On the Selection of Musical Instruments,
or The REAL Reason Guys Play Guitar

It is a common misconception that the selection of one's favoured instrument arises phoenix-like from the ashes of musical immaturity as one achieves a true and individual appreciation of the art, a penchant for rhythm, and a predilection for a particular Euterpean edification. This is all well and true...if not the entire story: there exist deeper, more ingrained motivators, yoking our diaphanous concept of free will to their oxen, and ploughing our fields of music to their command. At the root of all this is, as always, SEX.

The video for November Rain by Guns N' Roses is a case in point. Axl struts out, lightning pulsating in urgency. He spreads his legs, strikes a pose and proceeds to vigorously strum his meatwhist...er, guitar for all he's worth. Hence the classic guitar solo: overly long; culminating in a crashing, frenzied climax; and ultimately gratifying to none save the lone participant1, unless onlookers join in on their 'air guitars'. Then there are bass players, who seem to think that size is everything. And the tuba players they mock in fits of seething jealousy, who know it is.

Now, some guitarists will tell you to 'make love to your guitar as you would to a woman'. This is flagrant nonsense; what grotesque parody of a woman is that, all stretched and skinny-like? You want to make love to a real woman, you make love to a double-bass, buddy.2

Which brings us to the previous favourite for this century's male musicians, and the original 'axe': the sax'. All huffing and blowing that baby whilst you push the right buttons...Brian Warner Himself would be proud3 (...if it makes you hap-py, then it can't be that ba-a-a-ad...)

Now, ladies, you don't escape unscathed either. My encounters with Paganism are pretty much limited to a handful of FAQs, watching The Craft (starring the luscious Neve Adrianne Campbell), and reading Strands of Sunlight by Gael Bordino4, but one item stands proud as the salient choice of apparatus for those of the female persuasion, particularly within the Goddess-only movements. Yes! Yes! Oh, God! Yes! The harp.

One glance gives the game away: it's even shaped like a woman. And then there's the playing style: one hand stroking the taut..uh..strings at breast height, the other a little lower, lower, higher, left a bit, ahhh perfect. On a concert model, one might be caressing up and down the entire body; but on a more personal private model, one tends to keep the hands within the curvaceously delineated bounds of the torso, perhaps positioning one at the top and another at the bottom.5 If that isn't a lady rejoicing in her femininity without the stifling presence of a man then six-foot pianists ain't something special.6

Let's not even get into the tastes of drummers. And what kind of sick, twisted, masochistic alien love are violinists after? Whassup with concert performers, anyways? Not content to lock themselves in their rooms and practise, nor to exhibit themselves on stage in front of inebriated school-girls, these sorry specimens hold forth in the world's finest concert halls, soiling the sanctity with their sordidly sensuous soirées; and we celebrate them for it!! I mean, that's perverse; if we're going to elevate this sort of unwholesome activity to the status of an artform we could at least include a few team-effort instruments.

All our pretensions towards a higher sense of aesthetics thus crumble to dust in the morning sun, revealing the primal vibrancy of our glorious heritage beneath. And if any nubile, experienced, enthusiatic and (preferably) female bassoon or clarinet players are looking for that special someone for a private6 performance that'll make you quaver, don't hesitate to give me a call at 1-800-THE MAESTRO.7

Disclaimer: This is an example of Noding What You *cough* Don't Know.

  1. Kinda like this writeup, really. =)
  2. Well that's just great; the substitution of one harmful stereotype for another. Only this one's politically correct. Arghhh....
  3. Apparently, it is physically feasible for most men and a surprising number of women to perform auto-fellatio, auto-cunnilingus or both, given a sufficiently strenuous regimen of stretching. I cannot recall the scientific journal, but if it gets more people into yoga...
  4. She who possesses impeccable credentials as a shaven-headed, tank top-wearing dyke; and who is both a vastly superior author to, and immeasurably less vexatious than, that $%^&# Anne McCaffery. Oh dear, I seem to have segued from a mention of paganism in literature to a comparison of two feminist authors. Such is deserving of a separate node, if I ever decide to elaborate on what is at present unjustified (to you, the reader) libel. No, wait...not libel, free speech, yeah! Now, I hate libel and I hate free speech; is that messed up or what?
  5. As I've never played a woma...harp like that, I cannot say without reservation what the best technique is i.e. the one exacting the most favourable response from the instrument. I gather it depends on what one has at hand.
  6. Okay, enough with the self-gratification.
  7. hemidemisemi-
  8. On second thoughts, better make that piccolo players; wouldn't want you to be disappointed....
"I learned to play guitar just to get the girls, and anyone who says they didn't is just lyin'!"
    --Willie Nelson

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