When I was a kid, my father (a drummer) used to bring me to visit a musical instrument repair shop for odds and ends, and it would be a place I enjoy just being in, just hanging out in.
It was called George’s Music Shop, and George was the man behind the counter, and when I was learning saxophone, it remained a place of wonder. I even used my memories there for a collection of connected short stories at one point (NOTE TO SELF: dig that up and revisit the stories)
This documentary — The Last Repair Shop – is a wonder of capturing a place in Los Angeles, and how the shop is a hub for fixing things and maybe, people.
It also inspired my morning poem:
On a memory stop
to an old repair shop
on Main, a whistle in B flat
ringing on the door, opening,
explaining I’m here,
aiming to get a broken sax,
fixed; worn pads,
replaced; things sound
better, with loveI hand it to the man
behind a glass counter
littered with sheet music,
cork grease, guitar strings –
his probing fingers pour
over every turn of the neck,
the bell, the cage, the springsIn a gruff voice, he speaks,
in a sort of bebop rhyme:
he’ll weave some magic
to make my sax sing again –
come back in two weeks time
Peace (and repairs),
Kevin
I LOVED that video, Kevin, and the poem. I’ve shared both with friends and colleagues. Love the image of the gruff repair man — careful and deliberate and attentive.
And I think about Leonard Cohen and his bell, “that’s how the light gets in”, which is hard to see when the crack appears, at least for me.
Many thanks for your sharing. I don’t tell you often enough how much it means to me.
Thanks, my friend!
Kevin