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My Daughter has an Ax to Grind

By Bill Zahren
(Posted 03/19/04)

I have a photograph right here that I need to keep in a safe place. I'll need it in 10 years when "Behind the Music" comes to interview me.

The photo, taken February 11, 2004, is of my 12-year-old, Haley, swaggering around with her new electric guitar. John Randle Minnesota Vikings replica jersey, pony tail, blue basketball-ish shorts, flip-flops, Crate California Classic -- striking.

This is all Lindsay Lohan's doing. Ever since Haley saw Lindsay cranking on a Fender Telecaster in the movie Freaky Friday, she's been an ax girl. Note to Fender: getting your guitar placed in the movie was GENIUS. "Chicks with Guitars" has to be a huge growth demo for guitar makers. The Freaky Friday soundtrack is also packed with female guitar bands like Lillix, which I'm listening to right now.

Not that I was really upset to have Haley join the guitar-buying frenzy. Like 97% of all males, I think playing the electric guitar is brutally cool. Besides, a chick with an electric ax exudes the kind of Alpha Female confidence I encourage in my daughters. It creates an aura that says, "treat me right or I'll feed you your testicles."

Once we had a promise to practice and stick with it for two years (we actually have signed contract to that effect) I shot out e-mail to my friend, former boss and guitar freak (and I mean that as a compliment) Grover "Face Melter" Kirkman.

Grover put me onto John at Crazyhorse Guitars in tony Des Moines. I quickly got him on the phone.

"John, Grover told me to call. (It was important for John to know I was wired in with a Grover-level hipster.) You got a guy down there who teaches ax?"

"Sure, Barry."

"What about guitars? How much we looking at for a starter kit."

"Acoustic or electric?"

I slumped to my knees in a prayer of thanksgiving that it was an either-or deal. I assumed you had to learn on an acoustic guitar before you could move up to the Musical Weapon. But noooooooo. You don't have to crawl before you run (no offense, acoustic guitar people). You could go right to electric and twist the volume knob off.

"Electric," I croaked when I regained my ability to speak. I swear I almost added "with a whammy bar."

"I got a starter kit here -- amplifier, guitar, picks, gig bag (carrying case), cord, headphones (huge) for $275."

"I'll - er - we'll be down."

See, John is nobody's idiot. He knows the tip of a cash iceberg when it calls from the suburbs. Name me one guitar head who owns just one ax. There aren't any. Guitar freaks gotta have about 12 guitars because guitar A just doesn't have as warm a sound as guitar E. I think Grover has about 17 guitars. I once saw him almost come to tears over a 1949 amplifier.

John knows we'll be back if Haley catches the fever. A few days later we jammed down to the guitar shop, the advice of Grover still ringing in my ears -- "No sudden moves and DO NOT eat the brownies unless you have the next couple of days off." (Pretty sure he was joshing. The brownies were quite tasty and I don't feel any jklaknmivniak viavegease aisesefe!)

I'm kidding. Go right now to Crazyhorse Guitars and buy an expensive guitar. The place rocks, literally.

Anyway, we got there and Haley, dressed in her shorts and flip-flops despite temperatures in the 20s, goes right for a $1,000 banjo. I'm in a world of hurt here. Then she's looking at basses. John can almost see the dollar signs flying off us.

Finally I steered her over to the starter kits and it came down to the all-important decision -- red or black and white? Haley decided that the black-and-white ax looked more like rock-'n'-roll than the red one. Party on, Wayne!

We deployed the credit card and then took the steps two at a time up to see Barry who gives lessons above the Crazyhorse store. He didn't call us "DUDE!" or seem hung over, so we signed Haley up.

Haley started lessons on March 1 and so far so good. I was just upstairs near her room when she was strumming out "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by the famous John Denver. Hey, I guess you gotta do Denver before you can rattle the walls with Back in Black. But Angus's day will come. You just gotta believe.

I'm not sure I'll be able to stand it if Haley ever cranks out a Hendrix-esque version of the National Anthem. My wife has the home defibrillator juiced, greased and standing by just in case.

In the meantime, I'm booking gigs for Haley. Kidding. At one point Haley was putting together a band while sitting at our table. It was looking good for a few minutes as she rattled off her friends who were going to get guitars. Hannah with an electric guitar, (because what band doesn't have two?) Sarah on bass.

But then when Haley got to the lead singer, we ran into trouble. No way, she decided, she could work with the hypothetical lead singer. My wife and I watched in awe as the band went from formed to broken up inside two minutes, all while sitting at our kitchen table. Yet another sign that Haley is a real rock and roller! Damn those creative differences.

Haley has also asked me the guitar-chick-related question that strikes fear into parental hearts -- "How old do I have to be before I get a permanent tattoo?" My answer was: "41."

So I'm trying to stay calm as Haley tentatively cranks out the chords up in her room, jumping for E to D to C back to E, her hand moving along the neck of the ax like it knows where to go on its own. She practices about 30 minutes a day. But she's starting to screw around with the guitar more, which is key. All the greats just screwed around with it a lot.

"Yeah," I'll tell the Behind the Music interviewer, "she started kind of slow, but then really got into it in junior high. Here, I have a photo of the day we came home with her first guitar …"

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