You may not think, in a city of approximately 9 million people, that finding someone to teach you acoustic Delta-style blues guitar made popular in Mississippi in the 1920s and 30s would be difficult.
Yet, there I was, struggling to find the right fit. You have to keep in mind, this was the early days of the internet. Before Instagram and Facebook and when companies were throwing launch parties after spending $50k on this new thing called a website.
It all started with an older gentleman named Jack. Jack owned a “music school” which, it turns out, was really just a windowless room in the basement of a Greenwich Village apartment building.
Jack had an impossible mop of salt and pepper hair and the largest hands of any non-NBA player I had ever seen.
I was nervous as hell as I waited on a folding chair outside of the room (I have a habit of showing up uncomfortably early for appointments) with my pawn shop guitar sitting in its gig bag propped up on the wall next to me.
The 30 minute lesson started with a 2 minute conversation (Jack was disappointed that I wasn’t more interested in learning the more complex Chet Atkins-style fingerpicking) and quickly transitioned into him reaching across his desk to place two pages of sheet music in front of me.
The next 27 minutes consisted of me stumbling through a stop-start version of “Sporting Life Blues” - a piece well beyond my capability - as Jack laid back in his chair, hands behind his head, staring deeply into the cinderblock wall to his left.
As he brought the lesson to a close and I was packing up to go, he instructed me to practice the piece and that he would see me next week.
I figured lesson one was just a test and clearly we’d be getting to the actual teaching and learning in subsequent weeks. But when lessons two, three and four went the same way, I decided to save my $18 dollars and find another teacher.
I combed the Village Voice, found a few music students and gigging players and gave them all a try. But none were the right fit.
At the suggestion of a friend I called a well-known instrument store, got the courage up to talk to a grizzled guitar veteran named Zeke and asked him for a recommendation.
“Acoustic blues guitar? I’d try Dave Rubin.”
He rattled off his phone number and I hung up the phone and immediately made the call.
Dave taught lessons out of a makeshift four foot by four foot “studio” he had built in a corner of the apartment he shared with his wife and teenage daughter.
A middle-aged guy with a world-class mustache and often wearing a tightish black t-shirt that revealed that he stayed in great shape, Dave’s “day job” was as a writer and transcriber for guitar magazines and music publishers. He was also a knowledgeable blues historian and as we got to know each other he shared stories about his interactions with great blues guitarists or little-known facts about Robert Johnson’s guitar tunings or Hubert Sumlin’s amp tone.
Week after week Dave taught me about the blues. We would review songs I wanted to work on and riffs and techniques he wanted me to learn. His room was filled with books that he had worked on and a few really cool guitars. One of which - a 1949 Gibson J45 - Dave eventually allowed me to play during our lessons so I wouldn’t have to schlep in my own guitar from Brooklyn.
Dave was the perfect combination of generous with his knowledge, demanding of my technique and supportive with his communication. He wasn’t afraid to tell me when something needed work and was always complementary of my musicianship.
In other words, he was a great coach.
Dave and I worked together for years and I don’t remember why I decided to end my weekly lessons with him but I do remember that - before I left for the final time - I asked for the right of first refusal if he ever decided to sell that J45.
Over the years we stayed in touch a bit. When I was first personal training and had a little more time on my hands we’d meet for lunch at a honky-tonk near his apartment and I traveled up to Harlem to see him play a gig with a little combo he put together.
But eventually we lost contact. And sadly, I had lost touch with the guitar.
As my client roster grew and my family grew and I opened my own business and that grew, there just weren’t many hours left in the day to dedicate to practicing.
Before I knew it, 10 years had rolled by without having played a note.
But, as the pandemic settled in, I decided to reach into the back of my son’s closet and blow the dust off that same gig bag I carried to the Village with me for that first lesson and fiddle around with my guitar for a few agonizing minutes.
And those few minutes have led me back to a three year near-daily practice of learning and relearning to play music.
I don’t think I would have had the will to start over again if it wasn’t for my experience with Dave.
I was compelled to reach out to let Dave know that I was playing again. That I was making some progress. That it was his wonderful influence as a teacher that helped me get back on the horse.
I struggled to find contact information and eventually sent him a message on Facebook messenger (of all things!) but didn’t have much hope that it would find its way to him.
But not two days later I got a message back. And, in typical Dave fashion, he led with words of encouragement. Of how happy he was that I was practicing and how much he thought of my playing. That his wife and daughter - who years before graciously watched me fidget on the couch in their living room as, per usual, I arrived early and waited for my lesson to begin - were both doing well.
His daughter who was exploring college options at the time of our last lessons was now in her mid-thirties with a family of her own.
And, amazingly, he was still giving lessons in that little room in the corner of his apartment.
Most teachers and coaches aren’t fortunate enough to make great sums of money from their jobs. They do it because they are passionate about sharing their passions and want to help people.
And, as a student, there is possibly no better investment that you will make than the one you place in a great teacher or coach. They will shorten the learning curve, give you direction and inspire you for the rest of your life.
Just as Dave had done for me.
If you are lucky enough to have already found that great teacher, don’t hesitate to let them know how much their guidance has meant to you. I promise you, almost universally, it will mean the world to them. It will also make you feel good about yourself.
Dave, if this manages to find its way to you, thank you once again for your patience, your guidance and your belief. It has unlocked something in me that is beyond expressible value.
And when you’re ready to get rid of that 1949 J45, I’m still your guy.