I now understand the major scale, and intervals, tempo, and I'm ready to pick up that fretless bass. I'm surrounded by musicians here, and taking refuge in these words. What are you doing, Christine asks, and Bernardo answers for me: blogging her trip.
There's a mandolin, guitar and banjo here, and they're tuning to G, C, whatever and Theresa tells us that in her busking days she used to tune her guitar to the dialtone of the payphone on the corner, E or E flat...
Holding the mandolin she's like a premature child she asks me to breathe life into her. I'm so attracted to her; she is gentle, frail, sweet. I think I've fallen in love with her, but can't make her sing.
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