How to cope if coronavirus is sapping your motivation to play.
Tell me if this sounds familiar: As winter begins and COVID cases ramp up, you're even more cooped up than before, but somehow your love of guitar is anything but diminished. Yet, more and more, rather than pick one up, you find yourself lounging on your favorite couch/recliner/giant dog, endlessly scrolling through listings of guitars, pedals, amps, microphones, etc. as the TV drones on in the background.
As your equally cabin-fevered cohabitants veg in similar fashion (within remote-control's throw or off in another room where they're less tempted to engage homicidal tendencies), you want to go play your favorite 6-sting. Or at least theoretically you do. On and off, you grapple with feeling either guilty for not making the effort or stupid for not taking advantage of the guitar's rejuvenating powers. More often than not, you remain ensconced in that comfy chair, softer in body and mind but firmer friends with 2020's most overstayed guests, the Malaises.
If this rings a bell, about the only advice my guilty ass can offer is this: screw guilt. New studies show we're suffering anxiety, depression, and/or trauma- or stress-related disorders at three or four times the nonpandemic rate. So guess what, baby? It's survival time. As long as you're being there for your loved ones and not bankrupting yourself with impulse buys, give yourself a break. The muse will hit when it hits. If you're the type to worry about your “chops," fear not. They'll come back.
We're living in unprecedented times. We're not used to having to think this way. But what really matters right now, whether you're a (formerly) touring pro or a bedroom warrior, is taking care of yourself—body and mind. The most important things we can do during the pandemic—wearing a mask and isolating as much as possible so we can get rid of this goddamn virus sooner rather than later—are pretty straightforward and simple. The mask bit couldn't be easier. Isolation is the bitch.
Prior to the outbreak, we'd long been used to modern life making us hyper aware of our physical health—eat right, exercise, get adequate sleep, get a flu shot and regular checkups. Yet, for some dumbass reason, we're pretty blasé about mental health. Sure, we're getting better at keeping it in the public conversation. But for all our focus (and money spent) on killer abs, Peloton bullshit, and air-fried quinoa casseroles, the scant thought, time, and effort we put into emotional wellbeing implies we still kind of look at it as just some nebulous, silly, or embarrassing thing that magically takes care of itself. That if you just do your yoga, lay on your thousand-dollar amethyst-crystal mat, or take the testosterone supplements hocked by some muscle-headed YouTube charlatan, you'll feel like a million bucks, body, mind, and soul—and somehow also be rich, famous, and killer in the sack, too.
I'm here to tell you A) if you're struggling more than normal under the weight of 2020's shit pile, you can and should get professional help. It is foolhardy to think that our physiology's one remaining mysterious frontier—the mind—needs less attention than the human-body bits we actually understand. And B) you'll get a hell of a lot more joy out of a new stomp or a $500 guitar bought during a 3 a.m. anxiety-scroll than you will from quack cures. Even if your new guitar toys just sit there on your board or hang there on your wall, looking neat till you can muster the inspiration to peel yourself off the couch and give 'em a go.
Screw guilt and be well, friends. Big hugs till next time.
Dirk Wacker shares what the last six months have been like for him and his guitar-tech business in Germany.
Hello and welcome back to Mod Garage. This month's column is a very special one for me. Since I started writing for Premier Guitar back in 2005 (heck, it's really 15 years now), it's the first time I'm writing something personal instead of talking about mods and technical stuff. But don't worry, I won't get political or bore you with another COVID-19 complaint. Lay down your soldering iron and relax, and next month we'll get back to business as usual.
I'm happy to say that I receive a lot of emails from readers all over the world, with all kinds of suggestions, questions, comments, and the like. Much of this correspondence was the reason for columns in the past and will also inspire topics for future columns. Soon after the lockdown, I noticed the tenor of many emails changed from guitar-related stuff to more personal inquiries, like how the pandemic situation in Europe and especially inside Germany is, if everyone at the shop is well, etc. I also received messages with questions like: How is it going inside the workshop? What do I have on my desk? What am I doing during lockdown? After discussing this with my editor, we decided I should write about it. So, here is my personal COVID-19 experience.
I never thought something like the pandemic could really happen in our modern world, so in early February we still made plans for the Musikmesse trade fair in Frankfurt, Germany, in April. I also saw no reason to cancel my stay in Switzerland for the middle of March. I have to ask myself now, in retrospect, how could someone be so careless and ignorant? I will never forget the conversation between two friends and myself, talking about the Musikmesse show. One of them wondered what we should do because traditionally there are many Asian exhibitors there, and in early February COVID-19 still seemed to be a problem only affecting China. My other friend and I didn't waste any thought about this, being sure that in three months the problem would be solved … how wrong we were!
Unsuspecting as I was, I booked our tickets for Musikmesse, including railroad tickets. I also went to Switzerland in March to visit some friends to go hiking and mountaineering. On March 16, the lockdown hit me like a hammer when Switzerland closed all borders. Within a New York minute, I was stranded in a foreign country that isn't a member of the European Union. It took me some time and effort to leave Switzerland, but thankfully I have friends there, so I had a roof over my head and no bigger problems of any kind. Lesson learned!
Being back in Germany, I had to face that COVID-19 was definitely not just Asia's problem and that it would affect all facets of life in Germany. Shops, bars, clubs, restaurants, schools, universities, cinemas, theaters, gyms, barbers, churches, and all stages closed. Most companies established reduced working times, countless people had to work from home, public authorities closed their doors, and every day there were new COVID-19 calamities on all news channels.
The situation in Germany was strange, at least for me. Suddenly everyone had to wear a face mask, most stores had closed, people started to hoard toilet paper and yeast, for weeks you couldn't see anyone on the streets, traffic was reduced to almost empty streets even on the highways, and for weeks I hadn't seen a single jet trail in the blue and sunny sky. Within a few weeks, guitar project orders went down to almost zero, which wasn't a real problem because it gave us time to work on everything that was still in the workshop on a waiting list. After this was done and the workshop was empty, I started to make plans on how to keep myself busy: spending more time with the dog and the two horses, doing extended rides with them in the woods, restoring some old vintage wristwatches—something I really love to do when I have time for it. I decided to take additional shifts as a volunteer paramedic in the EMS of my neighbor county, something I also really love to do. I made plans to watch all episodes of Star Trek: Picard on Netflix again, read some new crime thrillers, and to do some aesthetic repairs in the shop and in the house.
I was sure there would be no boredom in any way, and this time I was totally right, but in a very different way than I thought. Before I could even dismantle the first watch to see what the problem was, guitar jobs suddenly went from zero to over the top. We began receiving several guitars each day to repair, to restore, or to modify, and within two weeks our storage area was more than filled with guitars, waiting for their treatment.
After thinking about this and talking to some customers it was clear what caused this new situation: Everyone had unexpected time on their hands now and virtually no one really needed all of their guitars because it was impossible to gig, rehearse, or play, and no teacher could give any guitar lessons. So why not send in guitars that need work done that was long overdue? Instead of restoring vintage watches, I found myself restoring vintage guitars—also something I really love to do. Suddenly we had plenty of work and still do, now operating with a waiting list. The DIY caucus also had some time on their hands, and we received lots of parts orders again, and much more than ever before. But this was a real problem for our international customers. While shipping inside Germany and most other European countries was no real problem, DHL immediately raised prices on deliveries abroad. We always choose the best, fastest, and cheapest way of shipping parts to any country. Normally sending some parts like pots, caps, wires, hardware, etc. to the U.S. is around $14, including insurance and online tracking. Suddenly the cheapest (!) way to send anything out to the U.S. with DHL was $64.
This lasted from early April until September, and then DHL switched from shipping by plane to sea cargo, so shipping times raised from the usual 6-8 days up to six weeks and longer, for the same price as before.
I was surprised again by orders from a lot of international customers, many of them being first-time buyers. Usually people expect their parts to be shipped out immediately. Most customers were not keen on paying $64 for shipping on some parts that cost less than half of that, and most of them were totally relaxed about the situation and agreed that we should send out their parts when shipping prices returned to normal. I think the worldwide pandemic slowed down most of us to a certain degree, but I was really honored that so many people trusted us in such a way. Our storage room started to fill up with packages that couldn't be shipped yet. For weeks we were creative in storing away and piling shipping boxes, but this “Guitar Parts Tetris" game couldn't last. At the end of August, we had to face that we were out of storage room. Since some of the orders were from late March, we decided to look for an alternative shipping solution, and UPS offered us a very fair deal if we shipped out all the boxes at the same time. We took the lemon and pulled the trigger, and within 10 days all orders reached their destination without any problems.
As I write this, we're in the middle of what's being called a “second wave" over here, with rising COVID-19 infections daily. DHL is offering shipping with extended arrival times, but for a reasonable price again, our guitar storage room is staying full, and our local DHL driver is going in and out several times a day.
So, is everything bad about the pandemic? Mostly yes. But it was a good lesson for many people to slow down in such a way to be able to think about the important things in life. My impression is that humanity and good will are more natural again. I hope you could get a little insight into the situation over here. Please stay well and mighty, and we will try and do the same.
Next month we'll discuss what I like to call “Alien Tasks in Lutherie," which refers to a typical task where two arms and two hands are not enough. This time it's about installing humbuckers in a plastic frame or a pickguard, so stay tuned.
Until then ... keep on modding!
Eight months/a decade into COVID-19, are we self-aware enough for our own good?
Has it really been eight months since I wrote “A Toast to Celine & a Middle Finger to COVID-19”? It feels like yesterday … and also a decade ago. Compared to last March, when I wrote that sappy piece of garbage, things feel a lot more normal now despite not nearly being out of the woods. Except for head-up-the-arse deniers, the world knows a lot more about the virus and seems to be taking more responsible measures to mitigate it. We’ve mostly accepted that masks and social distancing are the two most effective means of minimizing the spread and because of that, wisely or not, much of the U.S. has reopened shops, schools, and workplaces—although we’ve also largely left it to individuals to decide whether to abide by medical experts’ guidelines. All of which makes it easier to fall into the trap of thinking things are now kind of A-OK.
But even if, medically speaking, the situation were now better, we still wouldn’t be A-OK. Let’s face it: We’re basically all either suffering from (or on the verge of suffering from) something akin to PTSD. Whether we realize it or not, this year’s bizarre turn of events has put us in a collective mental/emotional state that’s both unprecedented and untenable. Life was already enough of a pain in the ass before people started dying or having lifelong COVID-caused health problems … before the pandemic put the economy in the crapper … before millions lost jobs and couldn’t afford rent, insurance, etc. … before all of the above domino’d into relationship stressors. It’s A-OK to admit we’re not A-OK, though. In fact, if we can’t admit it—if we’re in denial of how much 2020 has piled on to mortality’s everyday rigors—we’re bound to make a lot of very dumb, possibly dangerous decisions while under the delusion we’re of perfectly sound mind.
Even though I’m super fortunate—I’m great with my wife and kids … we’re all healthy … I’ve still got my job and my house—I can’t deny that the pileup of this year’s shit on top of last year’s shit continues to be a slog. All things considered, I’m one of the lucky ones, so I’d hate to see how I’d handle what some of you are going through. The thing is, even more than in “regular life,” we have no clue whether worse pandemic mayhem is just around the corner, societally or individually. Which is why—even when things feel relatively stable—it’s hard to not kinda freak a bit, isn’t it?
I’m just glad I’ve got my damn guitars. In a world that feels robbed of a lot of its former wonder, they are untouchable magic. In a world with no cure, they are miraculous salve. In an existence where it seems there’s no escaping much further than the bounds of our neighborhood, they are still a means of spirit-renewing adventure. I say all this like a sappy wannabe beatnik, but that doesn’t make it less true. More than I like to admit, there are times when I feel inexplicable ennui, defeat, pessimism, sadness. Who knew what a toll not hanging out with friends, not going out to eat, and not going on vacation could take? First-world problems are a bitch!
Like I said, relative to what many are suffering, I’m extremely lucky. Even so, sometimes the only thing that drags me out of the doldrums is an hour or two of thrashing my Tele or bashing one of my baritones. At unnecessarily loud volumes through my favorite pedals and amps, is best, but I’ll take whisper quiet through a Vibro Champ in the middle of the night now and then, too.
To outsiders, the remedy’s simplicity must seem ridiculous. But I can’t help feeling sorry for anyone without something equally transcendent to turn to, even if it is just fleeting respite before heading back into the unknown.