Easy guitar music : Tuning notes for guitar
Easy Guitar Music
- The guitar is a plucked string instrument, usually played with fingers or a pick. The guitar consists of a body with a rigid neck to which the strings, generally six in number but sometimes more, are attached.
- Guitar Music is a 1981 album by guitarist Leo Kottke. The album is all solo guitar played on a Gibson J-45 and a Lundberg-Martin 12-string.
- Be careful
- easily: with ease (`easy' is sometimes used informally for `easily'); "she was easily excited"; "was easily confused"; "he won easily"; "this china breaks very easily"; "success came too easy"
- posing no difficulty; requiring little effort; "an easy job"; "an easy problem"; "an easy victory"; "the house is easy to heat"; "satisfied with easy answers"; "took the easy way out of his dilemma"
- not hurried or forced; "an easy walk around the block"; "at a leisurely (or easygoing) pace"
El Rio tan Pocito
Fieldton (Hart’s Camp,
where Waylon Jennings was from)
is the reason I knew there was Land that wasn’t Flatter’n Flittered Flapjacks.
A lot of it probably had to do with me being so close to the ground at the time,
and always in it.
Me beside my Big Brother,
in wet sand that squished in between my toes.
Pulling weeds in rows that sloped perty-good down hill in
the Direction of Autumn, and
Into the Wind.
Daddy rented his , I think, first farm there.
It was in the Fringes of the Sand hills.
And away from the Railroad and very remote.
The land Rolled and Eroded abruptly into washes and little gullies,
Deep enough for me to venture into another world.
The irrigation ditches would fill with sand til water wasn’t deep enough
to set the tubes in.
I had orders not to catch the Centipedes,
So I just played with ‘em,
and they never did bite me but my Big Brother said they would.
He was in school,
I remember him coming home with a Frightning Story they’d told him about an ‘A-Bomb big enough to Blow Up the Whole Wide World-Poof!
But it didn’t scare me like it did him.
The house was Big and Square and there were a lot of Wide Steps leading up to the big porch,
Whose roof was an extension to the Pointy house Roof.
A Farm house.
There were Spraddling Trees in the yard all around the house
And in their Shadows it was Cool to feet and the Wandering Spirit of the Wind rested there
And fragrances from afar mingled with those smells who lived there.
A sighing breeze puffed in release of Chasing the Prairie,
There were Barns and sheds tucked all around in the back yard,
‘neath an umbrella of green.
I climbed all around in the trees,
Watched little birds hatch from eggs.
I’d climb until I was more scared than not more scared,
Then come down without looking at Ground.
I was very happy in Fieldton,
and in a way,
Never left that happiness
til my Daddy Broke my nose as I Approached my teens.
That’s when the happy Bubble of childhood Innocence of seeing
Hatred and Temper,
and When I Realised that
It is Real,
it has Substance and
Temper can Fracture and Kill.
Temper is a Manner of Manefest Hatred.
In Defence of it,
I assumed it’s Spirit
And Fostered it’s Posession of me
and it Sufficated the Gentle Childish Nature that,
to that Point had Showered me with the adoration of my Peers,
Family, and the World ,
to that Point I had Accepted nothing but Love.
It took me fourty years to regain that Nature that blessed my first
Dozen or so years on the Planet.
I must have been four,
We were in Fieldton.
Daddy brought home Three Coyote Pups once who were my age,
(though their eyes had barely opened)
and put ‘em in one of those Chicken Crates
that was built with round dowels and thick wire and a sliding door
that fastened with a wire Hook.
They looked like dogs,
but only on the outside.
I liked ‘em and visited with them all that Day,
and we got to know one another and
I believe my time with them to be the Greatest milestone in Forging of the freeness of Spirit I’ve enjoyed through much of my life,
and blame them for an awareness that is one of my Greatest Gifted blessings
that has Fueled a Wanderlust from which I have Prayed never to Recover from.
But that night,
Their Mother Slipped right into the yard,
not even the Dogs knew, or at least, they didn’t Bark.
She Knawed through the Chicken Coop and they were gone when we got up next Mornin.
I was very happy for them,
though I Cried and Cried at their Departure.
They didn’t have to speak English to tell me they didn’t belong in there.
Their visit, and their Mother’s, and their Capture and their escape made me think and think,
and it told me that there was a world out there,
A world other than the one I lived in,
That I’ve learned much of since.
Bimbo was on the Radio all the time,
I used to sing it to my Daddy,
He had a smile that kinda showed sideways through the way he chewed gum.
I remember Him Smiling a lot then.
I used to crawl on my Grandpa’s knee and sing ‘Too old to cut the Mustard
and it always brought the house down.
Life was play and so was work at Fieldton
and for several years that followed.
Slim was missing his two front teeth.
I’d hang out and kinda follow him around while he worked.
He was a batchelor Field hand that lived alone and was Always Drunk,
And sang the same old song all the time,
but he was pretty much a little kid himself,
But he was so Big, he had to be an Adult.
One year at Christmas,
we were Visiting some of Daddy’s Kinfolk in Austin
And Slim got caught up in some of the Machine workings of an Irrigation Engine
And we had to go home in the
Middle of the night.
They said if he hadn’t been
Twotrails/ Artist/ Rascal
Balsa wood. Light, thin grain, whittles its self.
It hit the hobby shelves about the time Lee Ray got his Pellet Gun,
The kind that was powered by a little co2 cartridge that cost a nickle.
Balsa wood air planes,
a dozen of ‘em,
on the widow walk of the
Water tower beside Gary Franklin’s house.
Each Jet propelled and awaiting test flight.
We had a marvelous time with a couple of good Flights and a lot of cool Crashes.
I made a race cars 8 inches long out of Whittled balsa wood and an erector set,
And used those little cartridges to send ‘em hauling Jet Propelled,
but you had to be a long way from anything,
but those places were easy to find on the Llano.
As for my Favorite Free Flight, Balsa wood and Paper Piper Cub?
Well, our Friend Gary Franklin was into Vikings and it wasn’t Irrigation Season so there was no Water in the Ditches for the Customary And hand Sawn Scrap 2 x 4
With the mast of Popsickle sticks and sail of Construction paper
Designed to send a Fallen Buddy Down Stream and into the Here after
with Fire and Fanfare Culminating with the ignition of a Carefully tucked
and Fused M-80,
(Atom Bomb of the Fire Crackers of that Day.)
(Gary’s Mother Ruthel’s Old) talkin’ Parakeet? Mitch
(who was aweful quick to pick up Expletives)
had just Died Flat n’ Dead, So!
We Decided to send old Mitch
to Vol Hala Heaven via Air Express Special Delivery.
And without the M-80 Finale Since all our Friends had express orders
Not to let M-80s fall into certain hands and the Adults knew better than to sell us any more.
So, we Strapped him aboard Le Ray’s un-Prized Paper Piper Cub,
Climbed the Crumbling stairs (which we weren’t suppose to be near)
To claim a Launching stance on the rotting Widow Walk encircling The Soggy old Water tank beside Gary’s House,
Doused the Plane and Celebrated Bird in Kerosene
And sent it Soaring on a Breeze that Fairly Lifted Plane and Bird briefly, and
Soared into the Sky inside
a Blaze of Radiance to have beheld.
Especially when It Banked Right and,
Mitch had Suddenly Switched Incarnations.
Like a Kamakazi in a Nose Diving Inferno,
the Midnight Sky they Zoomed,
Landing me, Gary and Lee Ray on a Planet of Trouble
When it’s Crashing Flames Ignited the Fire that
Reduced the Out house behind the Colored
Peoples Church across the Road
to Smoldering Smoke and Simmering Ashes,
Disrupting the Saturday night’s Barrel-house Dance and
the Poker Game going on inside the
Sometimes Church, Sometimes Dance Hall/Casino.
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