By Diodato Bouzigues
Winter 2018 Kaplan Award Winner
My first electric guitar I ever played was a 1970 Gibson SG. ‘Tis an iconic guitar used by the legendary likes of George Harrison, Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend, and countless legendary guitarists. I love Gibson guitars and hope to buy a Les Paul someday. Although I’m not above buying a Fender, Gibson’s main rival in the guitar industry. I would be in good company; Fenders have been used by Buddy Holly, Jeff Beck, and Jimi Hendrix. Jimi in particular used a Stratocaster. Oh golly, do I want a Strat.
‘Tis the guitar Jimi is immortalised with on the statue on Broadway in Seattle. The statue was created by Seattle-area artist Daryl Smith and dedicated in 1997 four years after I was born and, coincidentally, around the time I first met Jimi. As I gaze upon the bronze visage of arguably the greatest guitarist of all-time I pause and with my mind’s eye recall when I was a boy, around 4-5 years old, already passionate about music.
My parents believed it imperative to inculcate in me a love of history’s greatest compositions, not the silly commercial pop music starting to infiltrate airwaves around the globe in the 90s. Even when I was yet in my mother’s womb, she played the works of Chopin, Mozart, and other classical composers. When I was a lad I was introduced to classic rock, Motown, and crooners like Frank Sinatra.
My dad was often the one who introduced the rock groups since he had seen many of the artists he played to me live as a young man in San Francisco near Haight-Ashbury in the late 60s and early 70s. He saw Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, and the Who perform on the same ticket at Kezar Stadium, the 49ers’ old stomping grounds, in 1971. He saw Jeff Beck and Rod Stewart perform their monumental “Truth” album at the Fillmore West in 1969. I could write all day about all the other legendary bands my dad saw—for instance Cream, the Kinks, and The Moody Blues—but that’s for another time. Sadly, despite all the bands he saw, he never saw Jimi live.
One day, after a nice day at the park, dad played me one of the greatest songs of all-time: “Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)” from Jimi’s second album “Electric Ladyland.” My little mind was blown. Never before had I heard such sounds come from a speaker let alone a guitar. The wha wha pedal, lyrics, feedback were truly astonishing. From then on, I was a fan of Jimi’s music. (Sometime later I learned that the first recorded intentional use of feedback in a song was not Jimi but The Beatles’ 1964 #1 hit “I Feel Fine,” but I digress). I asked dad for more and he played the entirety of “Are You Experienced?” Jimi’s debut album. There was no question; I was hooked. The soaring feedback of “Foxey Lady” and the calmingly hypnotic progression of “The Wind Cries Mary” certainly left me in a Purple Haze.
The Sun, shining bright and clear, returns me to the present. Wearing a black long-sleeve shirt in nice 80 degree weather in any city usually isn’t a good idea. I’m momentarily distracted. Cars honk and continue on Broadway or turn right on Pine. I look around; people converse and relax in a park setting across the street at South Seattle College. A tall redhead in bright blue yoga pants notices me, smiles, and walks by, capturing my enamoured gaze for the next 30 seconds. Ooh, Foxey Lady.
Despite growing up around music I never actually learned guitar until high school. Dad was self-taught having only learned to play in his 30s. Looking back, I simply wasn’t ready to play the guitar preoccupied as I was with Hot Wheels and LEGO Star Wars rather than my dad’s six-string acoustic Yamaha. When I was a sophomore in high school I started to get urges…to play music. Like dad, I was an autodidact and took the initiative to play the guitar.
It turned out I have a natural gift; I learned to play the guitar with voracious rapidity which is not too surprising given that my mother’s side was quite musical. My maternal great-grandfather, an autodidact himself, taught his wife, my grandmother and her brother, my great-uncle Pepe, to play guitar. In fact, Pepe was so proficient that he became a professional guitarist and performed in front of Queen Elizabeth II with his band Los Paladines in the 1950s.
I gather myself and finally recenter my attention on the statue. I notice the look on Jimi’s face. ‘Tis an expression of raging ecstasy, of almost, dare I say, orgasmic revelry. Like he’s plucked the string, flexed the wha wha pedal, and hit the note oh so right. As a musician it’s a feeling I know quite well.
That same year dad bought me a Jimi Hendrix songbook complete with tabulatures or tabs which indicates finger positions on the fretboard using numbers rather than traditional sheet music and musical pitches. I poured over the songbook and absorbed as much as my burgeoning skill allowed. In certain solos I felt the joy that Jimi must’ve felt all those years ago. A few times I even made that same euphoric face.
Combined with encouragement from my wonderful mom and learning songs by The Beatles I felt that creative compulsion to compose music. The Beatles are my favourite group and had the greatest influence upon my musical journey yet Jimi certainly lent a hand in crafting it. I’ve learned, written, and played many songs since. I’m proud to say Jimi and his influence have been there right from the beginning e’er since a young boy first heard the guitar wailings of a Voodoo Chile. The burning sunbeams remind me where I am: right where I started on Broadway, wistfully remembering those first few moments with Jimi.