The picture on the right chronicles my start down the long piney path of musicianship. Prior to this picture I spent 19 days in the hospital while they attempted to diagnose why I was having horrible constant pain in my leg. They never figured it out but during my stay I heard Elvis on the radio singing "you ain't nothing but a hound dog". From that moment my fate was sealed and I wanted to play guitar. I shared this desire with my folks so they took me to the local music store to make it a reality. The reality however, was that "Kitchen's house of music " was pushing their Hawaian guitar sales as they were running group classes and selling package deals on the lap steel and a sweet little tube amp that they were making in house. Despite my protestations my parents bought the sales pitch and signed me up. "NO WAY !! I WANT TO BE ELVIS not Don Ho"
I went to a few classes and did not practice and the only thing I learned was how to decieve my folks and avoid the classes. Mom would drop me off at Viola Lang's studio with my payment and as soon as her car was out of sight I would tuck my guitar under the bushes and go a few blocks uptown to the Smoke House Pool Hall and shoot pool. This went on for several months until the date of the big scheduled recital in Cleveland, Ohio. For some odd reason I was in total denial of my impending predicament that I would soon face. There were lots of students stumbling their way through their chosen songs when eventually the announcer spoke those fatefull words, "And now little Dougie Nye from Viola Lang's house of music will be playing "a bicycle built for two". To say the least I had no idea where to even start. Apparently I was born with the skill of avoiding reality until it lands on me like a falling sack of concrete. I sat on the chair center stage, simply stared out to the crowd, let a few small tears dribble down my cheek and clumbsily left the stage . I am sure my parents were utterly embarrased to have such a failure for a son but never spoke a word of condemnation or shame and bought the photo package anyways. I am glad they did . I am a pretty darn good pool player as my home town and the hall I shot at gave rise to many world class players who would gladly take my guitar lesson money in games of 9 ball.
Unfortunately I sold this guitar at a pawn shop 45 years ago to get cash to buy a pickup for my banjo as I was playing in a country rock band.I am still searching for it. It will show up someday I am sure .
From this wretched start of my musical career I went on to take up the banjo when I was in college and bought one of the infamous Stew mack's first banjos. Little did I realize that it soon developed a reverse neck warp and I spent several fruitless months trying to coax some semblance of music from an unplayable instrument. With this eventually rectified with a gratis free neck I went on to pluck that darn thing for years to come.
At some point I moved to Maine from old Ohio with my banjo on my knee and began homesteading where music was simply a part of my social life. After a few years of this I got divorced and did the only sensible thing . I bought a Gibson J50 and started writing sad love songs. Those banjos only make happy music and I found my new love. At some point I found a little button that had a cute little racoon on it with the words "sing your own song" I took that as both a license and a directive and have not looked back and now only play my original songs.
Many bands and many songs followed and here I am yaking away on the internet.
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