My history as a musician is a sad one, or a lacking one. Sadness is for those suffering losses. I simply lacked education and/or the motivation to get it. I never learned to read music, for a start. We had free violin lessons at school, but they taught via the Suzuki method, which did not teach sight reading of music until students were at a more advanced level than I reached. I took up the guitar in high school but mostly learned chords and scales. I gave it up at some point in my twenties, as I wasn’t passionate about it. There was other dabbling, such as with harmonicas and piano. My skills for my dabbling instruments never moved beyond beginner level. In other words, I’m not a natural at music. Fast forward to the future when my heart was taken by the accordion. Learning an instrument, really learning it this time, in one’s forties is probably not the best way, but it isn’t impossible.
At the start of my journey, I had a few instructional books, including a book of scales. I used to keep my books in a pocket in my accordion case. It wasn’t a proper case, but a “gig” bag. That was why it had a pocket in it for music. As it was a cheaper Hohner Panther accordion, buying an expensive hard case for it didn’t seem worthwhile. All my books were, therefore, destroyed with the Hohner in the accident. Some of these books I’ve moved past in skill and don’t care much about. Others, I’d like to replace, but, unfortunately, they are all out of print and nearly impossible to find. One of them specifically taught sight reading for the accordion, which I appreciated, albeit it used the American music notation. None taught the songs I listen to on the radio — or YouTube or Spotify. I had one video tutorial I’d purchased on CD that had Flaco Jimenez teaching some traditional songs. Just watching him is inspirational. Flaco is the best. Also, I like his personality.
I’m a stereotype, really, amongst norteño accordeonistas because the first song I learned was Tragos Amargos. It’s not a difficult song, though I’m not sure why it’s the ultimate song for student acordeonistas to learn first. It’s funny how the word “ultimate” has evolved in English to not just mean “last” but to also imply something is “the epitome.” Because I listen to Spanish so frequently, I found myself adding the word “first” as a descriptor so that my audience didn’t think I meant “last.” Moving past that little rabbit trail, I found Tragos Amargos on El Bigshow’s YouTube channel. I used to love doing his tutorials. I still do them every once in a while. He’s easy to follow and has a teaching personality I like; I’m particular about personalities, and that’s going to be a heightened snobbery regarding any artists. I’m sorry, I apologize — it’s just that artists are annoying. Anyway, for most people struggling to pick up an instrument, mastering a song they enjoy will help get them past the hurdle of frustration that comes with learning an instrument. There’s a reason I used to force myself to play only half an hour a day five days a week. It was hard work, but I knew if I put at least a little time in, I’d start enjoying it and experience less frustration. Now I play an hour each day, seven days a week. I would play longer if I had the time.
Another goal that helped me jump over my hurdles of frustration was to be able to play along with songs I liked. It’s one thing to know how to play a song. Playing at speed and with good musicality is another skill. The first song I could play along with was Abeja Reina. I didn’t, however, learn that from one tutorial. I learned the song from various sources, including listening to the song itself (by Los Traileros). Playing with my favorite accordion players has been tricky, to put it mildly. Yes, I can play a handful of simple songs with the recordings, such as the aforementioned, and La del Moño Colorado, Navido Pavido, Hay Unos Ojos, etc. Simple songs…but honestly, playing along is a big hurdle to jump over.
Sometimes, I look at my musical history and realize that it’s a royal mess. Despite never learning to read music with fluency, I did learn the basic structure. FACE and Every Good Boy… You know. And then along came this obsession with norteño, and I’ve had to adapt to the tonic scale. In Spanish, the tonic scale is do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si. No ti with jam and bread, sorry. I play a Fa accordion, which has a row of Fa, Sib, and Mib. The b stands for bemol, which means flat. In America, they are denoted as F, Bb, Eb; I assume the b used for flat comes from the Latin. This is the most commonly played accordion in norteño; that’s why I chose it. I’ve also noticed numerous songs are played in Sib and Mib. I was listening intently to a song the other day because I wanted to learn it and realized the entire song is played on the Mib scale in terceras (thirds). In theory, it’s an easy song to play. More on that in a minute.
I often watch Body Project videos for my exercise, and even when they’re not that difficult, Daniel, in his Aussie accent, tells us we’ve gotten to the point of “mass carnage” on the exercise floor. That’s how I feel about my musical journey at this point. Norteño musicians speak and sing and write in Spanish. They use the tonic scale…in Spanish. I started playing in my forties. I’m still in my forties (for a little while longer), so I haven’t been playing that long. It’s carnage, my brains splattered everywhere. Some days, I understand everything because my brain has adapted, and other days, I just can’t. I can’t figure out the fingering on a song, and if I watch a tutorial, I can’t understand the Spanish. Well, I’m sure I can. It’s just so much extra work. And I’m tired. I suppose opera singers feel the same if they didn’t grow up speaking Italian or German. Maybe scientists do, too, because it’s guaranteed they didn’t grow up with Latin spoken at home. If I’m going to be a norteño accordion player, Spanish will be my trade language, and I have to accept that. By the way, I love Spanish. My love of Spanish long predates my love of the accordion. The only problem is it’s not my first language.
Unfortunately, I’ve reached a point where the frustration with my instrument has returned. Yes, it’s carnage on the exercise floor. I don’t know how to push past this intermediate level I’m playing at. If my fingers were more flexible or if they could keep up with the complicated songs, I could enter the realm of competent musicians. Being competent isn’t what it’s about, though. It’s about the magic. That’s what I want. There are mechanics to it. A song that sounds easy almost never is. There are runs of hidden notes that are played in fast arpeggios that add to that sound but aren’t immediately obvious. And don’t forget the trinos. Trinos are everywhere. In English, that would be a trill. Trinos are what give the norteño accordion such a distinctive and magical sound, and they aren’t as easy as noodling back and forth between alternating buttons; I mean, yes, they are that easy. But there is still a technique to it. There is also the…whatsit that can’t be defined or broken down. Achieving that is like trying to physically capture any intangible. Music itself is inexplicable to a materialistic world. How does one capture the inexplicable? The magic? The thoughts, prayers, or feelings that can’t be put into words? The norteño accordion is, in my not so humble opinion, the most magical of all instruments. I just wish that magic would emerge from my fingers.
Jill Domschot 