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Chu.Chas had a large head at birth. There is a story told by his mother Ruta, a nurse, about her selection of his father for traits she wanted in her children. Father, a pilot, played a gypsy style violin while Mother could play banjo, piano and sing. However, the dubious benefit of thoroughbred selective breeding sometimes enters the world with a big head—so high forceps were required on the baby and…Oh, the poor mother.
There is circumstantial evidence that brain injury occurred to her son, that behind the cute photos of a child’s face was a large misshapen skull, and black and blue from the tongs.
Chu.Chas relays an experience most often described in the language of mysticism. His father had Luis Bonfá recordings of carnival and South American rhythms that Chu.Chas calls ‘a heart played on strings.’ He reports that sometime between ages eight and twelve his mother Ruta Mieta played such a thrilling instrumental on her tenor banjo that a wave of energy went up his spine. He only called it bliss later in his life. He knew then, he needed to make music.
An old twenty-five dollar Sears guitar with a fairly accurate fret board was his first instrument. Eventually he even ‘tuned the thing.’ He admits, “I was terrible. I made sounds with it, found harmonies on strings.” Later, he read the finger and chord exercises in a popular jazz guitar lesson book: “I loved the sounds. I loved to play. My fingers got stronger…for some reason I can only remember music that I have written or sounded out on the guitar.”
“The music is not perfect or polished; and not embarrassing. Some recordings are the first take of a song idea, an idea that will be played over and over, learned and expanded. Mistakes can become new songs. Different recording takes can be very different. I just play for fun, so expect mistakes. It takes time for the spirit of a song to be expressed. In each take, you can enjoy the mistakes, and the ‘saves’…they are as unique as each recording I make.” This was his lyrical, good natured admission of intent—sharing creative imperfection.
For years, possibly twenty, he has played many styles of original music on a classical guitar in the lobby of a hospital as a weekly volunteer. “They have not suggested they want me to leave!” He states, “I make every effort to show up on time to play.”
— Jivada