I played classical piano from the time I was six years old until I entered junior high (middle school). I was a good pianist. However, I hated playing the piano. I hated it because I was forced to play it. My mother was the enforcer. There was a mandatory 30-minuted piano practice before I could do anything after school. I couldn’t watch TV, play with friends, eat, read books, ride my bike or do anything at all until I finished my 30-minute forced piano practice.
Like any other normal kid, I rebelled. I fought. I would complain, argue, make excuses, play with the timer to shorten the time, and do anything else I could think of to avoid or shorten the tortuous experience. I tried several times to quit, but mother made it absolutely clear that nothing short of my death or hers would release me from my cultural experience.
When the class schedule came out for 8th grade classes, I saw that there was a new guitar class available. That was my ticket out of piano hell. I didn’t have any particular love for the guitar or interest in playing it, but I had an acute loathing of the piano. At first, my parents rejected the idea. Eventually, though, I was somehow able to persuade them to let me play the guitar instead of the piano. It think it had a lot to do with the fact that my piano teacher for all of those years, Mrs. Rassmussen, had terrible arthritis that was getting so bad that she was planning to move from Utah to Arizona for the warmer weather. Thus, the piano was passed down to my younger sister, never to be touched by my hands again. This came to be one of the great regrets of my life. I wish, now, that I had learned guitar, but also continued with the piano.
Prior to the start of my 8th grade year, dad scoured the classified ads in the local newspaper and found a used guitar for $25. I can’t remember the brand name, but I remember it was basically a pile of junk. How big a pile of junk I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. I would later learn that the nasty curve in the neck came from putting steel string on what turned out to be a classical guitar.
The first song we learned to play in Mrs. Steed’s class was 500 Miles. The year was spent learning Peter Paul and Mary, Beatles, John Denver, and other such songs. The highlight of the year my have been learning “Dust in the Wind” or “Time in a Bottle”.
At some point, the guitar began to grow on me. I pressed dad to let me take lessons outside of school. I’m not sure why, but I felt compelled to study classical guitar. After a bit of a search, we located a teacher that seemed to be OK. His name was Todd Milovich. Todd was a thin, wiry guy with a good head of hair and long fingernails.
As I arrived for my first lesson, Todd took one look at my battered guitar with its bent neck, cracked body, and steel strings with a look of horror and distaste on his face. He very calmly said, “No. This won’t work. You cannot use this guitar.” He went on to explain that everything that could be wrong with it was wrong with it. He explained the basics of the guitar itself to me, including why steel strings on a classical guitar is a VERY bad idea. Ms. Steed had failed to mention that guitars built for steel strings have a steel rod running up the neck to prevent it from bending, and that classical guitars, which are built for soft nylon strings, have no steel bar running up the neck.
A little more pushing and prodding induced dad to lay down $80 for a new, low-end classical guitar. This one had nylon strings.
My time learning from Todd was a joy. He was demanding, yet fun. When he knew that I hadn’t practiced, he didn’t condemn me or berate me. He encouraged me to play more. He would show me something cool and tell me that I had to practice to learn that. His encouragement and instruction over the next few years instilled a love for classical guitar music in me.
One thing he could never do though was to get me to stop tearing off my fingernails. I have always had that nervous habit. I have always struggled with it. I would never have the nails that Todd had. To compensate for the lack of natural nails, I came to know more about Joni artificial nails than any teenage male should ever know.
When I was 15, Todd mentioned that there would be a guitar competition, the Utah Freestyle Guitar Competition, during the coming summer. He suggested that I prepare a piece and enter the competition. The piece he selected was “Piva” written by J.A. Dalza in 1508.
We practiced that song so much and for so long that I can still can remember most of it 20 years later. At the competition, three things startled me. First, while waiting for my turn to perform, I walked the halls and saw Todd with an electric guitar playing back up guitar for one of his other students who was playing “99 Red Balloons” by Nena. That was the first indication I had that Todd could play anything other than classical music.
The second thing that startled me was that the girl who won first place in the classical division for our age group played a piece called “Afro-Cuban Lullaby”. It was an absolutely haunting piece of music. Gorgeous in rhythm and texture. I still want to learn to play that piece of music, but I can’t locate the sheetmusic.
The third thing that startled me was that I ended up taking third place in my division. I was quite pleased with myself.
I owe a great deal to Todd Milovich. He could have been a lousy teacher. He could have done so many things wrong that would have or could have led me to give up the guitar. However, he knew how to teach well. He knew how to reach me. He knew how to encourage me to want to learn. He knew how to make me want to practice more.
The love I have for the guitar comes directly from the teaching and encouragement of Todd Milovich. I haven’t spoken to Todd in about 19 years, but he is one influence on my musical life that I will not forget.
Nevertheless, as I grew older, there was change in the air. Some time around my 17th birthday, something happened. I met someone that would ruin my classical guitar playing forever. That person would probably have the most influence on me musically and personally than anyone else before or since. That person was Carl Hart.
