Inspecting a D’Angelico Excel during a full restoration.
When every guitar claims to be special, how can any guitar truly stand out?
In the guitar world, a transformation is underway that reminds me of the rise and fall of empires. The modern boutique guitar market, which once felt to me like an underground treasure trove, now seems poised on the precipice. It has grown, matured, and, in my opinion, overextended itself. Are we cresting the wave? Has the boutique boom run its course, or is it simply shedding its skin in metamorphosis?
Guitar building has been around for centuries, mostly as an individual, artisanal endeavor until the late 19th century, when it began to be dominated by manufacturing entities. The boutique guitar category as we know it today began as a reaction to the hegemony of big brands. It was a calling and philosophy—a return to individual builders and small shop manufacturers in the mainstream consciousness. Builders crafted instruments that evoked the patinated romance of vintage instruments as well as the hot-rod aesthetic. What started with a handful of outliers has now become an ecosystem. But, like all trends, there’s a limit to how far it can stretch before it must adapt or collapse.
Pioneers to Proliferation
In the early 1970s, builders like Rick Turner, John Suhr, Michael Gurian, and Bernie Rico, among others, stook as renegades of the modern boutique scene. They were voices bucking the production-line trend with craftsmanship that evoked past masters like D’Angelico, Bigsby, or even Stradivarius. These builders weren’t just producing instruments; they were making statements. A guitar by Parker or a Manzer wasn’t just a tool, it was a declaration of the builder’s ethos and vision—something that might have been lost in the guitar boom of the ’60s.
Today, the boutique world is a crowded stage where hundreds, if not thousands, of builders compete for the attention of an audience with only so much disposable income. Plus, the custom allure is no longer the sole province of artisans; custom shop offerings from major brands like Fender, Gibson, and PRS have blurred the lines. CNC machining and production streamlining have made “boutique” features practical, even necessary, for larger operations. To their credit, unlike at the birth of the vintage market, the big guys saw the wave as well. The once-clear delineation between boutique and mainstream is murkier than ever, which by its nature dilutes everyone’s impact in the segment.
In economic terms, this is a textbook example of market saturation. There are only so many players willing and able to spend $5,000, $10,000, or more on a guitar. Supply has exploded, but demand may be plateauing. Handmade boutique guitars, once a rarefied niche, are now ubiquitous at trade shows, online marketplaces, and across social media feeds. This leads me to a pressing question: When every guitar claims to be special, how can any guitar truly stand out?
The Instagram Paradox
Online, custom guitars have become as much about image as they are about sound. It seems any builder with a board and a butter knife is trolling for your approval. A scroll through Instagram reveals a sea of small-batch instruments, but there’s a creeping sense of déjà vu. How many “offset” guitars with stained burl tops and pre-distressed finishes can one truly appreciate before they begin to blur together? Social media, once a powerful tool for builders to connect with their clientele, has become a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it’s never been easier to showcase work to a global audience. On the other, the sheer volume of content has weakened the impact.
“A guitar by Parker or a Manzer wasn’t just a tool, it was a declaration of the builder’s ethos and vision—something that might have been lost in the guitar boom of the ’60s.”
The Buyer’s Shift
Meanwhile, players too are evolving. With the pandemic-fueled spike in sales fading, some tastes are turning away from the museum-worthy builds in favor of simpler, more traditional guitars. In a way, the legacy brands may now be a salve for the disaffected. In an ironic twist, they are seen as the true foundation of the industry—the original and genuine as opposed to a hip fad.
What Comes Next?
So, has the boutique guitar market peaked? Perhaps. But a peak doesn’t necessarily signal decline. Just as the boutique segment was born from a reaction to mass production, the next wave may be driven by a return to fundamentals. Builders who adapt to a changing landscape or who have built their own legacy will continue to thrive. Those who have not entered the general consciousness may find themselves left behind.
In the end, the boutique guitar market will endure, not because of its size, but because of its soul. Just as guitar building began as an individual endeavor, that heritage will continue. The challenge is to capture the essence of what makes a guitar special in the first place: the connection between builder and player—and the magic of turning wood and wire into music.
Roy Buchanan poses with his Les Paul in this Alligator Records promo shot.
He’ll forever be remembered for his unparalleled mastery of the Telecaster, but Roy Buchanan kept an open mind when it came to his guitars.
Perhaps you’ve read something where an artist or a brand is dubbed “authentic.” It’s marketing hype that’s both real and manufactured, but I assure you it can be both a legit and important concept. The problem is when it gets used in the first person. Who judges whether something is authentic or not? Critics? Magazines? The internet? A brand itself? What does it mean to you? We often refer to things as the “real deal,” so is that the same? Not exactly.
The real deal can be something that is what it purports to be—like a working cowboy. But if you see his hat brand in a store in New York, is that authentic? If you think this is splitting hairs, you might be right. We’d like to think that when we choose a guitar to play, our desire for playability and sound is at the forefront of the decision-making process, and mostly it is. But that blacked-out, pointy axe with the studded strap just won’t fly in your bro-country cover band, so you glom onto a paisley Telecaster, even though it doesn’t feel as good to you. Does this make you authentic? Personally, I’d love to see some chicken pickin’ on that pointy fiddle. Busting down barriers and breaking rules is the spirit of expression and creativity, and that’s authentic.
There’s no shame in honoring tradition and nodding in reverence to your influences, but you don’t have to bow down so low that you can’t be yourself, too. I used to think I was a “Gibson guy.” To a large extent, I still am, but many of you know my love of the Strat and Tele. My music room is full of other brands that I adore and use for certain applications. I believe that you have to use an instrument, effect, or amplifier to get what you need for the situation you’re in, no matter what the social connotation is.
“If Roy freaking Buchannan can rock out on a Les Paul or a Hamer Standard, you can break some rules, too.”
One night in the late 1970s, I answered the phone at the Hamer Guitars factory, mostly to see who on Earth would call at that late hour. To my surprise it was Roy Buchanan, the original master of the Telecaster. He wanted to chat about our Sunburst model that was fairly new to the market. His questions revolved around scale length, fretboard width, fret size, and weight. When I asked why he was interested in our guitar when he was known for playing Telecasters, he told me that he already had one of our Explorer-shaped Standard model guitars! I found this even more puzzling than the fact that Roy Buchanan had cold-called our office at night. Roy went on to say that in the studio he used a lot of different guitars, including a Les Paul with P-90s that he liked a lot. He used the Tele onstage, he said, “because people expect me to do all those Telecaster things.” He didn’t ask me to ship him a guitar for free or inquire about an artist discount. He said he’d check one out at a dealer. I recommended one near him, and we said goodnight. I began to wonder if it was a crank call.
I’d forgotten the whole episode until recently, when I saw a newspaper photograph of Roy Buchanan with his young daughter, Jennifer. I thought about how happy they looked and how sad it was that his death had stolen that little girl’s father from her. And right there in that photo, he’s playing that Hamer Standard. I’m not gonna lie and say that I didn’t cry.
So there it is, folks. If Roy freaking Buchanan can rock out on a Les Paul or a Hamer Standard, you can break some rules, too. I’m certain that he was most comfortable onstage with that beat-up old Tele, but it wasn’t his only love. It’s just the one that people think of when they imagine the authentic guy.
Songwriters often say they strive for connection through authenticity in their music and lyrics. And at the very core, that’s what it’s about—human connection. If you love that cowboy hat and live in Philadelphia, I’m not going to criticize you—just go ahead and wear it, dude. It’s about wearing the hat for its intended purpose, not putting it on to hope it makes you authentic.
Plenty of excellent musicians work day jobs to put food on the family table. So where do they go to meet their music community?
Being a full-time musician is a dream that rarely comes to pass. I’ve written about music-related jobs that keep you close to the action, and how more and more musicians are working in the music-gear industry, but that’s not for everyone. Casual players and weekend warriors love music as much as the hardcore guitarists who are bent on playing full time, but they may have obligations that require more consistent employment.
I know plenty of excellent musicians who work day jobs not to support their musical dreams, but to put food on the family table. They pay mortgages, put children through school, provide services, and contribute to their community. Music may not be their vocation, but it’s never far from their minds. So where do they go to meet their music community?
A good friend of mine has studied music extensively in L.A. and New York. He’s been mentored by the pros, and he takes his playing very seriously. Like many, he always had day jobs, often in educational situations. While pro gigs were sometimes disappointing, he found that he really enjoyed working with kids and eventually studied and achieved certification as an educator. To remain in touch with his love of music, he plays evenings and weekends with as many as three groups, including a jazz trio and a country band. Not actually worrying about having a music gig that could support him in totality has changed the way he views playing out and recording. He doesn’t have to take gigs that put him in stressful situations; he can pick and choose. He’s not fretting over “making it.” In some way, he’s actually doing what we all want, to play for the music plain and simple.
Another guy I know has played in bands since his teens. He’s toured regionally and made a few records. When the time came to raise a family, he took a corporate job that is as about as far away from the music business as you can get. But it has allowed him to remain active as a player, and he regularly releases albums he records in his home studio. His longstanding presence in the music scene keeps him in touch with some famous musicians who guest on his recordings. He’s all about music head to toe, and when he retires, I’m certain he’ll keep on playing.
“Seek out music people regularly. They’re hiding in plain sight: at work, at the park, in the grocery store. They sell you insurance, they clean your teeth.”
I could go on, and I’m sure you know people in similar situations. Maybe this even describes you. So where do we all find our musical compadres? For me, and the people I’ve mentioned, our history playing in bands and gigging while young has kept us in touch with others of the same ilk, or with those who are full-time musicians. But many come to music later in life as well. How do they find community?
Somehow, we manage to find our tribe. It could be at work or a coffee shop. Some clubs still have an open mic night that isn’t trying to be a conveyor belt to commercial success. Guitarists always go up to the stage between changes to talk shop, which can lead to more connections. I like the idea of the old-school music store. Local guitar shops and music stores are great places to meet other musicians. Many have bulletin boards where you can post or find ads looking for bandmates. When I see someone wearing a band T-shirt, I usually ask if they’re a musician. Those conversations often lead to more connections down the line. Remember, building a network of musicians often requires persistence and putting yourself out there. Don’t be afraid to initiate conversations and express your interest in collaborating with others.
Of course, I’m lucky to have worked in the music sphere since I was a teen. My path led to using my knowledge of music and guitars to involve myself in so many adventures that I can hardly count them. Still, it’s the love of music at the root of everything I do, and it’s the people that make that possible. So whether you’re a pro or a beginner, seek out music people regularly. They’re hiding in plain sight: at work, at the park, in the grocery store. They sell you insurance, they clean your teeth. Maybe they’re your kid’s teacher. Musicians are everywhere, and that’s a good thing for all of us.
