The Guitar Lesson

-->

The choice grew ever starker. On the one hand, Brendan could stop performing his own songs, except in pedestrian malls, for voluntary donations, and instead play songs modern diners and drinkers wanted to hear, or he could go back to selling luxury bathroom fixtures, usually to the supercilious rich. He decided on the former, and set about learning the several Ed fucking Sheeran songs for which he received so many requests. He set up shop right across from the big Bentall Centre in Kingston on Saturday afternoon and discovered — to one part delight and four parts dismay — that a great many more people paused to listen than when he sang his own stuff. As he’d hoped would happen, the proprietor from a local pub invited him to pop over for a chat one evening, and the next thing he knew, Brendan was playing three nights a week at the Goose and Syringe, for a fifth what IT would have paid, but enough to keep the fridge full and the heating on.

Mostly he sang for himself. Occasionally, he’d start one of Ed’s songs, and a few drinkers or diners might click the pause button on their conversations to savour the first verse and chorus. When he sneaked a couple of his own songs back into the repertoire, no one seemed to mind. And during the second set of the evening, a pair of white van types with thick tattooed necks, nothing like as genteel as the rest of the place’s clientele, seemed actually to enjoy one of his own songs. He’d have preferred the pair of young women who favoured Keira Knightley and an adult-sized Kylie Minogue, but one takes what he can get.

The two geezers, Nige and Roy, insisted on buying him a pint during his second break. He was afraid they might ask if the original song that had got them grinning was a Sheeran. It turned out they hadn’t really noticed the song, but Bren’s guitar-playing. Their employer wanted to learn to play. Did Bren offer tuition? Bren had never either received nor bestowed a guitar lesson and said, “I’m flattered, but I’m not the right person for the job.”

His two new friends smirked at each other. Nige said, “Well, we think you are, sunshine, so your two choices are teaching the boss to play, or having me and Roy stomp on your fucking hands until they look like fucking crepes, and if I was you, I’d teach the boss to play.” Bren had to admit that seemed by far the more attractive option, told the Syringe’s governor that he was poorly, and unable to do a third set that night, and allowed his two new friends to drive him — in a gleaming BMW 5 Series that smelled two weeks out of the showroom — up to Richmond Hill, where The Boss lived in a 5th-storey penthouse with a view of the river.

He had a troubling scar on his left cheek and a gorgeous replica of The Fool, the psychedelic Gibson SG Eric Clapton had played with Cream, except The Boss, who sounded Welsh, said it wasn’t a replica, but the actual instrument. Trying to bond with him, Brendan mused that it must have cost a fortune. The Boss snickered. “Let’s just say that its previous owner insisted have it.” Nige plugged him into a Marshall 2525C Mini Silver Jubilee Combo. He played a little blues lick, clumsily. Roy marvelled, “Fabulous!” under his breath, and Nige looked very impressed too.

 

Brendan thought he’d teach The Boss E7, A7, and B7 chords. “Learn these three,” he said, trying for chirpiness, even though The Boss’s unmistakable lack of aptitude made him worry for his hands, “and you’ll be able to play literally thousands of blues and rock and roll songs.” The Boss grunted sceptically, and then, over the next 10 minutes, made no progress whatever and growled, “Fucking hell!” in frustration 750,000 times. He reverted to playing his one little blues lick, glaring at Brendan as he did so, as though to demonstrate to Brendan that their lack of progress was entirely to do with Brendan’s deficiencies as a teacher.

 

“Not much bloody use then, are you, sunshine?” Nige growled at Brendan, who was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be playing the guitar very well himself anymore. But instead of stomping on his hands, Nige and Roy dropped him off The Boss’s balcony. His neck was broken, and his left leg, and several ribs, but his hands were undamaged.

See my new video series.