Every guitar has a story.
My wife had given me a Fender baseball hat for Christmas. For the record, for work and church, I wear a fedora (why get old if you don’t get a hat out of the deal?). When I’m just me, I wear jeans, polo or tee shirts and ball caps. Back to the Fender cap. My lovely wife had taken my Peavey six-string acoustic to a proper luthier who told her that there was only so much you could do when a guitar aged, and it would never sound like it did in its prime. (Sigh).
Soon, another birthday was looming (how quickly they pop up anymore), and in light of the prognosis for the Peavey, my wife suggested (after I begged, whined, and otherwise debased myself) that maybe I should pick out a guitar for my birthday.
Off to Guitar Center!
Now, you have to realize that when my family visited my brother-in-law’s family, or his family visited us, Bill and I would drag out the guitars. He was a huge Taylor fan (the guitar, I’m not sure about his opinion of James Taylor or Taylor Swift). The first time we did, he pointed out that although the guitar had been untouched for over a year, it was still in tune. I was impressed. In any case, I thoroughly enjoyed my guitar encounters with Bill.
When I got to Guitar Center, I picked up Fender after Fender, but none really fit me. It’s kind of like when I was still able to jog and Nike was the cool brand, but it didn’t fit my foot. The store clerks suggested various brands that I had never heard of. No luck there, either.
Now, to put things in perspective, I was not willing to pay as much for a guitar as my first (EXTREMELY modest) house cost. That is the price range for the good guitars. I knew I was going to spend several times what I had ever spent on a guitar before, but that was just above the best of the bargain guitars and just barely at the cheapest of the good guitars.
At the time, I was playing guitar at Sunday Mass, and realizing my limitations, was happy to go with an acoustic, so my errors and shortfalls were obvious only to God and myself. I figured that God looked at me as parents look at their kids at a recital or concert and ignored any missed notes.
The Taylor guitars began to call me. I tried several modes Taylors that were priced in my range. I then tried equivalent guitars from other brands. Then I tried the Taylor again. I could continue, but you’ve probably already figured out how things ended. I took home a Taylor 110. I added a guitar strap that was black with white crosses—perfect for church—but then my wife pointed out that it also had coffins and headstones.
I never suspected that I was secretly goth. It just goes to show you.
I hope you enjoyed this series. Now I have to figure out what I’m going to write about next! My wife pointed out that I’ve been writing this blog for ten years. Wow! Hard to believe. I hope I won’t run out of ideas!