Backstage at the Arena, May sensed more than the instrument’s physical weight as she lifted her father’s axe from its stand. Named after a Chuck Berry song, Pa’s childhood hero, and not her birth month, as her mother once believed, she’d adopted the shortened version, rather than the officially registered Maybellene.
Invited by her late father’s bandmates, May was guesting in a tribute to his memory, a sold out show to be recorded at a local theatre for later transmission by a national network. Fittingly, the location chosen for the event, was a medium-sized hometown venue they’d first played when hitting the road as wet-eared youngsters; and among those lucky enough to have got a ticket were an invited group of the musical legends her father deemed close friends.
So, as a talisman and to feel his presence on stage, she’d selected her father’s 1960 Les Paul Sunburst, a favourite guitar of his when performing the blues. Spoilt for choice, from the sheer number and quality of his collection, she’d settled on the Gibson. Its slimmer neck, when compared to a Stratocaster—another instrument closely linked to her father—and unique to that year’s production run, was a feature that suited May’s smaller hands. However, and more importantly, she felt its humbucker pickups produced a warmer, more expansive sound than the Fender’s single coils, especially when paired with a Marshall amp at full volume. Just the right note for the two songs she’d perform, one a composition she and her father had collaborated on shortly before his passing.
Never daunted by an audience, May felt more than a little trepidation when she heard a familiar song’s opening chords; an anthem written by her father which had announced the bands’s arrival to a larger audience. The last in tonight’s set before she was called on stage. Used to performing, whether for family, friends or at a school concert, the thought of a much larger audience hadn’t unduly unnerved her. No, her father’s memory was May’s primary concern, and imagining he’d be looking down from on high, she feared disappointing him.
In her heart, May knew she wouldn’t; but then again, feeling downbeat was the perfect prelude to playing the blues.
Invited by her late father’s bandmates, May was guesting in a tribute to his memory, a sold out show to be recorded at a local theatre for later transmission by a national network. Fittingly, the location chosen for the event, was a medium-sized hometown venue they’d first played when hitting the road as wet-eared youngsters; and among those lucky enough to have got a ticket were an invited group of the musical legends her father deemed close friends.
So, as a talisman and to feel his presence on stage, she’d selected her father’s 1960 Les Paul Sunburst, a favourite guitar of his when performing the blues. Spoilt for choice, from the sheer number and quality of his collection, she’d settled on the Gibson. Its slimmer neck, when compared to a Stratocaster—another instrument closely linked to her father—and unique to that year’s production run, was a feature that suited May’s smaller hands. However, and more importantly, she felt its humbucker pickups produced a warmer, more expansive sound than the Fender’s single coils, especially when paired with a Marshall amp at full volume. Just the right note for the two songs she’d perform, one a composition she and her father had collaborated on shortly before his passing.
Never daunted by an audience, May felt more than a little trepidation when she heard a familiar song’s opening chords; an anthem written by her father which had announced the bands’s arrival to a larger audience. The last in tonight’s set before she was called on stage. Used to performing, whether for family, friends or at a school concert, the thought of a much larger audience hadn’t unduly unnerved her. No, her father’s memory was May’s primary concern, and imagining he’d be looking down from on high, she feared disappointing him.
In her heart, May knew she wouldn’t; but then again, feeling downbeat was the perfect prelude to playing the blues.
