Have you ever spent an entire day on autopilot? Today was like that. I got up late after I either forgot to set my alarm clock or turned it off without realizing it this morning.

It may have been one of those days when I reached out to slap the snooze button. I sometimes hit it like a pesky insect waking me up with a sting to the ear. Somewhere behind it is a smaller button, discretely placed so as to not be easily struck by a misplaced slap to the snoozer. I could have struck it anyway; it is possible, I have found. I have one of those clocks that sets itself. I don't really understand it, but you plug it in and that's it. It automatically knows what day it is, what time it is and everything else you never wanted to know — especially at 6 a.m. after a restless night. Just for show, it runs through the times at a blistering speed before settling on the 'accurate' date and time for the east coast. It still doesn't know when to alarm and when not to, unless I tell it beforehand. It doesn't really matter how it works, just so long as it does.

As for my fatigue, I don't know what got me so worn out last night, or this morning, for that matter. I still feel sleepy right now. There are some times when I just can't get enough rest, but usually only when I am feeling poor. Maybe I am fighting off a cold or something and my body is doing such a good job I haven't had any symptoms.

Anyway, by mid-afternoon, I didn't know how I was going to make it. I was hoping it would be like that notice I saw up at another newspaper that said, "If you want to see the dead come back to life, be here at quitting time."

Maybe I was awake the evening before in anticipation of the Friday night music fest and Rook tournament. I was invited over to an old friend's house to play music while some other fellows had a bonfire and a card tournament.

In fact, after I got out and around and had a few cups of coffee, I did manage to regain some semblance of life. The evening reminded me of how long it has been since I played and sang with a group of musicians on the guitar.

I don't play nearly as often as I used to, that's for sure. I used to play at least four or five hours per week and usually more like 20 or more.

These days, I play most of my music on the bass for a gospel group that I recently started practicing with. Most of the time, that's about the extent of it. I'll blame it on the changing times. Even so, I do still enjoy making music of all kinds — country or rock and roll, gospel or blues, old or new — it really doesn't matter. In fact, other than disco, rap and hip hop, I can't think of too many kinds of music I don't enjoy.

Even the music I don't enjoy has merits, it's just not suited to my palate.

In addition, I've found that every kind of music has its own styles and traditions. For instance, I have found that some of the more familiar traditional country and gospel patterns are being eclipsed by the newer, more eclectic sounds of musical fusion. Much of today's new southern music has influences varying from Marty Robbins to The Rolling Stones. At least that's what I hear when I play some of it. Sometimes the influence is so obvious that the songs remind me of a song by another group. Maybe the influence is subliminal on the part of the musicians, but for me it is right out in the front.

I don't really consider myself a traditionalist when it comes to music, but I do believe in carrying on the work that was started.

The music we know of as traditional was once cutting edge, just like the music of today is thought to be. It all starts somewhere. Music has to grow and evolve to survive. If it didn't, we'd all still be listening to the same music to which our ancestors listened.

So, I am also trying to grow and evolve. I am enjoying discovering the bass. I once played bass as a fill-in for a country and western act, also singing backup vocals for such favorites as "Swinging Doors," and "White Lightning." I was mediocre at best and terribly off at worst, doing my best at improvisational bass guitar on incredibly short notice. All the band members were old friends, so they understood. The point of saying this is to state that there is a specific skill involved at playing bass well and I don't have it.

I can play passably and stay in tune and in time, which is more than a lot of folks can say, but not enough for a spot on the next "Masters of the Bass" album. The bass is definitely one of the least appreciated instruments. In fact, if one plays traditional music, he or she is penalized for playing the bass. You have to lug an instrument bigger than most people around at shows and conventions. At least with the electric bass one doesn't have to worry about renting a truck to haul it.

From the beginning of my musical pilgrimage I wanted to be simply a rhythm guitarist. I never had an interest in being a lead guitarist. I just like to play along and be absorbed by the music. I also often provided vocals to the effort, sometimes effective ones and sometimes not so effective ones.

The hard thing about playing with a 'cover band' that mostly plays other people's songs is that you are expected to sound something like that group. If not in reality, then at least in audience expectation. That is why songs are generally not re-released until a number of years are gone by and the new artist is either of a different sex or music style.

So, in a round about way, what I am explaining is that there are some styles I can perform well and some that I don't do so well.

I can't do too much of that screechy rock stuff without losing my voice and I also don't like to do too many songs with really high notes, like anything Andy Gibb ever sang. Of course, I can't imagine anyone wanting to do (or listen to) any song Andy Gibb ever sang anyway. Unless, of course, your last name happens to be Gibb.

My latest musical outing has proven rewarding by reminding me of my need to stay 'in the music' in order to retain my knowledge. I have already forgotten as much as I remember. The words I used to know automatically sometimes come slowly now and sometimes not at all. But the words that do come forth still serve as reminders of days long gone and the music still sounds just fine.

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