It’s never ‘why guitar’ when you talk about guitars.
More like, “Why guitar? Why bother?”
Why, why, why.
It’s one question with endless answers.
But only one matters, and it’s another question.
Guitars have been around long enough for everyone to have a take, an attitude.
Old people in the fifties and sixties railed against all the racket those youngsters were making on guitar.
The Fender Stratocaster was on the way out until Buddy Holly revived it.
That was a good save for all who followed.
Eventually the amps improved enough that a guitar, bass, and drums could fill rooms, arenas, and eventually stadiums.
Some kid could lock himself in a room and practice until they were ready to start Van Halen.
But the electric guitar was a newcomer to the established acoustics, the flamenco in Spain, the Tennessee flat top box.
Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil so he could play an acoustic, allegedly.
Jimmy Page had a séance with his guitar to pick up spirits in the wind around his Zeppelin.
Prince created a new guitar when he was symbol not a name.
If you’re thinking a guitar is the most adaptable musical instrument, you might be right.
It fits in with classical music, rock, country, rock, folk, funk, jazz, and whatever you’re plucking around on in your garage.
You can play lead guitar, sideman guitar, bass guitar.
It comes in six strings, seven strings, or five strings like Keith Richards.
From standard tuning, to open tuning, to tuning up, or down, it is a most versatile tool.
Some people regret not learning how to play, forgetting it’s not too late.
They forget that if they started right now, a year later they’d be good at it. Or at least better at it.
One Journey To Start: Mine
Early on I showed some musical aptitude that my parents noticed.
Maybe it was my flute-o-phone skills that led to playing a tenor sax?
The folks bought me a Kay guitar with steel strings and high action to start.
My fingers tips throbbed.
I took lessons at Jantzen Music in Pony Village Mall until the teacher moved away.
My first song was the depressing ‘Down In The Valley.’
After that my first guitar sat abandoned.
Didn’t play it all through high school or my first year in college.
That’s when the power of guitar showed up.
A guy on my dorm floor graduated from high school early and landed in my school at seventeen.
He had a guitar that glowed when he opened the case.
He played gigs on weekends in downtown places and rode around on a Triumph Trident motorcycle.
I think it was guitar power and the motorcycle that lured my girlfriend at the time away.
Girl: I’m interested in the guy down the hall with a guitar and a motorcycle, but we can still see each other until that works out.
Me: I think it just worked out.
Girl: What do you mean.
Me: If that’s your guy, you should tell him now. He’s home. I’ll get the door for you.
Girl: But we can still see each other and have fun.
Me: I’m interested in a girl on the third floor and I don’t want her seeing us if there’s no us with us.
Girl: There’s us if you want us.
Me: That’s not the us I’m thinking about. Can you hear that guitar at the end of the hall? I think it’s for you, so go ahead.
Girl: But, . . .
Me: Watch the door closing behind you.
Girl:
I spent the next few months listening to the sweet sound of that Triumph, looking out the window, and seeing them ride off together.
I got the blues and didn’t know it.
A year later I joined the Army instead of returning to school.
There’s always a guitar player in Army movies, so I looked for one and found him.
That guy could play up a storm. He got me thinking about my guitar with the high action.
After my two year enlistment I went back to college like I’d planned.
I met a guy who had two guitars and we started playing together. (Hey Steve)
I also met a girl who had plans for our future.
After we figured out our plans were slowly dying, after I dropped out of college again and moved three thousand miles away, she changed her mind.
We broke up, but she gave me a broken acoustic guitar as a parting gift.
The back had delaminated and gave a feedback sound.
I bought a tuning fork and started playing two note blues, adding a third note when things heated up.
There I was living in a Brooklyn slum, thumping my guitar, sitting by the window at night watching my neighbors burn the cars they’d stolen at the end of my dead-end street.
The street that dead-ended into a cyclone fence with a freeway on the other side.
Headlights cut through the darkness behind the car-fire glow to make an urban nightmare, and it was all mine.
Guitar Women Rule
One guitar took my baby away from me.
Another guitar reminded me of what I was missing, so I packed up three thousand miles away and came back.
I played my broken guitar until a local lady decided I needed something better.
She bought me an acoustic with steel strings and high action and the three of us were good company.
We broke up a little later.
I played with a few guys who had problems that weren’t apparent from the start. Drug problems, drinking problems, mental problems.
Just when we started sounding good, he broke, and I never saw him again.
But life went on.
I met a new girl who decided I needed an electric guitar.
We went to the music store and came out with the cheapest guitar/amp combo.
The amp sounded bad, the guitar wouldn’t stay in tune, but the new girl didn’t care.
So we got married.
About David Gillaspie
