A minor and G major. Those were my first guitar chords. I learned them shortly after an apartment above us burned down and we almost lost our home. I was 13 at the time and huddled with my brothers in one of the few rooms that hadn't been too badly damaged by the firefighting water. I probably got on everyone's nerves with my thumping, but they let me go. Now I'm 31 and can play a few more chords. But the effect of playing has always remained the same: I forget my surroundings and immerse myself in a world of comfort. Stress at home? I lock myself in my room and learn "Hey Joe." Anxiety about the future after graduating from high school? I record music on my recorder and send it to my pen pal. Unpleasant thought loops? I sit in front of the loop station and lose myself in echoing carpets of sound. Boredom in the Welsh countryside? I order a used Blacktop Telecaster and try to understand Adam Jones' riffs. Burnout after my first job? I fall in love with a G&L Tribute ASAT Special and buy it from a philosopher on eBay classifieds. To be completely honest: there have been long periods in between when I sold and neglected my six-string lifesavers. This has been the case recently, too. But just before the coronavirus pandemic suddenly became a reality, I pulled myself together and contacted a guitar teacher. The timing couldn't have been better. When I'm over from home and have soaked up some sun outside, I sit down on my rug, pick up the G&L, and turn on my amp. From the outside, it seems pretty banal. One or two warm-ups, followed by a few laborious attempts to cram a bit of music theory into my head. But from the inside, it makes me very happy—and lets me fall contentedly into bed at night while the world is ending outside.
