I don't think I think when I play. I have a photographic memory for chords, and when I'm playing, the right chords appear in my mind like photographs long before I get to them.
quote by Earl Hines
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
It's really weird to be playing chords again. Haven't played chords for a long time. I realised I haven't played chord changes since OK Computer and stuff like that.
quote by Ed O'Brien
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My guitar only has five strings 'cause the top one broke and I decided not to put it back on: when I play chords I only play bar chords, and the top one always used to cut me there.
My Sad Guitar (In Iraq)
When I play...my sad guitar,
With powered chords...of deep emotion.
I strum the strings...with such devotion,
When I play...my...sad...guitar.
When I play...my sad guitar,
In a bunker, built in the sand.
This war torn country, this desert land,
I miss playing...In a rock and roll band.
When I play...my...sad...guitar.
When I play...my sad guitar,
My memories play,
Deep in my mind,
I try to find-
Our... wedding... day!
When I play...my...sad...guitar.
When I play...my sad guitar,
I think of my Harley...My hot-rod car,
Wishing I was home,
With a beer in a bar.
When I play...my...sad...guitar.
poem by Philip Lore
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Only A Northern Song
If you're listening to this song
You may think the chords are going wrong
But they're not;
He just wrote it like that.
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
As it's only a northern song
It doesn't really matter what clothes i wear
Or how i fare or if my hair is brown
When it's only a northern song.
When you're listening late at night
You may think the band are not quite right
But they are, they just play it like that
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
As it's only a northern song.
It doesn't really matter what clothes i wear
Or how i fare or if my hair is brown
When it's only a northern song.
If you think the harmony
Is a little dark and out of key
You're correct, there's nobody there.
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
And i told you there's no one there.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've been playing swing chords for a long time.
quote by Suzy Bogguss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lonely Guitar
At a corner my guitar waves her hand
inviting me to pick her up, to strum her
strings, to find out if all her chords
blend in harmony with my fingers.
It is waving her hand before my eyes
as in those birthdays, meetings, teaching,
and parties where her strings were made
busy to play melodies to people around.
Tonight she waves her hand again
calling me to play with her our common
game of songs which others can sing along.
But I just cannot play with my guitar today.
For whatever reason let this lonely night
find out; let me sleep and let sweet melody
sleep with me in my dreams and
let my guitar help me find the right chords
for my lonely song.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Guitar On a Rainy Day
During a rainy day theres always something to do
some people get puzzles out
or whip out the Xbox and play COD 2
me?
I play my guitar,
cause it makes me feel just right.
Heck I could play forever
morning, noon and night.
Cause playing makes me happy,
all relaxed and calm.
From hearing the beauty that I make
by plucking those sweet chords.
It's better than some Xbox,
easier than your puzzle games,
Boy I play my guitar,
cause one day it'll bring me fame
though I guess I wouldnt want that,
too much for one to take.
Sure it'd be nice to be recognised,
but paparazzi? yuck take it away
I could live with being me,
playing that instrument.
With nout but the clothes on my back
and a plectrum in hand.
I'd play that sweet guitar,
play sweet songs throughout the land.
Give you all something to listen to,
on your rainy days
poem by Rachel BaByBeAr Anderson
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The Key To Life
Id love to hear my daddy play once again
All the songs that he taught me when I was a kid
John henry, ol shep and faded love
I fall to pieces and on the wings of a dove
Just a few chords on the banjo that was all he knew
But in the eyes of a child, man his fingers flew
I practiced and I practiced til I got it right
Packed up everything and just took off one night
I made it from the beer joints to the opry stage
He said the only difference is what youre gettin paid
He didnt care that everybody knew my name
He said its all for nothin if you dont stay the same
But when he died the preacher cried and said hes the lucky one
Hes walkin hand in hand in hand with gods only son
My faith and common sense tell me the preachers right
But Id love to hear the banjo ring for me tonight
And I will honor my father with these words I write down
As long as I remember him hell always be around
And the pain of losin him cuts like a randall knife
I learned a few chords on the banjo as the key to life
And the pain of losin him cuts like a randall knife
I learned a few chords on the banjo as the key to life
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a friend, on being asked for some verses
I thought the Soul of Song had made
This heart of mine her sepulchre;
For all her golden dreams had fled,
And I could win no note from her.
But when for thee thou bid'st her sing,
That spell dissolves her icy chain;
She slowly plumes her drooping wing,
And strikes her shattered chords again.
For more than lifeless would she be,
If thou shouldst bid her wake in vain;
And lost her chords, if still for thee
She could not wake one living strain.
For thee -- that hours of deep distress,
And days of gloom with kindness lit,
Till half I blessed the bitterness
That gave me thee to sweeten it.
For thee -- that when, despairing long,
I said, "No friend has earth for me,"
Didst bid the tones die on my tongue,
And I could utter, "only thee."
For thee -- that when my mother earth
Shall call me to her sheltering breast,
Of all I know wilt weep alone
Above my nameless place of rest.
But see! her wings refuse to fly;
Her chords are harsh from silence long;
Alas! thy gentle sorcery
Hath summoned but the ghost of Song.
She hovers o'er her living tomb,
She seeks once more her grave and chain,
As spectres haunt the midnight gloom:
Sweet friend, awake her not again.
If o'er the wind harp's gentle strings
The threatening tempest rudely flies,
It does not wake more thrilling strains --
The chords are rent, the music dies.
Thus is my harp, thus is my song --
I woo in vain its sweetness fled,
The storms have swept the chords too long,
The music of my soul is dead.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Train Of Thought~~
Juxtaposed into position-
I ride the rails of memory...
Train of thought moves me on down the line-
The tracks of yesterday rolling on...
Salvaging the miles and miles covered-
The miles we traveled through our lifetime of together;
Memory strikes such a scenic view...
Playing such sweet chords upon my heart;
It was a journey of many a windy track-
The destination, at last, arrived...
Today, as the engineer, i recall...
With loving devotion-our life:
Feeling so blessed to be your wife;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Sing, Sweet Harp
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Some song of ancient days,
Whose sounds, in this sad memory,
Long-buried dreams shall raise; --
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame,
Whose light once round us shone,
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame,
And hopes for ever gone.
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me;
Alike our doom is cast,
Both lost to all but memory,
We live but in the past.
How mournfully the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh,
As if it sought some echo there,
Of voices long gone by; --
Of chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd
The foremost then in fame;
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd,
Now sleep without a name.
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh;
In vain it seeks an echo there
Of voices long gone by.
Couldst thou but call those spirits round,
Who once, in bower and hall,
Sate listening to thy magic sound,
Now mute and mouldering all; --
But, no; they would but wake to weep
Their children's slavery;
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep,
The dead, at least are free!
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone,
That knell of Freedom's day;
Or, listening to its death-like moan,
Let me, too, die away.
poem by Thomas Moore
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If you play more than two chords, you're showing off.
quote by Woody Guthrie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I think that I want to do something strictly basic, really simple. Just with a few chords. But I won't have anything more than two or three sentences in my head. That kind of evaporates once I start playing and then it goes off in whatever direction.
quote by Tom Jenkinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Notes
All you players
who play the blues
play, play
play the sad news.
The minor chords
will take you down low.
Let the sax wail
and the trumpet blow.
Listen and lament with
that licorice stick,
all you lovers
sad and heartsick.
Let it all out boys.
Play, play, play.
Those tearful lovers
hear what you say.
They hear those blues
and they feel it too.
It will let their tears fall
like no other notes can do.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Gas Hed Goes West
If I was half alive
Then you were dead
Subsistin' on that same old bread
It's the memory that hides
The whole wide world
It's the gas hed's love of america
It's the memory that hides
Take your photographs back
For the love of all gods
Our gas hed marches on
Our gas hed marches on
He's a bonified man
A star amongst his clan
And the only one that let me ride
It's the memory that dies
Our gas hed was right
When they lanced his skull
There was puss and light
It's the memory that dies
So take your photographs back
For the love of all gods
Our gas hed marches on
Our gas hed marches
It's the memory that dies
And make your photographs black
For the love of all gods
Our gas hed marches on
Our gas hed marches on
It's the memory that dies
So take your photographs back
For the love of all gods
Our gas hed marches on
Our gas hed marches
Gas hed is on the radio
song performed by by Live from Secret Samadhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In some types of music I'm working out all the chords one bar at a time - the whole structure, because it's about that. And there are other pieces which are really about - okay, the melody is going to start here and play through to here.
quote by Danny Elfman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gas Head Goes West
If I was half alive
and you were dead
subsisiting on that same old bread
it's the memory that hides
the whole wide world
it's the gas hed's love of america
it's the memory that hides
take your photographs back
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches on
he's a bona fide man
a star amongst his clan
and the only one that let me ride
it's the memory that dies
our gas hed was right
when they lanced his skull
there was puss and light
it's the memory that dies
so take your photographs back
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches on
it's the memory that dies
and make your photographs black
for the love all gods
gas hed marches on
gas hed marches on
it's the memory that dies
so take your photographs back
for the love of all gods
our gas hed marches on
our gas hed marches on
gas hed is on the radio, radio, radio
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me. That's when I was born.
quote by Charlie Parker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The real beauty of it - key to my life was playing key chords on a banjo. For somebody else it may be a golf club that mom and dad put in their hands or a baseball or ballet lessons. Real gift to give to me and put it in writing.
quote by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm A Wicked One
They say it's off the record gotta keep it clean.
Can't be too abusive can't be too odscene.
But he's got a plan to build a future he's been putting it off for way too long.
Another safety pin through his cheek
and he's three chords short of a punkrock song.
Wicked is as wicked does he'll fight it till the end he'll show his finger than say:
I'm a wicked one.
He's a stereotype bastard and he likes it that way.
Can't be all taht happy can't be all that gay.
Wicked is as wicked does he'll fight it till the end he'll show his finger than say:
I'm a wicked one.
They say get off the stage they say get outta here.
Can't be all that punkrock can't be all that queer.
He'll make them wish they never knew him he'll make them pay for being wrong.
But he doesn't really know how to do that.
So we'll give him three chords to his punkrock song.
Wicked is as wicked does he'll fight it till the end he'll show his finger than say:
I'M A WICKED ONE.
song performed by by The Hives from Barely Legal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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