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| Hey Joe - Hey Uwe |
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| Uwe Kropinski (acoustic guitar, cajon), Joe Sachse (electric guitar, screw driver, brush) |
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C + P jazzwerkstatt, 2008 |
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Dear Mr. Kropinski,
many critics compare you to violin virtuoso Nicolo Paganini, who was also an excellent guitarist. Paganini was known to tour Europe in a carriage with his fees sewn into the hem of his jacket. Did his career as an early freelancer influence your decision to become a jazz musician?
Dear Mr. Sachse,
first of all, I feel deeply honoured to be compared with Paganini. However, such comparison cannot be based on fees sewn into my jacket, as you might think. My fees usually fit in a normal purse and they're easily spent on gasoline (as carriages are only used on special occasions these days, which I regret). Incidentally, it wasn't me who decided to become a musician, it was fate. And what about you? Why does hardly anyone know your real first name? People say it's got something to do with Mr. Hendrix …
Dear Mr. Kropinski,
in my case, too, fate played an important role. It came in the shape of Günter Dietze, a beer-truck driver (sic) and band leader. His regular payment for my rocking weekend activities put me in such high spirits that I quit any activity during weekdays. I joined his band with the Jimi Hendrix number Hey Joe, and the name stuck; some people just leave out Hey. Only in my East German hometown, people still address me with my real name: the profound greeting "Hi Helmut, how's the music?" could be translated as: "Get lost, pal". My 21 acquaintances in other places usually say "Hey Joe, when are you going to play here again?", which translates as "I'm in a hurry to get my bus (carriage)" or just "Taxiiiiiii!!!". Anyway, dear Mr. Kropinski, you expanded the scope of your guitar by adding some frets. Do you have plans to go forth on that route (maybe in a carriage)?
Dear Mr. Sachse,
I don't have any plans to go forth, neither in a carriage nor in any other vehicle. I really would like to, but my go-forth-plans usually don't work. So I prefer to wait for new ideas or until somebody invites me for a concert. That's when I like to go forth, and of course I take my guitar along. And yes, I did expand the scope of my instrument. A conventional concert guitar has 19 or 20 frets, a normal electric guitar would have between 21 and 24. As I usually get bored with anything normal, it was only natural to get an instrument with more frets. I found a Dutch guitar builder named Theo Scharpach, who was unconventional enough to build a guitar with 39 frets. Now I can choose between 212 different positions to place a finger on the fretboard. You can imagine that makes a difficult choice sometimes, though in most cases it sounds better if you don't use all the frets. But let's talk about your instrument. As long as I can remember, you have been playing the same guitar, though the guitar Playboy magazines keep presenting fresh six-string beauties all the time. Is there a deeper meaning behind your behaviour?
Dear Mr. Kropinski,
the idea of so many options to place a finger on the fretboard makes me fret. Although I've been playing the same guitar for more than 30 years, it never crossed my mind to count the frets. As it is, I'm more interested in the lines and structures of themes and improvisations. It happens to me that I give the author of a good piece of music my appreciation by waving it graciously aside with my right hand while I check the watch on my left. The fact that I enjoy such a long-lasting relationship with the same playmate (to use your image) has something to do with faithfulness, a quality you wouldn't necessarily associate with Mr. Hefner. Stubbornly I keep believing that my listeners will pick what they like from the countless notes and sounds I confront them with. Sadly, this doesn't seem to be true for all parts of my audience. By the way, dear Mr. Kropinski, apart from your percussionist style and your hand positioning technique, I noticed that your phrasing sounds pretty vocal, almost Mediterranean. Can you explain?
Dear Fellow Guitarist,
There is an explanation indeed, but please don't tell anyone! As a listener, I actually don't like the guitar too much. But as it is the only instrument that I know how to play to some degree, I resigned to make a virtue out of necessity. So I maltreat my guitar with unusual techniques that she takes extremely well, strange as it may sound. On several occasions, somebody from the audience came to me after a concert to say something like "… unbelievable what you manage to get out of your guitar." The only thing I can reply is: "If I can get it out, it must be in there somewhere." When you accuse me of vocal phrasing, you probably refer to my melodies. If they sound Mediterranean to you, it must have something to do with my (sometimes) sunny soul. But maybe some melodies just don't care where they come from, some people blame it on the supernatural. But you must believe me that I don't have those connections, unfortunately. So I really don't know how all that outpouring stuff came into my guitar and into myself in the first place. No man knows everything, does he?
He surely does, dear Colleague,
particularly as your sunny answer confirms a dark suspicion that I've had for a long time: melodies seem to play a certain role in music and I must have been ill-advised to discard them for years. At least, this has brought me a supernatural number of fans, though unfortunately I can't find his address … Wholesome art has inspired man from time immemorial. After my concerts, outraged people sometimes ask me things like "What are you thinking of?" or "How can you go that far?". I usually answer in all modesty that I'm committed by contract to continue at least another 40 minutes. Speaking of minutes, dear colleague Kropinski, your level of virtuosity surely requires to undergo the heavy burden of rehearsing at least once a month, doesn't it?
I'm afraid I must disappoint you here, my dear Sachse,
I rehearse on a daily basis, and I even like it. Practicing means to prepare yourself for a future situation. When that situation finally comes, it's easier to cope with. On the one hand it's pure selfishness, on the other it's a virtue that will inevitability produce what you call virtuosity (which so many people confuse with fast finger movements). I agree with what that famous pianist replied when he was criticized for not moving his fingers fast enough: that they were always exactly where he needed them, even ahead of time (like in the tale of the hare and the hedgehog). Please spare me to elaborate in detail because this subject has been discussed so often without any satisfying conclusion – which we need now and then, so I propose to end today's discussion here. If we should ever record another CD together, I have a suggestion for a piece that we could play. What do you think about “Hey Joe?“
With all available regards,
Uwe Kropinski
Hey Uwe,
great idea!
With all available respect,
Joe Sachse
Translation: Günter Feigel |
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