I Am an Old Gibson


I am an old Gibson born in 1959
My lineage comes by the Modernist line
I am made from ebony and Korina wood
And I sound better than most guitars should

Thru my humbucker pickups I sing
To thee I make the amplifier tubes ring
Anthems of hard electric blues
By skilled fingers that to the notes in me lose

Born off of my ebony fingerboard they come
Twisting and snarling, razor-edged and undone
In minor keys crying and weeping
From Celestions Vintage 30’s come leaping

By those who give birth to those notes
Circling like a predatory bird in the air they float
So I like being handled by the human touch
I like the limelight very much

They call me a Flying V
One look and that’s easy to see.
Between the sets hanging from my neck in the stand
In some smoky, dark club along with the rest of the band

In a place where we go for some mental rest
From the things that humans won’t confess
And my owner’s name is Albert King
And he really knows how to make me sing

A left-handed giant black man
Who makes me weep or cry because he can
I can feel Albert’s soul in his touch
And he loves me that much

I watched a beautiful woman sitting at a table one night
All alone with her sadness in the shadows out of sight
And Albert walked over to her table
Wiping her eyes, pulling herself together for this blues fable

And Albert asked for her name
For she was remiss to tell him just the same
So he sat down and comforted her
In her hours of woe that were

And I saw the tears flowing from her eyes once again
And Albert put his huge hand on hers trying to ease her pain
And her tears he was able to restrain
In this sad, dark night club refrain

He got up on stage and said “This song is for the lady in blue.”
“I wrote it myself, and it’s called I’ll Play The Blues for You.”
And Albert picked me up and I knew exactly what he wanted
So I gave it to him the notes of all the broken hearted.

His touch upon her hand put her perfume on my neck
And Albert’s toil and sweat keep me in check
And I’ve worn beer, blood, sweat and tears
Like a badge of honor all these years.

I’ve heard things I can’t repeat in English
I speak them to you in 12 bar blues anguish
Albert has this young friend named Stevie Ray Vaughn
To whom Albert thinks the sun rises and sets upon

And Stevie wanted to play me one day
When he picked me up I knew right away
His hands made the music in his soul
So from me brand new notes he did extol

But his heart to him was true
One side of rock and the other blues
And I could hear Albert in him
And in Albert, Stevie again

And so like the old man that plays me
I am the other side of the icon you see
For I have been played by the worst and the best
The spirit of the guitar is me, I put them to the test

I am an old Gibson guitar
I hang on their chests like a shining star
I am the Flying V
Who I am is easy to see

My scratched up gold pickups are my voice
And some choose me just for that choice
For I am the Flying V
An old Gibson Electric you see

And I’ve seen them all come and go
And I’m the one that makes the music flow
An electric machine gun for the notes
Their pitch and timbre no other guitar can quote

For I am an Electric Flying V
I am the famous Gibson sitting on a musician’s knee
I am here for all to see
Some want to be you and some want to be me.

Dave Proffitt
3/4/2014
12:37 am

Visits From Mr. Taylor


A friend from a long time ago
Ron was my pleasure to know
Like a blood brother in this life
No cross words or strife

 

Between him and I
Between us we made the notes fly
Hours on the end
Playing guitars we’d spend.

 

And I got to know the man
And from me he’d understand
The things that make two men good or bad
The things that make them happy and sad.

 

And the music weaves this knowledge on it’s song
Ron and I could always make the notes get along
With each other
My musical brother

 

And when the guitars wore us down
I would turn into the clown
For some laughs a few
Unwinding the machine down a turn er two.

 

Then my friend moved away
And he got sick and died on me one day
Which tinted my music dark and gray
And his passing upon me did weigh 

 So his son gave me his guitar
It hangs upon my wall like a dark star
Black as night that  outshines a galaxy
In the evening I can feel its strange alchemy.

 

A pathway from his plane to this place
So the music quantifies this space.
Sometimes I feel him floating in the air
Swirling around me, the guitar and the chair.

 

And he says to me “That’s far out man”
Those words taking me back to where it began
And so I’m playing for my friend once again
Ghost notes from his guitar it’s refrain

 

Ethereal and not easily heard
By those that hear only the spoken word
These visits from Mr. Taylor
Whose presence not exactly scalar

 

And it puts a smile on my face
And the notes begin to interlace
The guitar becomes a part of me
So the years I’ve played it makes me see

 

Why I’ve done it for fourty odd years
At times thru tears and sometimes fears
But never to abandon the lady with steel strings
Launching the notes from her strings with amplified wings.

 

The dark guitar on the wall
Stretching into another dimension it’s long hall
Down which Mr. Taylor comes to visit
I guess you could say our friendship is implicit

  

All the sore fingers and broken strings
That this learning curve brings
Resolved it from work to play
Parts of my life I have to renew every day

 

From some universal direction and dimension
From cosmic declination and ascension
Beams itself my way
For the rest of my days

Dave Proffitt
2/1/2014
12:47AM

Friends in Music


Comes sometimes as an inspired notion
To us this syncopated commotion.
And so it changes the direction of our lives.
To this most worthy of efforts it drives.

Us to become masters of some instrument.
To make the music of celestial alignment.
And so the notes go unto the universe.
And oft times unrehearsed.

Ringing thru light years of dark matter
Protons and electrons clatter.
Vibrations at the sub-atomic level
This ether it does dishevel.

And my friends and I are to blame
From our amplifiers that flame.
Our claimed to fame
That surrounds us with this lovely game.

Of making music with our friends
Bonding these souls together tends.
To make us special to each other
We are musical sisters and brothers.

This integration of wonderful souls
Bound together by impossible dreams and goals.
Because that’s what keeps us going
This never-ending symphony flowing.

Of hopes and fears
Of tired spirits and tears.
Of callused and sore fingers.
Of the last song we played that lingers.

In our memories hoard
Like some holy broad sword.
Comes to us at odd times during the day
So beckons us to play.

And those of us that follow this
Pass on to higher levels of bliss.
And so it becomes us not as a task
But as essential to us as life we ask.

God to makes us better
Willing to be in his grace a debtor.
Willing to do whatever it takes
Wanting to affect hearts and how it makes.

Other people feel
Of their attention we steal.
For a few minutes or less
Sometimes changing lives we bless.

Others with our gift
To pull someone back from the rift.
To see tears in their eyes from our music
This music so pure and intrinsic.

To witness this from just one soul
Makes my musical friends and me whole.
From me to thee
Your pleasure is all I need to see.

Playing with friends
Unspoken ideas send.
Us soundscapes we didn’t’ know were there.
A miracle of merging within the air.

These notes appear and sublime
Precious and fleeting on some cosmic time line.
Once concieved now gone forever
A musician’s constant endeavor.

I see the light in her eyes
This rhythm to her soul does mesmerize.
And she smiles when she gets it
I see the understanding across her face flit.

Brief and fleeting in the instant
Comes to us this universal constant.
Born of tears and grief.
Striking down the theif.

Of our confidence
Of self doubt and complacence.
And makes us realize why we are the musicians.
The rearrangers of moods and conditions.

 Making bad situations good
Sometimes making things better understood.
Music is the universal language.
No confounding of tongues

My musical friends are special to me
They shall forever be.
From now until eternity
Making music with my brothers and sisters

No place would I rather be
Showing them what’s inside of me.
Watching them laugh and smile when they see
This wonderful condition inside of me.

 I love you all.

Dave Proffitt
9/26/2013
12:07 am