I don’t know what I’m doing when I do it, but I do it anyway. I love to mute the strings and mess around with percussive strumming and picking and fretboard assaults with the left hand. Especially when I’m brain-dead tired and another halting run through “A Blues Riff” or “Bonanza” feels too much like medicine. (Buckley’s. Cod liver oil. Not the sweet grapey stuff you get at the drug store now. Shoot, we used to figure if you didn’t gag on your medicine, it wasn’t worth taking! We used to eat burnt toast on a sore throat and never even chew it. Made you strong!) Work on a new chord? Left hand says, “I can’t want that.“

The Queen of Encouragement generally stays away when I’m in the Old Dog Gimme (Guitar) Shelter, but tonight she crept downstairs while I was noodling a rhythmic monotone on a muted string. I was hypnotized by it. She said, “Is that supposed to be music?”