Thursday, 23 January 2014

Saw Point.

Bob is teaching himself to play the saw. Each evening, he gets out his bow and strikes up. I'm fine with it....honestly..... his strangled practicings have an eerie but strangely comforting vibe, even if he has yet to play two notes in a recognisable order. He's getting better at it but says he needs a longer saw.  I think he probably just needs some musical aptitude. 

Sometimes though, his random scales sound preferable to our local radio station with its repetitive playlist of Soopahtromp, Feel Colleens and Ugh2, interspersed with some home grown nasally power ballads.  And then there are the accordions.  Every Saturday morning is given over to accordion music. The first couple of hours can be fine in a jolly, Pugwashy, so French kind of way, but all too soon a tipping point is reached whereby I feel I could quite happily stab the player just to MAKE IT STOP.  One evening, we were enjoying an apperitif and some unusual snacks with our neighbours, when an accordion was produced. The owner proudly squeezed out a few impressive riffs and we smiled and thought 'this is so charming'. But then, another guest took up the beast and we had to sit through his two centimes worth, only this time, played with a bit more panache and skill than the owner. Clearly this pissed off the first player and he hastily packed away his instrument.  Phew! I thought I was in for the night of duelling squeeze boxes. If music be the food of love....that'll be quite enough for now, thank you very much.

Fancy a jam down at Woodsman's cabin?  There's an old guitar -  it's been languishing, stringless for several years after they were requisitioned for some long-forgotten project, but has recently been refurbished, as well as a mouth organ and even some spoons 

And here's a man who can already play the saw.. 

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