I tried to get her to split the money with me, but to no avail!)

What was I doing the rest of the time? (No answer….)

Besides, I’m taking another instrument. (This was news to me. What are you taking?)

Classical guitar. (You mean you’re two-timing me?)

Blank look. (Why are you taking classical guitar?)

My mother is making me. (Can’t fight that!)

We also went on to have a good lesson. All the practice she did for the banjo contest kicked her playing up to another level!

Tune in next time (or sometime) for even more excuses! But I don’t think any of my students will ever top this one: “I spent my pick.” Don’t even ask! (Offered by a student to our Florida friend and banjo teacher Bob Higgenbotham back in the seventies!)

I had the best experience a banjo teacher could have yesterday.

My sixteen-year-old student Logan Claytor (he said I could use his name) was in for his lesson. Logan has been taking from me since he was twelve and lately he’s really ratcheted his playing up a notch. But like many teens (and adults too) he doesn’t practice as much as I would like. Of course he always has some good excuse. So lately, as soon as he sits down, I’ve been asking him to give me his excuses before we start, so we can get them out of the way. This week it was homecoming.

Then I asked him if he’d learned the low break to “Amazing Grace” that I had recorded last week. No, he had not. But just as I was getting ready to chew him out (not!), he said, “But I did sorta learn a high break to ‘John Hardy’.”

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

So he procedes to play this most EXCELLENT up-the-neck break to “John Hardy” which he had made up out of his own head! Now, Logan can do simple, first position improvs to almost any three chord song but he’s never done any improv up the neck. So for him to make up this break was simply mind boggling. I was SO proud!

Naturally I asked him how he did. I was thinking maybe he’d worked it out lick by lick while he was practicing. But no. He said the whole break just came to him—in his head—while he was sitting in class thinking about playing “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” Amazing.

I told him I was going to steal one of his licks for my own break. And I meant it! It is something I’d never thought of doing before. (Too bad we don’t do tab here or I’d show it to you!!) [TOO BAD WE DON'T DO TAB? Who are you and what have you done with my mother??]

So, way to go Logan! I hope your story inspires some other pickers to go and do likewise!

Thursday I’m heading over to Nashville for the IBMA World of Bluegrass, joining Red, and Casey and Chris who are already there. I’ll be at the FanFest Saturday and Sunday. If you’re in the neighborhood, drop by and shake and howdy!

Today I have a reflection on lesson attendance. When a student signs up to take lessons from me, I make them pay for a month at a time. Four weeks. The time you pay for is yours, whether you are here or not. No cancellations, no rescheduling. (I learned this from my mother.) You don’t have to make any commitment beyond a month, but you do have to pay for that time. This may seem unreasonable or inflexible, but I do it for one reason: if students don’t have the time paid for in advance, they won’t come.

Time and time again I have broken my own rule and agreed to let students schedule lessons on a one-at-a-time basis (I charge more for this, of course). Time and time again these students hardly ever come, and therefore, hardly learn anything. They say “life gets in the way.” I say, if you want to learn to play the banjo, you won’t let life get in the way. If you don’t come to your lessons, you won’t learn. Even if you do not take your banjo out of its case between one lesson and the next (you know who you are…) the half-hour that you are at your lesson will benefit you more than not coming to your lesson at all. You’ll be getting exactly half an hour of practice a week.

If you want to learn to play, however, you’ll make the time to practice. There’s no trick to it, no magic. The more you practice, the better you’ll get. Deep down, you know this. And the first step is coming to your lesson!