Guitars

“I bought my first real six-string
down at the five and dime.
Played till my fingers bled;
it was the summer of ’69…”

Good for Bryan Adams but for me it just didn’t work that way.

As a kid I wanted to be Ace Frehley of KISS. I loved that standard KISS sound, introduced to me by my cousin Joe. It was all sex and drugs and rock and roll, but in cartoon form. Ace did these blistering Chuck Berry on speed solos (come to think of it, Chuck Berry probably did a lot of solos on speed but I digress). Later I found out they were all basically the same solo, but they still sound great.

My dad bought me a guitar for Christmas when I was 15 (which would make it the winter of ‘84). I’d say my parents bought me the guitar but Dad did all the heavy lifting. I found an ad in the paper for a Gibson Explorer II, pristine for only $600. Gibson, the best guitars around and the guitars KISS used for the most part during the good old days. And $600 was a steal for a professional Gibson guitar. I’d done my homework that much, at least.

Explorer 2

Flash to 2005: Six HUNDRED dollars? What was he thinking? He knew that I had no idea how to play guitar. He knew I loved music and likely thought that I’d appreciate the guitar so much that I would spend lots of time practicing, etc. Yet we probably could have gotten a knock-off Fender Strat for less than a hundred, including a small amp.

Back to 1984: The heavy lifting consisted not only of giving me $600 to spend but taking me to the guy who was selling it. The guitarist was a dentist who worked out in the Bush so his father was the one selling it. We should have known it was a bad sign when there was a big sign out front which said “Sanctuary.”

Inside the “Sanctuary” were all sorts of beaded tapestries and incense burning and Buddhas here and there and a strange bowl with a sign saying “Spoons.” What Buddhism has to do with spoons, I still do not know, and I’m pretty sure that Sanctuary Man was not moonlighting as The Tick, so the whole tableau looked weird beyond all expectation.

The guitar itself was, and is, beautiful.

Soon I learned that I was not a natural-born musician. I was so shy that I could not possibly have arranged to take guitar lessons and the books I borrowed from friends could only get me so far. My chubby little fingers could not make the demonic sign known as an F chord and my attention-span always fell short. I blame no one, I’ve had numerous opportunities (and 21 years) to rectify the situation but I learned that, as much as I love music and love guitar music, I am not a musician.

Flash Forward to 2005: I still own that Gibson. For years I could not sell it for fear of my father’s disapproval (it was a gift, after all, and we had to go through spoons to get it!) and for the shame of acknowledging a failure. I guess I figured that I could always learn to play “tomorrow.” Funny, I own an exercise bike for the same reason.

Actually I now own two guitars. I bought a knock-off Steinberger two years ago and have not progressed one bit. Same problem: not enough motivation to really push beyond knowing a few chords. Frustrated at how crappy it sounds when I know what good guitar sounds like in my head.

steinberger

Flash back to ’84-’87. The guitarist for my friend’s band LOVED my guitar. He actually played it in a battle of the bands because the sustain is just so great. It’s a heavy, heavy guitar. I should have just given it to him. Couldn’t have done that, it would have been breaking all of those rules I mentioned before: admit defeat to myself and my dad.

And the guitar was a source of a certain amount of poseur pride. I never admitted to *being* a guitarist, just to owning a kick-ass guitar. Every year I plinked around on it for a couple of hours until I felt like a failure again. I still have Guitar magazines with tablature for lots of Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Jimi Hendrix songs.

Hendrix? God, in my dreams. Hendrix was inhuman. Hendrix was a beast. Hendrix was a god. Clapton, Hendrix, Page, Jeff Beck (remember when Beck always referred to Jeff Beck?), they were all my icons. Later Jeff Healy, Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Steve Vai, and Joe Satriani were added to the pantheon. Stevie Ray Vaughn? Never much of a fan but he was good. Bands with great guitarists: Hot Tuna, Black Sabbath, Jethro Tull, Thin Lizzy, et al. So many al to et.

Flash Forward to 2005: I need to get the Gibson into the shop for a tune-up and an evaluation. If it’s still worth anything (from the ‘net I’ve found that a pristine one can bring in excess of $1,000) I guess it’s time to sell it. Or even give it to a promising young musician. Haven’t decided. I’ll keep the Steinberger since it’s smaller and has all the bells and whistles (plus it only cost me $300 and wouldn’t bring me that much on resale).

Funny thing: my wife wants to learn to play acoustic guitar. We could take lessons together. Wouldn’t it be strange and perhaps stupid to turn one great Gibson into two cheap acoustics and some lessons?

I’m no longer a poseur but I’ll never be a real guitarist.

Although if I start practicing tomorrow…