"One day in the early sixties, I was visiting my mother’s house in Montreal. The house is beside a park and in the park there is a tennis court where many people come to watch the beautiful young tennis players enjoy their sport. I wandered back to this park which I’d known since my childhood and there was a young man playing a guitar. He was playing a flamenco guitar, and he was surrounded by two or three girls and boys who were listening to him. I loved the way he played. There was something about the way he played that captured me. It was the way I wanted to play and knew that I would never be able to play.

I sat there with the other listeners for a few moments and when there was a silence, an appropriate silence, I asked him if he would give me guitar lessons. He was a young man from Spain, and we could only communicate in my broken French and his broken French. He didn’t speak English. And he agreed to give me guitar lessons. I pointed to my mother’s house, which you could see from the tennis court, and we made an appointment, we settled a price.

He came to my mother’s house the next day and he said, “Let me hear you play something.”

I tried to play something and he said, “You don’t know how to play, do you?”

I said, “No, I really don’t know how to play.”

He said, “First of all, let me tune your guitar. It’s all out of tune.” So he took the guitar, and he tuned it. He said, “It’s not a bad guitar.” It wasn’t a Conde, but it wasn’t a bad guitar.

So, he handed it back to me and said, “Now play.”

I couldn’t play any better.

He said, “Let me show you some chords.” And he took the guitar, and he produced a sound from that guitar I never heard. And he played a sequence of chords with a tremolo. He said, “Now you do it.”

I said, “It’s out of the question. I can’t possibly do it.”

He said, “Let me put your fingers on the frets.” He put my fingers on the frets and he said, “Now, now play.”

It was a mess. He said, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He came back tomorrow. He put my hands on the guitar, he placed it on my lap in the way that was appropriate, and I began again with those six chords, a six chord progression that many, many flamenco songs are based on.

I was a little better that day. The third day…improved, somewhat improved. But I knew the chords now. And, I knew that although I couldn’t coordinate my fingers with my thumb to produce the correct tremolo pattern, I knew the chords. I knew them very, very well by this point.

The next day, he didn’t come. He didn’t come. I had the number of his boarding house in Montreal. I phoned to find out why he had missed the appointment. They told me that he’d taken his life. He committed suicide. I knew nothing about the man. I did not know what part of Spain he came from. I did not know why he came to Montreal. I did not know why he stayed there. I did not know why he appeared in that tennis court. I did not know why he took his life. I was deeply saddened, of course.

But now I disclose something that I’ve never spoken in public. It was those six chords; it was that guitar pattern that has been the basis of all my songs and all my music. So, now you will begin to understand the dimensions of the gratitude I have for this country. Everything that you have found favorable in my work comes from this place. Everything. Everything that you have found favorable in my songs, in my poetry are inspired by this soil.

So I thank you so much for the warm hospitality that you have shown my work because it is really yours, and you have allowed me to affix my signature to the bottom of the page."

(via fesca)

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