The first of a series of anecdotes sent in by members of the WEA.
By Donald
"Doctor D" McRobbie
On first
thoughts, beginner's harmonica class might seem to rank alongside pre-school
violin on the scale of collective musical awfulness. Nevertheless, keen to
enhance my musical skills and to meet like-minded people, I enrolled in John
Hastwell's (aka Aussie Bob's) basic blues harmonica course at WEA in February.
In six weeks I aimed to learn this instrument to the point of performing at one
of Adelaide's open mic evenings, possibly Finn McCool's in Norwood to which I
would cycle after class.
The first week we were
exiled to one of the Cottages, probably a good thing for the aural wellbeing of
our fellow students in other classes. Looking round the group, this was
definitely adult education, no one under the age of .... I don't like to say, but let's
just say I felt quite at home with my peers. At first glance we appeared a
motley crew, some fresh but eager novices, others veteran blues aficionados and
a couple of folkies, but as the weeks progressed we got to know each other as
we pursued a shared love of music. John was a great teacher, very encouraging
with even our feeblest attempts to bend the notes, as he demonstrated various
harmonica styles: straight harp (or folky), cross harp (bluesy) or slant harp (sad).
(See, I was listening!) Each week he would ask us which tunes we had learnt
since the last class, only to get the response, "No! We just want to jam
and play blues."
Such was our devotion to our art.
I found
playing the harmonica totally infectious. Concealed in my pocket, I would whip
it out at the traffic lights on Angas Street whilst cycling home, much to the
amusement of neighbouring drivers. On
one occasion I won the attention of two pretty young women in a sports car,
only to lose it immediately to my dogged determination to master the blues
scale, and of course the lights changing. But they waved cheerily as they sped
off into the night.
In class
John would give everyone the chance to play, and whatever our individual
abilities, we could hear ourselves collectively improving week on week. Whether
the students in the recreation area outside the classroom agreed, is hard to
tell, but no one complained. As we each performed before the group there was a
wonderful sense of support and a forgiving deaf ear turned to any slips, but as
our teacher said somewhat optimistically, "there are no wrong notes on the
harmonica." Trust us, John, I'm sure we can find some.
One week
an elderly couple joined our class. As their turn came to demonstrate their
note-bending skills, they smiled and looked blankly at our teacher. Someone
lent them a harp as they hadn't brought their own instruments. After some coaxing, the lady brought the harp
to her lips and gave a timid little toot. John looked on bemused, wondering how
his impressive coaching skills had failed so spectacularly. He was also very
good at remembering names, but had to ask this couple theirs. Not seeing them
on the register, he probed.
"Which class are you enrolled for?"
"Basic blues harmonica," they replied
confidently.
"Well you're not on my list."
"Oh," they said. "Our course begins on the
18th of March. Today."
"Well, this is February. We'll see you next
month."
There's nothing like being ahead of your time.
The final
week, one of the group brought in a guitar amplifier, and we all took turns at
playing our harps at volume with distortion. The difference was remarkable as
we were transformed from note-shy wallflowers into howling rockstars to our
favourite tune: twelve bar blues in G. That night after class there was a plan
to go the the open mic at the Gov to perform it in ensemble. Sadly, I was
unable to attend. My own public harmonica debut was a nervy solo in Robert
Johnson's Love in Vain at one of the
Summer Sundays at the Bay concerts in Moseley Square, Glenelg. Unused to
playing with a harmonica cradle, Dylan-style, whilst accompanying on guitar, I
breathily chased the harp around, my
lips never extending quite far enough to catch it, no matter how ridiculous the
pout, to squeeze out its intended but elusive lonesome wail. But none of the
audience left and I played it, after just five weeks of tuition, a testament to
both tutor and institution.
Harmonica
is the ultimate portable instrument, better even than the ukelele. It is also the
most intuitive. No prior musical knowledge is required, just an ability to
count to eight, to feel the blues, breathe in and out (mainly in), and to
wiggle your hands in that cool way you see in movies set in the Deep South.
Basic blues harmonica at WEA is a fabulous way to learn an instrument, make new
friends and have fun. If you've got the blues then mosey on down to Angas
Street on a Thursday night and raise some mojo. Roll on intermediate blues
harmonica at WEA.
Playing at the
Dan O'Connell with Brian "the harp" Doddridge, a proper harmonica
player.
