…scanned from my archive. Like many other boys growing up in the 60s I hated the Beatles. OK I didn’t really hate them, but all those girls screaming and going gaga over them was very annoying to a 10 year old boy. But soon I was won over and like many other young boys growing up in the 60s, I loved the Beatles. So of course I grew my hair long and wanted to play guitar.
My first guitar looked like a guitar, it certainly was the right shape and had a nice sunburst color, but I can’t say it sounded like one, at least when I tried playing it. The action on the frets was so bad that my little fingers couldn’t really press down hard enough to make the chords sound decent. But I persevered, and as these photos will attest, I played that thing indoors, outdoors, standing up and sitting down.
Some of these were taken at my west 4th St. apartment that we moved to in 1964. There’s one of me out in Fire Island with what I can assure you was a Beatles song book, as they were the only ones I had.
There’s one with my cousin Leslee and Michael in what appears to be a prison cell judging by the cot and the look on Leslee‘s face. Michael and I seem to be attempting to play the guitar together, I can only imagine what that sounded like.
Eventually I moved up to a classical nylon string guitar which felt like butter to my raw and bloody fingers. I played that guitar at a school concert along with Bly Salzman and Larry, a beautiful rendition I’m sure of Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man.
The last photo is me at my moms apartment with my Gibson ES 335. Man I loved that guitar!