PETER RAS

During my teenage years I was given about four months' worth of classical piano lessons by an elderly woman who smelled of urine and who would crack my knuckles with this pencil thick wooden dowel if my hand posture wasn't the way it was suppose to be. What I wanted to learn was the type of music that THE BEATLES or THE ROLLOING STONES or ELTON JOHN was playing on the radio. As far as guitar lessons, I had four. The guitar that my father allowed me to buy would make my fingers bleed trying to press the strings down over a 1/2 inch action

Over the years I would like to tickle the ivories a bit just for fun's sake or to ease boredom at college. Sometimes I was lucky enough to have someone show me how to play a piece, but not much of anything. The same went for the guitar

After I sustained a severe head injury to my left front tempural lobe in April 2001, it jolted my creative flow. I still can't read or write a note, but when I sit down at the keyboard or strap on a guitar, my hands go into auto pilot and the music you are listening to is what comes of it. I hope you enjoy it

RAS