My brother was a musician, pure and simple. He had music in his soul for his entire life. It helped shape him, sort through his emotions, express himself, transport and transform him. Music was his life, the guitar his vehicle.
Chris was 2 years old when he picked out his first "bitar." It was a toy guitar at Disneyworld, and he was thrilled by it. He played with it constantly until he left it at a restaurant one night. The toy was gone, but the music bug had bitten him forever more.
Chris got his first real guitar for Christmas in 1993 when he was 9 years old. It was a black and white Fender Squire. He had been wanting one for a long time, and it was love at first strum. You can picture the Red Rider BB gun in A Christmas Story.... This was that kind of gift for my brother. He treasured this guitar, and the beautiful sounds it could make.
My brother was a very active child, and he dabbled in many sports and activities such as baseball and karate. He had a harder time sitting still for calm activities such as schoolwork at that age. We knew he would love his guitar, but we had no idea how completely devoted he would be to it, and how many disciplined hours he would spend learning it and honing his craft. His drive to make music seemed to come out of the blue, and we were floored by it.
Chris started formal guitar lessons around 1995. He went to Tradways, the local Ramona music store, and learned with his first instructor, Vance. Chris took his learning very seriously. We thought he may get bored with it or discouraged by the time and patience it takes to learn an instrument, but that was just not the case. I remember hearing him play every afternoon and evening. He started out with all the basic chord progressions, tuning, and simple children's songs. Then he graduated to more popular guitar songs with simple chords, such as Nirvana and Green Day. He kept branching out from there, learning more complex songs such as Stairway to Heaven. Before long, Chris was branching out in all musical directions and also starting to create some of his own original pieces.
Chris' next guitar was a dark red Gibson SG. It was a beautiful instrument and he was very proud of it. He would play in a rock band called Flak during most of his high school years, and several other bands throughout his adulthood. They really rocked! They played our high school and other venues, including my birthday party, and I thought they were the coolest. I was so proud of my brother and his beautiful music. He put in the patience and the hours and had the passion. He just got better and better.
Chris had an appreciation for guitar music in its many forms. He started with alternative and punk, but quickly grew to appreciate classic rock, blues, country rock and, especially in his later years, folk rock. He devoted countless hours to writing and playing songs for the rest of his life. I feel very privileged to have been in a position to get his many impromptu "concerts" just for his immediate family. He made a lot of beautiful music that nobody but Mom, Dad and I would ever hear. I feel sad that many of his songs would never be more widely heard. Especially in his later years, he really honed his singing and songwriting craft. I hope to keep these tunes in my head for the rest of my life. The music playing on this site is but a small sampling of some of his later work, written, played and sung by Chris himself. I am so thankful for the eternal gift of his music.
It is hard to sum up Chris' love for music and the role it played in his life, so I will let his own words do it justice. The following is an essay that my brother wrote when he was a junior at Ramona High School. The year was 2001. My brother, as much as he loved music and sports, did not always devote much time to his school work. My mom was floored when she found him typing an essay one night for hours and hours. That focus was so unlike him when it came to homework. She was intrigued. He told her that he was writing an essay for Mr. Buhl, an English teacher who had inspired him like few could, and that the assignment was very enjoyable. My mom was so happy and surprised that she called the teacher to thank him for so inspiring her son. Here it is, without further ado:
INFLUENTIAL INFLUENZA
by Chris Poissonniez
For most people music is something that sits in the passenger seat in the car of life. For me, music is my chauffeur. It drives me wherever I want to go; at whatever speed I want, and never runs out of gas. Music is the marrow that makes me who I am.Without it my dishes would have spots, my socks would never match, and everyday would be a bad hair day.
As far back as I can remember I have been a music critic. But for some reason, being a critic of music wasn’t good enough. I wanted to make music and have it criticized.There is an old saying; “It is easier said than done.” Well, screw talking about it, I wanted to do it. When I was 10, I asked my mom for a guitar around Christmas time, and her answer was “maybe”. Maybe…Twice as sweet as no, half as sweet as yes. It wasn’t exactly the word I was looking for, but with a little refinement this question raising maybe could be transformed into a hope fulfilling yes. With Christmas drawing nearer I decided I had to have a strategy. I already came right out and said that I wanted a guitar, so I needed to be a little more subtle. I decided that it would be a good idea to use subliminal messaging to get my point across. I slipped the word guitar into every sentence that came out of my mouth.
“HEY MOM THIS GREEN BEAN CASSAROLE IS GREAT guitar!”
“DID I ALREADY MENTION YOU ARE THE GREATEST MOTHER IN THEWORLD guitar?”
“BUT MOM, guitar I DON’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!”
I thought I was the smartest kid in the world. My mom ate up every word, and didn’t even notice that I was controlling her every move. I wanted her to eat, sleep, and breathe guitars. She did of course, after all I was the smartest kid in the world.Before I knew what hit me it was Christmas Eve. I could barely go to sleep. Every time the sandman came near, I shredded his ass away with the coolest guitar riff ever. Eventually he got smart, put in some earplugs, and took me out.
Like clockwork I woke up at six AM. Don’t ask me why, but on Christmas morning my first instinct has always been to scream my head off. And that I did, all the way into my parent’s room, while briefly bouncing on their bed, and all the way down the stairs. As my right foot hit the first floor I immediately stopped. There it was, the greatest gift a boy could receive. It was the best looking guitar I had ever seen, and it was all mine. I slowly walked up to it, ran my fingertips along the flawless fretboard, and flung it over my shoulder. If I were an angel you could safely say that I had just been given my wings.
Since that day I have never been the same.I started playing then, and have not stopped since. Any emotion I have trouble letting out can always be expressed through six metal strings. When I’m sad guitar helps me cope, when I’m happy guitar helps me float, and when I’m shipwrecked guitar is my boat.