Our columnist considers why we love to accumulate so much gear.
I’ve got stuff. Lots of stuff. It fills up my home and my shop. One of the many things that I’ve collected over the years are backstage passes. My occupation has taken me to a lot of shows—sometimes two or three a night. I’d come home and throw the evening’s pass into a box on a shelf in my coat closet. When the box got full, instead of tossing it, I’d put it away and start another one. This went on for decades. I probably just saved those passes for the same reason I’ve wound up with a lot of things—I like stuff. But not just any stuff. I like good stuff, quality stuff, interesting stuff. As a consequence, I have a lot of it. I’m betting a lot of you do too. Maybe you started young, by collecting trading cards. Maybe you came to it later in life. Maybe you’re thinking of tossing off the anchor and sailing away free.
In my dreams, I have a grand garage sale. I see table after table of NOS tubes, capos, cords, pedals, and straps, all laid out neatly and tagged with reasonable prices. There would be cabinets full of tools and electronic gizmos from ages past. I imagine a spread of guitars on stands and amplifiers lined up neatly like buildings on a boulevard—all plugged in and ready to demo. I’d say goodbye to all those years of guitar and automobile magazines organized neatly on my bookshelves, along with books about those two subjects. There would be a section for microphone and music stands, photo lights, cameras, and microphones. It would be a picker’s dream come true. Somehow this exercise gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling, and I’m not sure why, because I love my stuff.
So, why do we cling to these artifacts? You might say it’s your hobby, or if you are a pro, they are work tools. But that’s not the whole story. When I started playing, guitarists didn’t have collections. Professionals had one or two main guitars and maybe a 12-string. If you broke a string onstage, you’d either change it while talking to the audience or grab your one backup guitar. Studio cats might have accumulated a small array of stringed instruments (like banjos or mandolins) that they could deploy as needed in order to secure more work, but even some of the legends would borrow when the situation called for something different. Running parallel with the normalization of mass consumerism, it has become acceptable to own more than one or two guitars—maybe even 20.
"When I started playing, guitarists didn’t have collections. Professionals had one or two main guitars and maybe a 12-string."
That’s probably why when you think of the classic acts, you naturally picture those players with a certain guitar. John Lennon had his black Rickenbacker and George Harrison had his Gretsch. Paul McCartney is forever associated with Höfner. Clapton you have to define by era, but a few, like his “Fool” SG and his Bluesbreaker Les Paul—superseded by his now ubiquitous Stratocaster—were and are touchstones. When you think David Gilmour, you see a Strat. Likewise Rick Nielsen with his Hamer “Explorer” and Randy Rhoads on a white Les Paul. As different as they are stylistically, Elvis Costello, Thurston Moore, and J Mascis converge on the Jazzmaster. I could go on. For the first 40 years of its existence, the electric guitar wasn’t much of a collectible. But as we stand here today, most of us have a gaggle of guitars that may or may not be a collection.
So, do we or don’t we have collections? When I use a good piece of gear, whether it’s a guitar or a chisel, I feel joy. It’s a feeling that goes beyond mere possession, and it’s not just that the widget works. It’s recognizing that years of experience have led me to the point of knowing what quality is and why it’s important. I’ve read that holding on to physical things is hanging on to the past when we should be living in the present. I’m not going to dispute that, but my stuff and I have a grip on each other that’s more like a friendship than a psychological hardship. I’m not a working pro, but music has been my life since I was 12, and I don’t apologize for that.
Should I pare down my tools? Would I be happier without a selection of fine instruments? Perhaps purging the tonnage of stuff that anchors me down would open up a whole new take on life, but I’m not ready. Maybe you’ve thought about this too, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Chalk it up to whatever you like, but I’m fine with it for now, and I adore finding new things that make my life a little easier, and maybe a little more joyous.
The author’s main squeeze: a 2005 Kopp K-35 prototype.
Sure, variety is supposed to be the spice of life, but is it distracting you from your favorite instruments?
As the luthier and manager of a high-end guitar shop, I get to experience many fine acoustic instruments, in a variety of ways. Whether I’m selecting tonewoods from my stash for a custom build, introducing a customer to their next Collings or Huss & Dalton, or repairing a beloved ’70s Martin that has been played around a hundred campfires, there is always something going on.
As a player, though, I happen to be in a healthy long-term guitar relationship (or two), and I’m actually not looking for gear to buy. Don’t get me wrong, there are always things that capture my imagination: particularly rare or fascinating instruments, historical makes and models that I’m studying, a few potential investments to be scouted…. But the fact of the matter is that the acoustics that I currently own are more than pulling their weight.
For this column, and against the tenets of my chosen trade of MI retail, I’ve decided that I’d like to encourage PG readers to find similar bliss, be it with a single instrument or with many. If you are trying to find a way to stop chasing gear and find time to make more music (the thing that most of us are in it for), or if you just want to make more satisfying purchase decisions, here are a few ideas for you to meditate on:
1. Pick favorites. Most of us feel a desire to have a variety of instruments in different shapes, sizes, and tonewood combinations. While this keeps stores like mine in business (thank you!), we all know that guitar fanatics just want a rational justification to keep the hunt going. Whether we’re convincing our spouses or ourselves, having something different than what we already have just makes sense, right?
“Customers will call to say, ‘I can’t tell you how many (insert model or brand names here) that I’ve had over the years; I’ve never been able to find one that works for me. Tell me about the one you’re selling,’ to which I have to say, ‘Why, though?’”
The truth is that many players truly sound and feel best when playing a particular body size or combination of woods, and that ongoing quest for variety can be a major distraction. Using your ears and your instincts, you should aspire to find the brand, wood combo, or body size that you feel most hopelessly devoted to, and see if you can’t explore every last musical experience with it.
2. Stop the insanity! I won’t repeat the old “definition of insanity” platitude here, but it comes up a surprising amount in the course of my work. Customers will call to say, “I can’t tell you how many (insert model or brand names here) that I’ve had over the years; I’ve never been able to find one that works for me. Tell me about the one you’re selling,” to which I have to say, “Why, though?”
One thing that has improved dramatically in the last couple decades in the guitar industry is consistency. Some players hold onto the notion that there are mostly dogs and only a few good ones out there, but that’s more a vestige of the past. Time to look at the common denominator (hint, it’s over there in the mirror) and realize that if you’ve bought that same model four times in the last five years, you’re not going to get a different result next time.
3. Value your time (unplug and take that trip). Many might be embarrassed to add up the hours they spend on researching a purchase, from going down YouTube rabbit holes to scanning Reverb and eBay to perusing countless hot takes on forums. Due diligence isn’t a bad thing, but being separated from that potential next guitar by a glowing blue screen (or worse, a set of tinny headphones or the dreaded phone speaker) is never going to tell you if that instrument is going to satisfy when it’s in your hands, playing your music. On top of that, add the time spent waiting on the instrument to ship, the torturous acclimation period after the box has arrived, and then the possibility that a guitar that you heard on the internet might not feel or sound the way you wanted it to once it’s in your hands.
If you’re searching for a long-term tool for musical inspiration, consider taking the trip to a great shop that has a compelling variety, or is in a location with attractions that might help win over a potential travel partner.
4. The last step is acceptance. I consider the tips above to be reasonable, but music making isn’t always about “reasonable.” It’s about passion, emotion, inspiration, analysis, physicality, community—reason barely makes the cut! If your guitar pursuits and purchases bring you joy, especially if you’re still finding enough time to play, then that’s a great place to be. But if the restlessness of Guitar Acquisition Syndrome is causing you stress or eating into your practice schedule, consider slowing your roll, taking stock, and reflecting on how you got here. Some introspection usually puts us in a better frame of mind. Find time to be with instruments, not just looking at them online. Those will be hours that you’ll be proud to add up!
When a guitar collector dies, a collection gets passed on and begins a new life. Here’s one collection’s story.
I’ve been in the guitar business in the same city for many decades. One of the advantages of that is I get to see a lot of great instruments we sold years ago come back again. One of the disadvantages is that many times those instruments are returning because an old customer has died or become too frail to play them. All of us who deal in used and vintage guitars love to see great gear, especially when it’s been well cared for. But when I not only recognize the guitars but also remember the owner, the opportunity to sell their instruments a second time is bittersweet.
When dealing with a collection of instruments from an estate, it’s often obvious that the family members who have inherited our old customer’s gear didn’t really understand the “guitar-life” of their deceased relative. If they don’t play and if the collection includes more than a few instruments, the benefactors of the inherited gear often consider the collection kind of a bother. An 80-year-old Gibson or Martin, for instance, often doesn’t look like much, especially if it’s seen a fair amount of wear. The comments are telling and often include some variation of “I just never understood why they needed so many guitars!” However, when relatives find out what the collection they’ve been stuck with is worth, that attitude often changes.
Back in the 1980s and ’90s, we had a regular customer named Jimmie who was one of our favorite Saturday guys. It was clear he visited other Bay Area guitar shops as well. He wasn’t attracted to instruments in mint condition, partly because he didn’t want to pay the higher prices, but mostly because, as he put it, “I like to see some wear; then I don’t worry if I add a little more of it.” Jimmie wasn’t a great musician and never gigged, but he knew his way around a guitar neck and never resorted to “Blackbird” or “Stairway to Heaven” when trying out guitars. We hadn’t seen Jimmie in at least 20 years—retirement and failing health had taken their toll—but I recognized some of his instruments when a middle-aged guy and his teenage daughter brought in several guitars for appraisal. Our old customer was their Uncle Jimmie. The nephew, who looked like a former GQ model, made it obvious the family considered their uncle little more than a loveable loser with no family and no nice cars or furnishings. All he’d left them was just guitars in tattered cases and box after box of records and CDs.
“My uncle loved to chase after guitars,” GQ nephew said wryly.
“And he played the ones he caught,” I added, pointing out the recent refret on Jimmie’s beloved 1930s Gibson L-00.
Jimmie purchased most of his instruments well before the 21st century run-up in prices and before well-worn guitars became so popular that guitar makers began offering distressed finishes. He bought his ’50s Telecaster, for instance, when only country pickers played Teles, and he’d picked up a pre-war Martin 000 back when everybody wanted dreadnoughts. Jimmie had scribbled the purchase date and price of almost all his guitars on a now-faded, well-folded sheet of paper, which his nephew shoved in my direction.
“I thought this might help,” he commented.
After looking at the guitars briefly, I made a copy of Jimmie’s inventory and wrote a rough estimate of each instrument’s current value in the righthand column.
“Your uncle made some wise purchases,” I pointed out. Indeed, several of Jimmie’s guitars were now worth 10 times what he’d paid for them. Others, such as his Martin archtop and a few later acquisitions, had appreciated more modestly.
GQ nephew’s eyes bulged when he looked at my estimates. He added up the numbers on the right side of the page very quickly and processed the fact that poor old Uncle Jimmie had left his family an accumulation of instruments worth well into six figures. His daughter looked over her dad’s shoulder but was less impressed, instead asking if she could have the Gibson L-00. “Uncle Jimmie called that little Gibson his couch guitar,” she said wistfully. “He loved the sunburst and always had it handy. Hearing him play it was what got me hooked on playing guitar. That’s what he played when he gave me my first lessons.”
When her father suggested she might want one of Jimmie’s better guitars—meaning one that was worth more—she seemed unimpressed with the offer. Like her uncle, she didn’t measure guitars in dollars.
I’d like to think her Uncle Jimmie was smiling, although from where I have no idea. And it wasn’t because his status in the extended family had taken a quantum leap with the surprise value of his musical gear, his smart investments coming up in the future whenever his name was mentioned. Instead, what probably tickled Jimmie was that his grand-niece was obviously going to have a guitar-life of her own, and his favorite guitar was going to be played.
