Confessions of a Stupid Guitarist part 3 (2026)
As of February 2026, when I am writing part three of these Confessions, I’m very nearly twice the age I was when I wrote my first Confessions in 1996. I thought it was past time for an update, especially since these pages have been helpful for others. And for my own edification, it will be nice to review my past concerns and see how much I have or haven’t progressed. If, in another thirty years, the Earth is still a habitable planet and humanity hasn’t extinguished itself in a nuclear holocaust, I hope I’ll be of sound enough mind and body to update this again.
TECHNIQUE
After rereading my writings in Confessions 1 and 2, I can see my frustrations with my inability to force myself to have “good” technique. I thought that the solution was just to practice harder and/or longer, and I constantly felt myself running up against a brick wall of physical limitations caused by shaky hands and a general lack of physical dexterity. I also began experiencing painful bouts of tendinitis in my right thumb. Switching to a finger-style approach in the ‘90s helped with these challenges considerably, especially because I made staying relaxed and efficient my prime directive after reading Kenny Werner’s Effortless Mastery. I remember being particularly inspired by the learning diamond Werner diagrammed near the end of this book. He promoted the idea of attaining a relaxed focus–basically a state of meditation–and letting go one aspect of playing: accuracy, speed, or playing the entire example. In other words, in order to play the entire example you’re practicing accurately, you must slow it down to a speed that you can play the whole thing without mistakes. To play something accurately and up to speed, you must sacrifice playing the entire example and only play the bit that you can without errors. Slow, patient practice with this method in mind helped me improve my technique considerably, and I think that, in some ways, the late ‘90s/early 2000s were the pinnacle of my technical ability.
Then, unfortunately, tendonitis began to rear its ugly head once again. This time, however, instead of being concentrated in my right thumb and caused by overly tense picking technique, it seemed to crop up in all sorts of places. First came tennis elbow in one arm, then the other. After that went away, tendinitis cropped up in my left wrist, then in my left thumb. It was like a game of Whac-A-Mole; I’d take a break, let one manifestation heal, and as soon as I went back to regular playing, the tendonitis would pop up somewhere else. I continued to try to be aware of efficient and relaxed technique and to modify my form and posture, and I think I have gradually made changes for the better over the years, but I have come to the conclusion that my body is simply predisposed to tendinitis.
I realized eventually that the hours of daily practice of my youth were just not sustainable as I began to age. Over the last couple decades, I have learned to listen to my body and take a break when I can feel that I am stressing my joints and tendons. It is sometimes frustrating to not be able to practice as much as I’d like, but taking it easy sure beats dealing with pain when I do play. Although I have some chronic trouble with my left wrist, it has become manageable, and I haven’t had a significant bout of tendonitis (where I felt I had to stop playing for a time) in the last several years.
As I’ve gotten older, my hands have become even more shaky, and my dexterity is also deteriorating. I have gradually begun to accept that my inadequate physicality and lack of coordination is actually part of my voice as a musician. A quote I read once, attributed to Pablo Picasso, helped reassure me: “Style is the difference between a circle and the way you draw it.” Supposedly, Picasso would ask his students to draw a perfect circle. When, predictably, they would fail in some minor way, he would tell them that their circle was their own and to embrace the imperfection. He said, “From errors, one gets to know the personality.” Since no one can draw a perfect circle, the specific way that you wobble or miscalculate is your signature. I found that this idea translated in a very inspiring way to my playing. Even though, when I practice my technique, I know I will never play perfectly, I will always keep trying, and in that striving, my own voice will surface. Those clunkers that happen in the middle of a line, the missed string, the chord that I hit too loudly or too softly… that all makes me unique. As an artist, my individual style is a collection of all the ways I am imperfect.
Sometimes, I have to admit, when I hear a great guitarist playing with a pick, I’ll become envious of that player’s driving rhythmic feel, accents and ghosted notes, and overall fluidity. But, on a good day, instead of feeling defeated and regretting that I made the choice to play finger-style all those years ago, I simply try to gain inspiration from that player. Again, it’s the striving that shows up as my own voice, and if I could perfectly mimic Pat Martino’s eighth notes, I wouldn’t sound like me.
THE JOY OF PRACTICING
A significant part of any musician’s practice is working on technique, and organization of practice time is something I have struggled with in the past. How do I best structure my practice time to achieve maximum results? This is also a subject my students often ask me about. I ended up devoting an entire Mike’s Master Class, called The Joy of Practicing, to this topic back in 2014, and thought it might be worth mentioning a few of the conclusions I have drawn.
First, as I discuss in my class, I have found that effective organization of practice time can be done in three different ways. The most obvious is to make a schedule for practice: thirty minutes of technique and warm up, an hour for working on improvisation, forty-five minutes of working on chord vocabulary, etc… As a young musician, I failed spectacularly whenever I attempted to stick to such a schedule. I have found this to be the case with most of my students as well, although there are rare exceptions.
A less intimidating method that worked for me was compiling a “master list.” This list consists of literally everything I think I need to work on in music and on the guitar for the rest of my life. I used to keep this list on my music stand simply as a reminder. Inevitably, when I would begin to lose focus, I would glance at the list and some topic would catch my eye. “Oh, right, I was thinking as I was going to sleep last night that I really want to work on rhythm changes in twelve keys!” and off I’d go headfirst into that. More recently, I’ve also begun to keep more short-term lists of things I want to accomplish, say, this summer.
The third option for practice time organization is like a schedule but in reverse: a practice journal. You write down everything you’re working on each day and keep a running summary. Then, each week or so, you assess what you’ve been doing and for how long, and this helps you see areas you have been neglecting, or conversely, areas where you’ve been really inspired and are making a lot of progress. I have never made a practice journal, but I’ve had students who found this method quite effective.
Also, as the name of the class implies, I love to find the joy in practicing. If I approach practice with a negative attitude as though it’s something full of drudgery that I have to do, not only will I not enjoy it, but I don’t think I’ll get much out of it. I definitely find that the more excited and inspired I am by a particular subject, the more satisfaction I get from practicing it. Of course, we all have areas where we naturally tend to excel, and it’s always more fun to concentrate on those and less on the areas where we’re having trouble. But I am a big believer in cultivating the idea of turning those difficult subjects into a rewarding challenge rather than a draining bummer. I suppose it’s a bit like the Sisyphus myth of pushing the boulder up the hill with the knowledge that it will always roll back down, but as in Albert Camus’ analysis, the struggle is what makes the process meaningful and enjoyable. Practicing should be a fun activity in and of itself without any goal attached to it. Seeing the improvement in your playing over time is merely the icing on the cake.
Another technique I have found helpful is to divide my practice time into two areas: long-term practice where I am working on big-picture things and short-term practice that’s necessary in order to play at a professional level on my gigs. When I have the luxury of practicing long-term subjects which are purely for my own satisfaction, I often benefit greatly from spending a few hours here and there, whenever I have the time, on one specific subject. Whereas if I’m learning tunes for an upcoming gig, I have found it best to work on the material consistently every day for at least a week or so (or longer, if practical) leading up to the gig. In this case, I rarely spend huge chunks of time on one small aspect unless there is a passage that is particularly difficult. Instead, I run through everything from start to finish and only occasionally stop to fix details if there’s something obvious that needs attention. This works much better for me than trying to “cram” by leaving my practice for the day before the gig and working on it for hours and hours straight.
TEACHING
When I wrote Confessions part 2, I had been doing a fair amount of teaching, but in the intervening years I’ve logged thousands more hours of both “institutional” teaching (colleges and universities) as well as teaching outside of academia.
I realized that the act of writing the Confessions had been quite beneficial in organizing my thoughts and helping articulate them. Many of my students, of course, have grappled with the same issues that I talk about in Confessions 1 and 2, and it has often been helpful for them to read through the essays for possible solutions, but, perhaps more importantly, to see that they are not alone in their struggles. I have also noticed, though, as time goes on, that today’s students don’t necessarily have all the same challenges I had. For example, I’ve found that students don’t experience frustration quite as much with their sound now as in the past. I think this may be due to improvements in technology and also progress in education. In general, I think that students at the college level are much more advanced than when I was in college. Of course, that can have its own challenges as students find themselves thrust into the professional world at a younger age than in the past.
Overall, teaching has enriched my life immeasurably as both a musician and as a person. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. I was lucky enough to receive mentoring from numerous inspiring teachers who, in addition to helping me progress as a musician and artist, also became role models for my own career as an educator. (To read more about my favorite teachers, click here.)
The many hours I have spent teaching have been incredibly valuable to me. In reviewing topics with students, I get a chance to reinforce my own knowledge, and it’s always helpful to revisit fundamentals. Teaching also challenges me to think of strategies to explain a concept or solve a problem from a new perspective when a student doesn’t respond at first to my “stock” explanation. I think it’s safe to say that I’ve learned something from each student I’ve taught over the years. Sometimes an advanced student will kick my ass and send me back to the practice room or will want to cover a topic that I don’t know much about, forcing me to research the subject. And other times, a student, whether advanced or beginner, will simply ask me a question that I’ve never thought of asking myself. I really think that teaching is a win-win for both teacher and student, and I highly recommend the practice to any musician.
It’s my sincere hope that I’ve made a positive difference, at least by some small measure, in the lives of each of my students. My wish is that when my students look back on their time spent with me, they will remember me as someone who was on their team and who wanted more than anything to help them become a better version of themselves. I hope they will feel that I approached their lessons with openness, a sense of fun and humor, and that I was someone they could look up to as an example of dedication to the art and craft of music and the guitar.
FINDING YOUR PEOPLE
For me, one of the most satisfying aspects of being a musician has been feeling that sense of community and acceptance with other musicians. In general, I find that I can relate to and feel at home with other musicians much more so than with non-musicians. There is an unspoken camaraderie among musicians. We are all artists, we live outside of the mainstream of society, we are truly passionate about what we do for a living, and we tend to be open, funny, creative, and all a little strange in our own ways.
And, even better, within that universal brother/sisterhood are smaller groups that have even more in common. This often corresponds with specific styles of music played, instruments played, geographical area, whether or not one went to a music school, or which music school one attended. I have jazz musician friends, guitar friends, South Florida friends, and music school undergrad and grad friends. Then, getting even more specific, among these categories are the individuals I have a special bond with, often not dependent on the above factors. These are people who just seem to “get” me and whom I seem to “get” in return: people with whom much can go unspoken in a musical performance because we have a natural chemistry and synergy and so many similarities in aesthetic outlook and experience. Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock found each other. John Lennon and Paul McCartney found each other. Ben Monder and Theo Bleckmann found each other. Be on the lookout for your musical soulmates. They will often end up becoming your closest friends.
FAIRY TALES CAN COME TRUE
It could happen to you, if you’re young at heart. While it is probably true that most artists are young at heart, I have found that maintaining an open, playful, joyful outlook on life and on my work has been immensely valuable. People seem surprised when they find out I’m nearly 60 years old, and I know it’s not because I look young for my age; I think it’s only because I project a young attitude. I try to cultivate curiosity, not get jaded, not take anything for granted, always find the humor in everything, and always keep learning. I find often that I can relate to people who are younger than me, sometimes more than people my own age. Of course, an innocent and youthful outlook isn’t always a good quality. I tend to be pretty awful at practical, adult things that people my age are supposed to have figured out decades ago. I’m not someone you would want to depend on during an emergency or when you need help figuring out why your car won’t start, but I wouldn’t trade my lighthearted energy for all the practical know-how in the world.
MEDITATION
At this point in my life, I’ve been meditating on-and-off for probably forty years or so. And while I may have come across in Confessions part 2 as if I thought I was some sort of advanced meditation guru, I have figured out in the ensuing years that I’m still just a beginner. I do believe that meditation has helped me achieve a higher state of being in regard to my music, both in performance and in composing. But I still get stressed out about events beyond my control and slip into panic mode when my world feels like it’s spiraling down on me. However, I’m convinced I’d be even worse off if I didn’t meditate. I still recommend it, and I still think that playing music is a deeply therapeutic form of meditation both on a daily basis and in the context of a lifetime.
GETTING NERVOUS AD NAUSEAM
I haven’t yet achieved nervousness nirvana. I still get anxious in high-pressure music performance situations. I’ve come to realize that this condition will always be there to some extent. But again, experience continues to make stage fright less daunting all the time.
Unlike when I was younger, I now find that just about all of my most satisfying musical experiences happen in live situations instead of privately in the practice room. The energy from other musicians and audiences can’t be replicated in isolation. My practice usually consists of three areas: working on new concepts/techniques, practicing music for upcoming gigs, and composing. Of the three, composing is the only one these days that approaches the experience of performing, and even this is usually because I’m thinking in terms of the other musicians who will eventually play the music, and the anticipation of sharing the music with listeners.
So, what have I learned over the course of this weird, crazy, beautiful life? I’ve realized that, unless you’re one of those lucky few who never seems to have any nervousness performing in front of others from the start, you’ll probably always have at least a little anxiety in stressful situations: playing in front of a big audience, playing for teachers or mentors, playing in front of peers you look up to and respect, playing by yourself on a dead quiet stage, and so forth. Just accept it. Don’t stress about being stressed. That will just snowball and make everything way worse. Everyone gets nervous (well, almost everyone). We’re all in this together, and your audience and colleagues are rooting for you to succeed. Everyone wants to feel good and to experience an artist’s happiness, sadness, fear, anger, and the beauty and tragedy of your life and experience. You have that inside of you. We all do. Art is a remedy for this broken world. Everyone needs that balm; everyone hungers for it. You have the magic; you have only to keep trying to draw that perfect circle and share your light with the world.
In the vast universe, humankind is rather insignificant…a mere blip on the cosmic calendar. In a million years will anyone remember any of this? Will anyone be here to remember it? Will there still be a record of that gig you played where you forgot the changes to Giant Steps? I’m going to guess not. So enjoy what you have while you’re here to enjoy it. Music is one of the most profound healing forces I’ve ever experienced, and I’m betting you feel similarly. So don’t screw it up for yourself by freaking out over a solo you played at the last jam session. It’ll pass. You’ll one day look back on your life and think, “I had it pretty good.” Music is good.
Advice to the Young Idiot (me)
If I could give advice to the various incarnations of my younger self, I’d say first and foremost: find out what makes you unique and pursue that. Don’t worry about conforming to all of the musical qualities that you “think” you should have. I spent too long spinning my wheels trying to copy other guitar players: Eddie Van Halen, Stevie Ray Vaughan, John McLaughlin, Joe Pass, Wes Montgomery, John Scofield, Mike Stern, Pat Metheny, and countless others. I was trying to do what I thought was “correct”…what was hip. I was already hip, I was just too dumb to realize it. Now I’m old and I just hope to keep my own hips as long as I can.