Andrés Segovia's father was a musician; a church organist. At the age of six, Andrés wanted to become a musician:   a guitarist. His father said, "No!" The guitar was the instrument of the gypsies and the lower classes. Not a decent instrument for his son to play, and he didn't want him to be associating with people like that. Violin, piano, fine. But the guitar? No! This, even though there were a number of respected guitarists he apparently wasn't aware of:   Fernando Sor, Francisco Tàrrega, Carulli, Aguado;   Franz Schubert played the guitar, although, as far as I know, he didn't compose for it, Beethoven referred to the guitar as "an orchestra in miniature". . . .

This turned out to be a bit counterproductive for Andrés' father. Young Andrés took to hanging around where the gypsies hung out, listening to them play flamenco and other stuff on their guitars, and saying, "How do you do that? Show me."

With his father's attitude as it was, I don't know how he managed to get his hands on a guitar so he could practice, but he did, and he also managed to get a copy of Dionisio Aguado's Escuela de Guitarra, a guitar tutor published in 1825 (still in print today and still a very good technique book), and taught himself out of that, supplemented by Fernando Sor's collection of 120 graded studies. He made sufficient progress in his own self-instruction that he played a recital at the age of 15, which got him a scholarship to the University of Madrid school of music. There, he learned music theory and all the other stuff.

But—the key to the whole thing is a) get an idea of how to proceed either from a few lessons to begin with, or a good technique book (which you read carefully), then b) place seat of pants on seat of chair, pick up guitar (or whatever musical instrument you chose), and (Beware! Dirty word!!) practice, practice, practice!

I have had formal training, both singing and classic guitar lessons, plus some conservatory training. But my first "instruction" on the guitar consisted of Claire, my lady friend at the time, showing me how to finger G, C, and D7 on the guitar, and a few months later, Walt Robertson teaching me a bunch of picking patterns and bass runs. It was later that I started taking weekly lessons that I paid for. Was what Claire and Walt showed me "training?"

I knew a guy when I was at the University of Washington who decided he was going to be a poet. He adopted the requisite scarf and beret (his idea of what it took to be a poet), wandered around proclaiming that he was a poet. He actually wrote a little doggerel from time to time, but it was really bad stuff. Nobody else referred to him as a poet, except with a snicker.

How many people do you know who tell you, "I'm a songwriter," but their songs really deserve a quick trip to the nearest septic tank?

Being a poet or a musician or a brain surgeon requires a bit more than just calling yourself one.

I had a friend who was an artist. Really good. When people asked him what he did, he said, "I'm a painter." People would then say, "Oh, you're an artist?" Ric would respond, "Well, I paint pictures. Whether or not I am an 'artist' is not for me to say. That's for others to decide."

I'd say that Ric know where his towel was.

Don Firth