Happy Birthday to Me!

 

Rick Savage

Previously:  Some sort of Bold took over me.  Sounds like a song lyric, doesn't it?  I approached Rick Savage, the extremely talented bassist for Def Leppard and showed him my pick necklace.

At that point, I left him to his conversation and talked to the woman, Nancy, at the bar.  We got along fine, she didn't think I was creepy and I joined her. 

During our second glass of wine--a very nice Petite Syrah--I wondered if I could get a picture with Sav, since I had my iPod in my pocket.

He politely declined for the moment, as he was deep in conversation with his companion, but perhaps when they finished.

I accepted that graciously (I hope) because really, I know they must get tired of being approached by strangers.  Didn't I recently finish a novel that deals with just this sort of thing?  Yes. 

So I returned to the bar where Nancy and I continued to converse.  A company of three, to whom she had been talking before, were on the other side of her and they were a lot of fun.  As they were leaving, Nancy told them I was on my own, and it was my birthday.  One of the three was having her birthday as well, and none of us were exactly reticent about it--right in front of Sav. 

But I did have the sense to sit with my back to him and I didn't turn around to look at him while talking with Nancy.  He could've easily slipped out and I wouldn't have known.  I almost expected it, and I wouldn't have thought any less of him.  I may have been disappointed, but such is life, eh?

My conversation with Nancy covered many different subjects including dogs, pets in general, husbands and aging parents among other things. 

Imagine my surprise when a touch on the shoulder revealed Sav's companion who said, "Let's do this thing, but discreetly."

Wow!  We went into an adjacent, but unpopulated area and Sav's friend took two pictures with my iPod.  I wanted to squeal and jump for joy, but I didn't.  For once, I didn't become a victim of my unbridled enthusiasm, a la Billy Mumfrey.

"Do me a favor, will you?" Sav asked me.

Anything, I wanted to say, but "Sure," came out of my mouth.

"Keep this to yourself, okay?  I don't want to see it on Facebook."

Being a part of the Lepp Nation on Facebook, I certainly understood that.  I told him I hadn't even been able to connect with the Internet from my room and he was glad to hear it.  So, he didn't actually ask me to promise I wouldn't, but to me, it was a promise and I will not post the picture on Facebook.  I won't post it here, either, because inevitably it will find its way to Facebook.

(Sidenote:  One of my friends used his Photoshop to exchange the original background of the pictures with a picture of Def Leppard onstage, making it look like Sav and I are standing in front of the stage.  My friend didn't know about the promise and it was on Facebook for about an hour before I saw it and panicked.  He took it down when I called him.  *grin*  He did a great job though, and an 8X10 print of it will look fantastic in the stairwell going up to the gameroom, next to the one of me and Eric Johnson in 2005.  That was another smile I held onto for weeks afterward.)

Eric Johnson and me
2005




Mary O, Vegas Virgin

Ded Flatbird, Def Leppard's
"opening" band in Las Vegas
2013

Man, what a trip!  I can't even believe I went to Las Vegas by myself.  I literally, (yes, Sheldon, literally) lost sleep trying to decide whether to go or not.  I had tons of encouragement, but it was my brother, Jim Ogden, who decided it for me.  He said, "If you don't go, you'll regret it."  And I knew it was true.

Here's the story.

When the announcement came out last November that Def Leppard would be doing a residency at The Joint in the Hard Rock Hotel, Las Vegas, I was so excited!  Excited until I realized I didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of attending.  Not only had I never been to Las Vegas, I had never been to a Def Leppard concert in thirty years of fandom.  They were in Charlotte in June (? I think) of 2012, but we were sort of indisposed during that time, and I couldn't even think of going.

Oh, and then the excitement began to build within the Lepp Nation online.  The mania of Viva Hysteria hit Facebook, Rock Brigade Fan Forum, plus the myriad of other Lepp pages.

I became more and more melancholy with each new posting of someone getting their tickets.  It seemed as if no one was getting a regular ticket.  It seemed like they were all able to afford $750.00 per ticket for the "meet and greet" with the band.  Or, they could afford one M&G plus several other regular tickets for multiple nights.  WTH?

Color me sad.  And the more I talked about it, the less likely it seemed that I would get a chance to go.  Christmas came and went.  No tickets in my stocking. 

The new year began the online countdown to March 22nd, the date of the first show.  Color me depressed.  As the date approached, as well as my birthday, the more despondant I became.

Hubs noticed.

And finally I brought it to him.  Keep in mind, this was after I had repeatedly told him "I didn't expect to go."  I mean, airfare from Charleston, hotel, ticket--even a regular one--not to mention merchandise, of which, if I got to go, I planned on purchasing a LOT--would probably run upwards of $1000-$1200--in the middle of the "sequester" scare.  So I hadn't seen any possibility.  However, we talked about it and it came to pass. 

Wha-a-a-a-t?!  Hubs would not get to come with me because of work, but he wanted to see me happy, so I started planning.  Yes, I know I have a great husband.

My review of the concert, beyond the adjectives "awesome," fantastic" and "loved it!" will be in a separate blog.  You guys know I rock hard, right?  Just checking.

So I gathered my courage over travelling alone to a place I'd never been--a BIG obstacle--and arrived in Sin City and the Hard Rock Hotel, on my birthday about four o'clock.  The excitement had worn me out somewhat, but I was pretty wound up.  I called home to let Hubs know I'd made it and then put on my exploring shoes, so to speak.

Stay tuned

"The Guitarist"

Vivian Campbell of
Def Leppard

As you may or may not have noticed, this blog is morphing into less about me taking guitar lessons and more about me writing and learning about guitarists.  I finished the first-ish draft of my novel, "The Guitarist" on Valentine's Day.  I actually finished it a day or so earlier, but couldn't quite say goodbye to it, so I waited till February 14th to write "The End."  Silly girl.  The first draft logline is "Famous guitarist finds love and family despite his troubled past ."  I can start the first round of revisions on April 14th.

Several people on Facebook said it would be okay to write a sequel.  I was like, eh, I don't know.  I had an idea (thank you, muse) for another story, this one about a singer.  No, it's not called "The Singer."  I started that one and, thank goodness musicians hang out with other musicians, because my guitarist and his girl, and several other characters from other stories are making an appearance.  I like their world.

Sean Ashe

I finally got a Twitter account-- @maryfersner --and found some incredible young guitar players.  Well, one found me and I found others through him.  The first one is Sean Ashe, shredder extraordinaire.  Find him at www.SeanAsheGuitar.com and www.Youtube.com/SeanAsheOfficial.  He actually makes music.  It's not just going fast, there's melody involved.  Essential in my book.  And some gig Sean's got too.  Guitar manufacturers send him guitars to demo.  I mean, c'mon!



Martin Miller

Sean turned me onto a German guitarist, Martin Miller who can be found at www.martinmillerguitar.com and I bought his full-length cd called, "The Other End."  Wow.  Part shred, a la Satch, part jazz guitar, part sweetness and part "tearin' the roof off the emeffer," yet tied together being all Martin.  Check it out.  I've got it on my "Writing Music" playlist, so that says something.

Okay, finally, because this is starting to get long and you know how I can go on.  Hahaha!!  So for my birthday, and seeing them for the first time ever, I'm going to Las Vegas to see Def Leppard in their Viva Hysteria residency at Hard Rock's The Joint!  I'm so psyched!  I've been a fan for decades, but seeing them in concert is so gonna ROCK!!  Oh, yeah.  www.defleppard.com

Def Leppard
Hysteria Album Cover

Old fingers, new tricks

Just when frustration takes over and I think, there's no way I can do this, my fingers surprise me and stretch--or stay put--or whatever I ask them to do in practice.  This week it's bar (or barre) chords.

On Monday, I was excited to show off my "hip chord" skills to John so, of course, he added a "hammer-on" to the mix.  Oh, and my rhythm still stinks, by the way, so instead of his being able to play along with me (or the other way around) he's just going to have to listen to what I came up with.  Thank goodness he's got a great sense of humor and is not a stickler for perfection.  He even comes up with spontaneous riffs for me to work on.  The least I can do is practice diligently.

Which is what I've been doing.  We're working on the E based bar chord this week and he pulled out the Proud Mary riff for me.  Hahaha!!  And how come I can do it in his studio, but when I get home, it sounds like a four-year old banging on the strings?  (Still laughing at myself.)

I posted my frustration on Facebook and pleaded for advice from all those musician "friends" I have out there.  The one response I got was from Mike C., a Marshall friend who was one of my original inspirations to play guitar in the first place.  He recommended that I switch from the acoustic to the electric, and bar chords might get easier.  I did, and they have.  Thanks, Mike!    

So anyway, the first problem I had was keeping my E fingers in the E formation as I worked my way up the neck.  'Course the major problem was keeping my #1 finger across the strings.  Very little in life comes easily.  Ta-a-a-ke a deep breath.  Try again. 

I worked out some drills for myself--do some scales using just the bar with #1, and then do them with the chord.  Put them together and I'm getting better. Not nearly perfect, or even good, but better.  Now my complaint is there's not enough room for both the 3 and 4 fingers inside the 12th fret.  And I don't have fat little fingers.  In fact, my fingers are about the only non-chubby parts of me.  Whatever.  I'll keep working on it. 

Yesterday I found a book I bought at Barnes & Noble . . . God only knows when . . . called Total Guitar by Terry Burrows (1998, Carlton Books Limited) whose author notes on the dust jacket flap include the following:  "He is an eclectic musician responsible for over 40 commercial releases since the mid-1980's, in a bewildering variety of styles and guises."  I looked it over when I brought it home, but there was so much I didn't understand.  I checked it out yesterday and it was like a light bulb went off over my head.  Oh-h-h, now I get it. 

And I'm looking forward to my lesson next week when I walk in with my electric guitar.  I mean, John teaches me on his electric.  My favorite music to listen to comes from electric guitars.  Why haven't I taken it before now?  Eh, (shrug) who knows?

Look out, John, here I come!