Dr. Ajjarapu or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Guitar

Confession: at some point in the mid-00’s, I fell out of love with the guitar.

*The medieval torture instrument known as the guitar*

It’s difficult to pinpoint when this came about, and how it occurred. It was hardly the first time I fell away from the guitar: in my early 20’s a nasty bout with tendonitis sidelined my budding professional career, and then there was the time I quit performing altogether to teach public school music in my 27th year. These prior iterations of walking away were both relatively short-lived, and each resulted in a rejuvenating bounce back to musical life when I realized I just can’t quit being a musician, and I can’t be happy without spending quality time with the guitar.

This mid-OO’s manifestation was a different beast, though. I was still playing/touring quite a bit, but my life was undergoing some changes and transitions. I’d experienced the end of a really beautiful and supportive relationship (with an amazing dance artist with whom I’m thankfully good friends still), which gave way to a less-than-healthy embrace of hookup culture, which then landed me in a long-term but utterly mismatched partnership. I was regularly chided for my pursuit of an artistic life and chastised as a bad boyfriend whenever I’d go off on tour. Booze — which until then had held a part-time presence in my life — began to be an all-too-common companion. There’s also something about the self-doubt which creeps in once you’ve traversed the 30 year-old mark: the age-old “if you haven’t hit the big time by now, get a real job” whispers from the devil sitting atop your shoulder.

Oh, it should also be said: if one wishes to develop an inferiority complex regarding one’s guitar playing, Austin, Texas is one of THE very best places you can go.

In any event, the thrill was gone, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

I’d learned from experience that I generally do well when refocusing on other facets of my chosen career, and — as a result — I commenced to dive headlong into full-time conducting, songwriting/composition (I completed over 300 new pieces and songs in 2007… dang, I’d be happy if I could crank out 30 per year now), producing, arranging, picking up new instruments, studying classical voice & piano, etc. It’s not as if I actually QUIT the guitar — I simply sidelined it: demoting it to just one of the many different things I do in the world of music.

While I felt the loss of daily practice with my primary instrument, I kept myself happily distracted with my other pursuits which — it should be said — turned out to be FAR more economically rewarding than my guitar career had been. Bands and projects I’d once been heavily involved with dried up as members moved away, joined more successful projects, started families, etc, and instead of replacing those with new things as I’d always done, I gradually let this side of my life go. I eventually escaped from my less-than-supportive relationship (though I’m glad to say we’re still friendly), and I was generally happy. Still, something seemed missing in my life.

Fast forward to 2013, and I’m hired to co-direct a choral/symphonic project of Queen tunes at the Long Center in Austin. In need of another strong tenor, I asked my singers to put their feelers out. My friend Amy Mitchell said she knew just the guy, and invited her friend Phil Ajjarapu along to the next rehearsal. “Just trust me, he’s great” she said.

And she was right. A music educator by day and performing club musician by night, Phil dropped brilliantly into the ensemble. On rehearsal breaks, he and I would get into long conversations about life and music. It was soon revealed that we knew (and had worked with) many of the same people, and that our pop musical tastes were aligned to a startling degree. Our mutual friends frequently expressed shock that we’d both been working within the same scene for so long and had somehow never met: “Wait, what?!?!? How the hell did you two only meet each other this year?!?”

[Editor’s note: we discovered years later that we’d played on the same bill in 2006, but somehow didn’t actually meet]

At this time, Phil was recovering from a horrific motorcycle accident. I was familiar with the story of the crash, as it received a lot of local press, namely because 1) he was a beloved Austin musician and educator, and 2) his surviving a flip over an overpass and 40-foot fall onto the highway beneath was deemed nothing short of a miracle. Such incidents being fodder for life reflection, Phil had decided he’d played the sideman supporting role for long enough, and he was now going to step out into the light and make his own album.

During our symphonic project, Phil brought me up to speed on his album plans. The songs were written, the studio (the one he co-owned with Voxtrot wunderkind Matt Simon) was booked, the financing was there (thanks to a successful Kickstarter campaign), and a well-known producer secured. Having worked with this same producer a few times before, I casually offered to be helpful in any way that I could: as in, be a second set of ears, offer player recommendations, write string arrangements, or whatever I might do to help him succeed. I may have mentioned that I “play a little guitar, too.” As a result, Phil sent me some demos, which I sat down and learned during a quick family visit to Boston. Just in case he took me up on my offer.

Once back in Austin, we got together at his studio and played through all ten songs. Phil on bass and vocals and me on guitar (with a smattering of backing vocals). Again, the original plan had been to maybe have me sit in on a tune or three, but Phil kept saying really nice things about my playing and asked me to show up on the first day of recording.

Which I did. And then the second day. And then the third. And…

By the time the album was being shipped off to the vinyl plant, I’d played guitar and/or banjo on ever song, arranged/directed the string parts (with the ever-brilliant Tosca Strings), arranged/directed the choral parts (featuring many of Phil’s beloved music students), sang backups, and countless other studio tasks I can barely recall from the ten-ish days of around-the-clock work.

This could very well be where the story ended, but when it came time to play the album release shows for Sing Along Until You Feel Better, Phil said he wanted me there. The first few shows featured a large backing band of ferociously talented people, though — as time went on — it became more logistically and economically practical to continue as a three-piece: me holding down the guitar, Phil on the bass, and the brilliant and criminally underrated Erhen Lorfing on drums.

Through the recording process and through playing these intricate Brian-Wilson-meets-Sloan-via-Jellyfish songs live, I began to notice something change: for the first time in nearly eight years, I really, REALLY enjoyed playing the guitar again.

*Ehren, Phil & me this week. Love these guys so much.*

We gradually gained a reputation as a solid outfit, with mutual musician friends later confessing to expecting the complex arrangements and harmonies to falter in a three-piece live setting (heck, everyone derives some weird kick whenever seeing an highway wreck… well, perhaps everyone except for Phil). We quickly corrected them of this notion each and every time, and threw down a set that was polished and rough-and-tumble in equal measure. As far as my world went, I began to pick up more guitar and studio work (usually with headlining bands Phil’s group opened for), and before I knew it, I was back in the Austin live music scene I’d largely left behind.

And I was loving it.

Phil eventually sold the studio and moved on to Portland OR, though we still keep sporadic touch and collaborate on recording projects from a distance. When he told me he’d be coming to Austin in November and asked if I wanted to play a couple shows, I said hell yeah! Which is how I spent much of last week, and I’m still walking on air.

My musical self would not be where it is today without you, Phil. Thank you, dear friend, and come back soon.