The Blue Tang

Griffin had not anticipated a sudden rise to fame the moment he was given the Blue Tang.

Just around the time of his seventeenth birthday, there was a horrific pandemic claiming the lives of thousands; he nor his family were allowed to leave their homes. The moment the pandemic began was when his love for music began—and he took the guitar.

Prior to his birthday, Griffin spent most of his time locked in his room, playing on a cheap electric guitar his father had gotten from a garage sale way before Griffin was born. Griffin spent hours learning songs online and trying to wrap his mind—and his fingers—around the fretboard of the instrument.

But to no avail.

He felt discouraged as the weeks passed and he didn’t seem to be improving. He could see his parents' expressions whenever he’d try to play a simple chord like D major… and it made him feel like maybe his passion for music was not worth pursuing. As a matter of fact, Griffin thought he was getting worse the more he played!

But all this changed on his birthday.

Griffin was surprised when his family set up a surprise video chat for him, where all his aunts and uncles joined to celebrate. As Griffin was watching his uncle play with the digital backgrounds, there was a knock on his door; his mother went to answer it.

The door opened and Griffin turned his head. Standing at the door frame was his grandfather. He wore a medical mask on his face and was clutching a guitar case.

Griffin fished for his mask in his pocket and went to embrace his grandfather. He was curious at who the guitar was meant for, but excited for the surprise visit. 

As his grandfather was getting settled in, Griffin’s father grabbed the computer so he could speak to the family. 

“Thanks for stopping by, grandpa,” Griffin thanked. “I didn't think you’d come over, what with this pandemic and everything.”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” his grandfather replied, lightly bumping Griffin’s shoulder with his fist. “You’re only young once, right?”

The burning curiosity was too much to bear for Griffin, and he found himself blurting, “Who’s the guitar for, grandpa?”

His grandfather merely smiled.

“Sit down,” he directed towards the couch.

Griffin took a seat while his grandfather opened the case and presented a beautiful, blue Les Paul. Griffin’s eyes seemed to pop out of his skull at the sight of the instrument. The strings were thicker than his cheap guitar, tightly coiled and already tuned. The volume and tone knobs were a transparent gold, and as his grandfather took it out of its case, he noticed it had a thin, leather strap. It was Griffin’s dream guitar… 

Well, not this particular guitar. Griffin thought to himself. But a Les Paul—and blue—its too much… I can’t take it!

“Where did you get this?” Griffin asked. “It must have cost a fortune!”

“It was free, Griffin,” his grandfather answered. “This was my fathers instrument… a vintage 70’s Les Paul.”

Griffin’s mouth gaped open so wide it dragged his mask down his nose.

“My father had this custom made, he thought the blue was a nice, light color,” his grandfather said. “I wasn’t much of a player but I heard you were taking an interest and thought you might like it.”

Griffin nodded his head as if to say yes to accepting the instrument and grabbed it as his grandfather handed it to him.

Just as Griffin was forming an open chord on the guitar, his grandfather went on. 

“I’ll mention that there’s a bit of a story to this instrument.” Griffin did not seem to be paying attention. The chords he was forming sounded the best he had ever heard himself play. It was as if playing the instrument enhanced his abilities. “My father wasn’t a great guitarist—so people have said—until he got this very instrument. He had it custom made in a small shop. The owner of the shop, some said, would put spells on the objects he made… but my father didn’t believe it. When he played with his guitar, he brought people to awe with his playing. Of course, he died before I was born, so I never saw it in person—but I saw videos—and he was incredible… They say this instrument seemed to increase his ability to play guitar, and the man who made it put some sort of spell on it.”

Griffin did not believe the story. He had heard a similar story with a guitarist in the thirties who seemed to “sell his soul” to the devil to play guitar well… Of course, this guitarist was great, but Griffin did not buy into how his abilities were enhanced. He believed merely hard work made you a great guitarist.

“I thought you might like it, and you could put it to good use—since its been in my attic for a while,” his grandfather said. 

“Does this guitar have a name,” Griffin asked. “I know some musicians name their instruments.”

His grandfather let out a small smile and answered, “As a matter of face it does… My father called it the Blue Tang. Notice how the color and texture of the guitar looks like one of those blue sea fish?”

“Like Dory, in Finding Nemo?” Griffin wondered. “I like the name…” 

Later that night, when his grandfather had left their house, Griffin took the Blue Tang to his room.

He plugged it into a new amplifier his mother got him and started to play a scale. He chose the minor pentatonic scale, since he struggled using his pinky to play some of the required notes. If he could play this scale perfectly, like he could play that chord earlier that day, maybe the stories his grandfather told him were not completely bogus.

With a single try, Griffin easily ascended and descended through the scale. He had practiced the scale prior to playing on the Blue Tang… but he had not heard such a promising result as he did now.

Griffin smiled in amazement, and admired his fingers as if they were made of gold. A flood of thoughts entered his mind, and he felt overwhelmed both with the ideas in his head and the power of this guitar.

“I guess there was a bit of truth in grandpa’s story…” Griffin remarked. 

The next day, Griffin spent the majority of his time locked in his room, playing with his new gift. Griffin typically spent most of his time playing guitar, both because he wasn’t allowed to leave his house from lockdown—and because he wanted to become better. But today… he was not struggling over his guitar playing. Every song—every chord—every note… was perfect. It was as if Griffin had been practicing and playing for years! 

He was skeptical about the power of the Blue Tang at first; its power was too good to be true… but the more he played, the more the Blue Tang became an addiction to him.

As time passed, the pandemic took a shift. The people once locked in their homes were allowed to leave, to experience the world they had to hide from for several months. Griffin took no notice of the changes in his world… his mind was occupied with the music.

With the guitar. 

His family at first thought his passion for music was a beautiful thing. They would hear him play in his room, and on occasion he would play several songs for his mother and father. They had encouraged him to take lessons. Griffin took this to offense, for he heard this as if he was not good enough. He used this guitar enough to believe in the power of the Blue Tang, and was perplexed that his parents did not believe in it too.

“You’re mother’s offering to put you in lessons so perhaps you could learn things you don’t already know,” his father tried to persuade him. “You’re fantastic as it is, son, and the progress you’ve made throughout these months in lockdown is unfathomable… but consider being a little open minded too… You don’t have to take lessons if you don’t want to—but don’t be closed off to learning, either.”

Griffin rejected the idea. He did not admit this to his family, but on occasion he tried his old electric guitar, and whenever he would play, it was as if the months of playing were forgotten… He sounded terrible… and he wanted to keep people from hearing that. 

The pandemic reached a stage where Griffin was finally allowed to go to school. He was starting his last year of high school, and decided to take a music class specially made for students who wanted to learn commercial music and perform onstage.

“So you play guitar, now, Griffin?” asked one punky student in his class.

“I do,” Griffin replied with a smirk, patting the Blue Tang’s case.

“What guitar do you play? Something cheap I bet—like an Ibanez,” asked the kid, sounding more as if he were mocking Griffin than genuinely asking.

“Les Paul…” Griffin answered, then turned his head as if he weren’t interested in speaking anymore.

“Pull it out… let's hear you play.”

“No, not now,” Griffin said. He looked around the room and noticed his teacher was preparing material for the day’s lesson. “I don’t want to disrupt the teacher.”

“So you’re a chicken? Don’t wanna show us your guitar skills? Guess that makes me the best guitar player in the class, then…”

That was all that was needed to persuade Griffin to pull the Blue Tang out of its case.

“I’ll show you who’s the best, Ricardo,” Griffin heaved.

He put the strap over his shoulder and found a nearby amplifier for him to plug into.

A small hum sounded from the amp as it turned on, getting several other students' attention.

“Play Free Bird,” Ricardo shouted, then cackled.

Griffin positioned his fingers and began to strum the chords of the tune. As each second passed he strummed with more intensity, building for the solo. At that point, the entire class was watching him. Griffin entered a part of his mind where he was no longer able to think… he only felt. The music coursed through his fingers with such a vibrance that it seemed to color the room with sound. It was easy… all of it… the bends, the hammer ons, the entire solo. A solo so legendary that it’s become a joke to tell amature guitarists to play… And yet, Griffin was playing it flawlessly.

The Blue Tang served him well.

In the middle of his solo the teacher waved his arms and told Griffin to stop. He was retracted from the music and looked at the teacher as if he had done something bad.

“Please don’t play until the second half of the period,” his teacher announced. Students were turning their bodies away from Griffin and towards the board. “Nice solo,” the teacher mouthed to Griffin as he got the class’ attention back.

Griffin let out a small smile and put the guitar back in its case.  

As the year went on, Griffin developed a reputation for being the best guitarist at the school. He formed a band so talented they left the audience speechless. Every gig he played… he was seen holding the Blue Tang. The occasional audience member would recommend pieces of music for Griffin to learn and play. Hearing these recommendations brought back that conversation he had with his father about guitar lessons… and how his father wanted him to become more open minded. But it was not open-mindedness that he was avoiding… he just did not want to learn more than he already knew. With his Blue Tang, his career as a musician was easy—so why complicate it? 

At first, he politely told these people that he knew all he needed to know… But the more people asked, the more frustrated he became.

One point, Griffin shouted that it was pointless for him to learn more on guitar. If he was forming a band and playing flawlessly on stage… Why learn more? Many argued that good musicians were constantly open minded, even if they were the best. But like his grandfather's story on the Blue Tang, Griffin did not believe it at first.

Years progressed and the pandemic began to loosen up. Griffin took his band across the state of California, playing for as many people in as many places as he could. His success was skyrocketing, and many wondered what made him such a great guitarist.

“Hard work and keeping an open mind,” he would say, despite the fact that he did not believe it. He knew all he needed to know.

At one gig he was playing, someone backstage was tasked with tuning his Blue Tang. The man accidentally dropped the instrument, causing it to break on the floor. The worker was mortified, and was immediately fired—which was amusing considering it was his first day.

Upon hearing the news, Griffin quickly panicked. He was not sure how he could play in front of so many people without his Blue Tang. The familiarity and comfort of music that had allowed him to become so successful was taken away from him. He knew the alternative would be to play on a different guitar… but no guitar matched the power of the Blue Tang.

“You’re on in five,” announced one of the backstage workers wearing an earpiece.

A woman walked into his room carrying a black stratocaster for him. Griffin shivered, since this was about the same guitar he had first played on before the Blue Tang. He put the strap on and gave the guitar a strum. He couldn’t help but notice both the woman and the backstage worker giving him a look because of how poor the chord had sounded.

“Just having an off day,” Griffin commented sheepishly.

The same lady guided him to the stage, and Griffin’s heart pounded. The people who had come to see him shred on his Blue Tang would be deeply disappointed. Griffin wanted to put the blame on someone… but he knew the only blame he could put on was himself.

If he had expanded his mind to learning more on this instrument… he would not have to depend on the power of the Blue Tang. After all, it was just a guitar. 

With this thought, the success he had made in the last few years felt as if they were not his… He had been living a lie. The hard work he had told people in interviews was a lie. He just got lucky to get an instrument with an unusual power and play it in front of people.

Griffin stepped on stage and played the beginning of his song… 

Here goes the end to my career. Griffin thought to himself as both his band and the audience members were watching him with concern…