My mother always told me that it was rude to talk about oneself too much, especially if not asked. As backhanded advice this one stuck with me. Maybe call it foundational.
I was born in 1968 and came of consciousness in the mid 1970s when letter writing was still the central form of family communication (long distance phone calls were expensive and we were middle class people). Even as I was being dropped off at my Penn State freshman dorm in the late summer of 1986 my mom told me “if you think you need to call us, take a moment, and then write a letter.”
As a demonstration of this code in hardcore practice when I was kid starting to learn to write my own letters my mom explained how my grandmother had a strict rule that one never began a letter with “I …”. Her letters might begin with something like “Dear Nancy, The peonies are in bloom today and it reminded me of the lovely arrangement you made in your last visit.” A bit of flattery and on from there.
This is the way of the mid-Century Mid-Atlantic Yankee WASP of which I am from. Double the power with recent Scandinavian roots. We’re here to cool things down not heat things up. In a sense the practice of “not talking about oneself” is just an act of good Christian humility. One does not presume anyone could be interested in one’s unsolicited opinion lest it burden the listener with having to participate in a conversation they are not interested in having. At other times it conversely becomes a license to not give a shit what anyone else thinks (if no one cares about my opinion why should I care about yours?), which I don’t take for a Christian sentiment. For some this culture can become trauma, crushing of self-worth. One does not stand out, only unless maybe you happen to be the best at something.
As one gets older you see the benefits under the framework of “knowledge is power”. If you can control what is known about you, you can control the range of what people can think of you which can be essential in finance or sales. I come from engineers where it helps to factor out human considerations. Keep the world away on a need to know basis and stick to your business. In the WASP way the talk is less, the humor is dry and self-reinvention is always around the corner.
If no one knows who you are, and you happen to be a white dude, you can dang become anything you want. Travel the world in all its funkiest places and everywhere you go there’s always going to be that white dude with blonde hair who’s managed to integrate himself in with the locals. It used to be a running joke with my bandmates that when we’d go see touring aging Jamaican or African legends in the 1990s there would always be one white dude in the band, usually on a horn or on keyboard. “How the hell did they get there?”. A free radical with access to credit and a disciplined ability to not offend is an easy friend. Bully to my brothers.
As a way of life it can lead to having some very bifurcated relationships. I’ve had great co-worker friendships that went on for years without them having any idea I was involved with music. And as a habit even amongst good friends it can create sudden surprises. One of the low key funniest moments of my life happened while I was in a meeting with the Ghettobillies, a trio I worked with as a manager in Michigan around the turn of the century. I had been with them for at least a year and a half and had already spent an enormous amount of time with them driving to gigs, going to the studio and just hanging out at their house. We were in a meeting to hash out our plan to move to Chicago and live together. I can’t remember what I said but somehow in passing I mentioned something about one of my brothers and a hand from one of the ‘billies went up immediately up: ”wait…you have a family?”
For myself the law of “not talking about myself unless asked” came to mature fruition in many shocks along the way. In one of the several “big left turns” in my young life, over the summer before my senior year of college I got a job canvassing for a Ralph Nader public interest group across Central New York, going door to door ringing doorbells to talk about irradiated food and sign up members. To keep focused on the issues I realized it was best to cease wearing clothes that had any logos or words, just solid colors if I could help it. Dress square, short hair. Don’t give them anything to think about except what I am saying. And when the moment comes, ask for the money clearly and honestly. I was good at it.
Another big one was starting graduate school at 22 and suddenly being surrounded by people all at least 4-5 years older than me and probably a whole lot smarter. Like a monk I didn’t speak at all for weeks sparing myself unrecoverable humiliation. But as I learned the language and culture of this new world I would eventually hold my own with the confidence that at least I didn’t make many terrible first impressions.
And then one day I became the white dude, playing guitar in a reggae band in Detroit. It had all been too swift a ride to that chair and I had no idea about the titanic ego crushing that was to come. That the point of this music is not to “add my creative expression” (ie, “talk about myself”), but to play the music right. I had learned this socially, but I was finding its musical corollary. I had to learn to shut the fuck up. I did, and that’s when really began to love it.
And then again over hours and hours of rehearsal time in a dingy basement space, engaged in creating original music as a collaborative effort and learning that if you expect others to receive and try your ideas without instant modifications, I must learn to receive and attempt my bandmate’s ideas without suggesting changes. This one required breathing. At its best you learn to get in a zone of receiving and trying ideas without evaluation and working to make them work. And it turns out that opens up so many doors…
And then again years later in Chicago, sitting in a semi-circle in a classroom at the Old Town School of Folk Music having signed up for a class called Latin Rhythms and impulsively purchasing a nylon string guitar even though I was in mountains of credit card debt. There was no goal in mind except to hopefully learn something new about music and guitar playing. At first I was a little disappointed as my impression was that the people there were all basically just beginner guitar players. But then I realized as we chatted that every one of them knew about libraries of music I had no idea existed, Latin American folk music that blew me away in its rhythmic force. It started with Mexican son jorocho music – getting mix CDs from my classmates (preYouTube or even the Apple Music Store, this was the only way), and then from my first teacher there, Roberto Arce from Peru, I saw there were of ways of playing guitar that I had never seen before, and this was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I thought I knew a lot about music and guitar playing, but wow I really knew nothing. It was glorious. I could enjoy that class so fully and process the information quickly because I had learned how to learn and not let myself get in the way.
We’re supposed to be talking about the state my guitar playing here and we’ll get to that in a moment, but first I just wanted you to understand how bonkers this whole blog endeavor is for me. Talking about myself. Posting for anyone to see. The internet has been great for me as an endless library of information and an endless network of personal connections that have given me my career. But I’m a reluctant participant. I love a good comment section as contemporary literature but I don’t comment. I mean, it’s 2026 and I’m just getting around to starting a blog for crissakes.
I can remember being in a computer lab in Ann Arbor in the summer of 1999 after I had been miraculously brought back after several years to teach public speaking classes at the University of Michigan. I saw one of my students from the past term and went over to say hi and I noticed his picture on the computer screen (not something I possibly had never seen before). He explained to me that he was designing a “website” for himself, and in this website he would be describing his interests and hobbies and maybe even his goals for his future. This would be something he would use to help find friends and like-minded people. Maybe even to help get a job…WHAT!?!?…That is INSANE! I thought, “why the fuck would anybody want to do that? Why would you want everyone to know so much about you? Who could possibly care? “Presumptuous and possibly rude”. Little has made sense since.
As you can see I wasn’t exactly made for the social media age, not active or deft enough, even though I managed to eke out a decent professional run in the events world of 2010s Chicago. As for my own self promotion, the “telling of my truth”, truth be told, I mostly fumbled away any prospective effectiveness a long time ago largely for not being interested in sharing much of myself at the moment it became a requirement. Looking back, of course I wasn’t ready yet, either.
So this here is a jail break. Time to get rude. On this blog we’ll be going deep into my head so I needed one more intro. Please feel welcome, but after all understand this is An Unsolicited Retrospective. No one asked for it. Rudie can’t fail. We will continue soon to talk guitar playing.
UP NEXT: 2. Talkin’ Solo Guitar