guitar

Brian came in heavy at that moment on his guitar, the rapid, high-pitched squeal ranging back and forth as his fingers flew along the frets. As the intro's tempo grew more rapid, Bekka heard Derek's subtle bass line as it worked its way in. After another few seconds Will came in, slow at first, but racing along to match the others' pace. When their combined efforts seemed unable to get any heavier, David jumped into the mix.As the sound got nice and heavy, Bekka began to rock back-and-forth onstage. In front of her, hundreds of metal-lovers began to jump and gyrate to their music. She matched their movements for a moment, enjoying the connection that was being made, before stepping over to the keyboard that had been set up behind her. Sliding her microphone into an attached cradle, she assumed her position and got ready. Right on cue, all the others stopped playing, throwing the auditorium into an abrupt silence. Before the crowd could react, however, Bekka's fingers began to work the keys, issuing a rhythm that was much softer and slower than what had been built up. The audience's violent thrash-dance calmed at that moment and they began to sway in response.Bekka smiled to herself.This is what she lived for.

What's the difference between a classical guitar and a pizza? A pizza can feed a family of four.

ROCK STATE OF MINDThe lights go outDarkness takes over my mindI can see only the unreal_The sound of the pianoWhispers in my earsProvoking the sea of tearsBreaking down the stringsAttaching me to my fearsThe violin wakens the dreamsCreating the willDetaching from the groundLifting me upTo be one with the dark cloudsTo feel the storm whelming up insideThe strings of the guitar cinchesThe cords binding me to youLuring me to the ends of the galaxiesGluing me to an inaccessible timeWhere time stands stillAnd pain continuously spillsBut your voice slithers in betweenRising with each beatStretching out its wingsSheltering me from the windFighting my warsRisking it allSilence_..The pulsation of the drumsJoin with the beats of my heartStating their case in syncAwakening me to your presenceAnd in a flash of lightningHeaven and earth become oneThe piano severing the strings to my fearsThe violin forging a stormThe guitar freezing timeYour voice fighting my warsThe drums breathing life into meThat__ rock for meThe rock state of mind

Fame is not so impossible for people with charisma, passion and talent. Being famous just means you have fans, and even one or two is enough to make you someone special. Ask a music fan who the best guitarist of all time is, and while one group insists that it was Jimmi Hendrix, another group swears that it was Eddie Van Halen instead. There will never be a time when everyone on this planet agrees on something like that, but luckily that's not important. All that matters is that both sides remain loyal, which they will assuming you continue to be who you are and do your thing. This is all that you need to be immortalized.

The history of music is mortal, but the idiocy of the guitar is eternal.

This machine kills fascists.

You couldn't not like someone who liked the guitar.

She started beating it against the walls and floor until it was nothing but pieces, nothing but a memory of a guitar. I had an idea, though not yet clear, that it wasn__ her arms that beat what once could sing, but her heavy heart, as she once said that even the Rock of Gibraltar had ten thousand holes.

Note to myself - It is time for me to start taking my guitar lessons. One of my neighbor's singing and guitar strumming skills are so cool that I can't stop marveling at the music wafting around here.

Music is what our soul sounds like when it sings.

The guitar poured out its soul, its history, its dreams, its pain, its victories, its secrets. The guitar__ strings purred with blues and ended with a haunting solitary song with no lyrics.

Things began to go wrong when I was seventeen. My band__ twenty-year-old lead guitarist earned seven years in jail for a drug-fuelled spree of violence. The other band members were quick to let go of their musical dreams, but I never did. They did the __ature_ thing: after writing off the band as a teenage fantasy, they got real jobs and made some money. They called it growing up. I called it giving up.

Those who love you the most, let yo bend your notes

Those who love you the most, let you bend your notes

Music is another language, one so close to actual thought, strung together, sometimes staccato, flowing, and sometimes even nonsensical or harsh to the ears. It__ truth in an otherwise dishonest world.

My dad is a huge rock and roll lead guitar fan. I didn't even really know that until recently. Everything has to have a guitar solo in it.

My dad and I are best friends. He's pretty much responsible for the way I turned out. He would provide a little artistic inspiration here and there in the form of a guitar, stuff like that.

My drummer, bass player, and guitar player sing backgrounds. They play and sing. I can sing all the harmonies, but I can't do it alone.