Wallowing in this lazy, laid-back week that bisects Christmas and New Year’s
I’m reading one of the many books gifted to me just days ago
Written by Jowi Taylor, the book is Six String Nation.
And it’s put me in a strange sort of spirit—a somewhat-patriotic, partly-fingerpicking, moitié-melancholy vibe.
If you play music, you’ll understand the fingerpicking thing.
The book, after all, is about a guitar.
Not any guitar, mind.
More an object, forged from culture and history, that becomes something more than a guitar
That becomes an instrument of whimsical, identifiable, bare-bones, back-to-the-roots Canadian identity.
It is the essence of this book.
One guy (Taylor) getting another guy (George Rizsanyi) to build a definitive A-Mari-usque-ad-mare guitar, called Voyageur.
Six String Nation
Little importance where you’re from—me? Montreal—it’s difficult not to connect with this guitar.
I mean, wafered gold from a Rocket Richard Stanley Cup ring adorns the 9th fret; a portion of a Montreal Forum seat licks at the sound hole; a section of Pierre Trudeau’s canoe paddle controls tone and projects volume.
I could go on.
There’s wood from Lucy Maud Montgomery’s house—and Wayne Gretzky’s hockey stick; a section of floor beam from Jack London’s cabin; a swatch from Pierre Berton’s tie.
There’s the only wedge ever sectioned from the mystical Haida golden spruce; a segment of rafter from Pier 21; oak from Winnipeg’s oldest building; part of a frame that once belonged to a Toronto Group of Seven artist…
See what I mean?
The book—and the guitar—and the project—captures the imagination and restores the soul in a way that is resoundingly creative, uniquely innovative and downright inspirational.
The book touches my heart.
It truly does.
Does that, then, explain my melancholy?
Not at all.
It’s because Jowi Taylor was in town
Mere weeks ago
Speaking at a tedx event I didn’t attend.
But that’s not it either.
He was also, later in the evening, at a party, a celebration, a wrap
And he brought Voyageur with him—for all to experience.
I was there
In the room.
Only earlier.
I arrived too early and—damn my impatience—left too soon.
Why?
Because it was a shitty night; a Sunday, bad weather, crummy drive into town, lots to attend to the next morning, and—like I said—because of unrestrained impatience.
So I missed meeting Jowi Taylor, and strumming on Voyageur.
Hence my funk.
Resulting in
Another lesson learned…
Nothing to do now
But get back to the book.
