Our motel in Naivasha, Kenya, modest by American standards, was transformed into something of a nightclub on weekends. We had been forewarned that there would be loud music on the weekends. What wasn’t revealed was that the music played well into the morning hours.
It’s rare that I hear music, any music that I enjoy listening to. There are just not that many places that play songs by Bill and Gloria Gaither. I like a little music in my life, but like preaching, it doesn’t take a lot to do me. But, stick me in an automobile where I can’t control the radio, set me down in a church pew and play and/or sing a contemporary-style song or two, or bed me in a motel with loud music playing while I’m trying to drift off to sleep and I’m miserable. Here, I associate the word misery with Chinese water torture.
So, I’m an odd sort of bird, who has very limited likes when it comes to music. However, I do enjoy really good music, just not the sort that appeals to the masses, certainly not much of what shows up on shows like American Idol.
I wouldn’t have enjoyed the music at the motel any better had it been sung in my native tongue and not Swahili. I don’t listen to the words unless it’s a ballad or a gospel song, and as far as I could tell, the singer was singing American country music, but not the Patsy Cline or Hank Williams songs that are dear to my heart. Fortunately, I was so tired both Friday and Saturday nights that the music didn’t keep me awake all night.
Our group wanted a change from the typical evening meals served at the motel, so we let staff know we’d be ordering pizza. They provided us a dining room adjacent to the band area. Our driver, known only as Ben to me, was invited to dine with us. Our meal coincided with the start time for the band. I could hear guitar music, a singer, and drums. When I asked Ben about the band, he told me it was a one-man gui-tar. I don’t think I can break down guitar as he pronounced it, but he accented both syllables equally.
It sounded like a small group of musicians to me, so shortly afterwards, I slipped away to check out this one-man gui-tar. Just as I thought, there was a drummer pounding away on a set of drum, you know, a big bass drum a couple of snare drums and cymbals. I returned to share my discovery with Ben.
“Yes,” he smiled obligingly, “It’s a one-man gui-tar.”
“But he’s got a drummer.
“It’s a one-man gui-tar,” Ben insisted.
Still curious, I pressed him for additional information.
“What do you call one guitar player, one drummer, and a second vocalist?”
“It’s a one-man gui-tar.”
By this time other team members had started listening to our conversation.
“What if there are three singers?
“It’s a one-man gui-tar.”
I continued to add an extra singer until the count reach five and each time Ben’s answer to my question was, “It’s a one-man gui-tar.”
“Okay, I see the pattern here, Ben. What do you call one man playing a guitar with a choir of singers?”
Are you ready for this one?
“A choir.”
“Dang,” I silently mused, then asked the obvious, “At what point between five vocalists and a choir does the definition of a one-man guitar change?”
Ben laughed and explained any band with one guitar player and one or more vocalists is simply called a one-man gui-tar. It’s only when a second guitar player is added the terminology changes and the group playing/performing is called a band.
See, if I hadn’t gone to Kenya, I’d have never known what a one-man gui-tar is.
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