A high-tech rendering of what a hyper-futuristic musical instrument shopping location could look like.
While we’re all caught up in the online-gear-shopping rat race, our columnist wonders: Is there a better way?
Without a doubt, America’s greatest contribution to civilization is consumerism. It’s not only the “engine” of our economy, but I’ve read it’s the force behind everything good worldwide. (I know you come here for insight on how to make your guitar sound like Eric Johnson and Buddy Miller at the same time, but trust me, this is important.) Our obsession with guitar gear is outpacing our ability to shop, but I’ve got a next-level solution. With my track record of predicting the future, I’m betting on this, so buckle up, people.
How many times have you wanted immediate satisfaction? You think you know what you want, and maybe even where to find it. Or, maybe you are just bored with those endless hours of fruitless noodling, and need a brand new muse to break the cycle. First stop? The internet, where everything is at your fingertips. It’s a vast ocean of options where you can get lost in the undertow of specifications, features, and demo videos. Before you know it, you’ve grown a (longer) beard, and your path to the bathroom is blocked by pizza boxes and empty bottles of Pedialyte.
I know what it’s like on multiple fronts. In my shop, I have a 1946 Northfield bandsaw that weighs 950 pounds, and is one of the few things that’s not on wheels. Generally, that’s not a problem, but if I want to move it for any reason, I have to break out the 6' Johnson bar and crab the damn thing around a few inches at a time. So, one evening, I got the idea to put “Old Northie” on a set of leveling casters. This would allow me to not only level the machine, but I could then move it when needed. I have a similar set on a 3' x 4' cast-iron-surface-plate table, and let me tell you, they work great.
“While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam.”
The problem was that the foot of the saw’s casting required a certain amount of clearance because the underside was slightly hollow. So, just like an online guitar safari, I began to search out specifications and, if possible, a technical drawing of potential purchases. Much like shopping for guitars, those specifications were harder to find than I would have liked. After more than an hour of poking around, I found some rudimentary dimensions and clicked “buy.” I figured the package would arrive in less than a week, and if they didn’t work, I could just send them back. It wasn’t instant gratification by a long shot.
While I waited, I started questioning how thorough my research had been, and began to second-guess my judgment in buying the items at all. It seemed like the problem wasn’t worth the cost of the solution. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone through this exact scenario, and I wondered if there was a better method. What if there was a way to determine if products were going to work without all the hassle and stress that online shopping creates? Then it hit me. I could see the future of commerce, when decisions can be made on purchases with almost 100-percent certainty; a future where you could be sure that the hype of ad copy was true to the product, and you could get it right away!
I thought, “What if there was a place I could drive to in under an hour and actually put my hands on the product?” I’d be able to measure the levelers, feel the quality, and check for any unanticipated hangups that might scuttle the job. Then I thought, “What if you and I could handle a guitar or an amp, to feel the quality, playability, and even hear what they sounded like, all before putting down any cash? What if there was a specialist at this place who could give you some real-world tips on how the gear worked, and other options you might consider?” I’m not talking about some hack “influencer” who is shilling for the manufacturers, but a real, live person who you could vet in real time.
This could be a total game-changer—you could be back at home that same afternoon or evening with the product, without the worry that you’d made a mistake. While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam. Like I said, I’ve had a pretty good run as a predictor of trends, so stay tuned, and watch out for the launch of some new startups called “Store Places.” It’s gonna be epic. Oh yeah, and I’m still waiting for those levelers.
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.
This clean 1938 Martin 00-18 is the sort of checks-all-boxes, bucket-list vintage guitar that only comes around once in a blue moon.
Sure, the economy isn’t what it was a few months ago. But what do you do if you find the one?
Guitar shopping is certainly different than it was 18 months ago. And we’re all grateful that manufacturers like Martin and Taylor are shipping more new guitars. That means your favorite music store probably doesn’t have as many empty hooks as it did during the crazy days of Covid. Stores that sell new instruments are also moving inventory more slowly as recent Wall Street jitters over inflation and the economy filter down to dinner-table talks about family finances. Even worse, personal budgets for music gear have to compete with vacations, events, and dining out. As a result, some guitar shoppers are wondering if that new guitar purchase should be postponed, especially considering that most new models will be available in the future when the world will hopefully feel at least a little more secure and predictable.
The put-it-off brakes are harder to apply, however, when it’s a bucket-list vintage instrument you’ve been looking for since long before we even knew how to spell “Covid.” What do you do when a guitar turns up that has everything you’ve wanted and the condition is just what you were hoping for, with the right combination of real-life wear and originality? It has the sound and playability you’ve been after and doesn’t need any work, so there’s no guessing about whether a neck reset and gluing those loose braces will change the sound, but in the wrong direction. And what will make passing up your bucket-list special even more difficult is knowing you might have to wait years before another example comes along that checks all those boxes.
“Even if only a few hundred Gibson J-185 models from the early 1950s, for instance, have survived in playable condition, there will still be significant variation in those examples today.”
This is where the differences between players who buy new guitars and those who buy used and vintage become obvious. Those who search for new models are often looking for the right combination of woods, body style, and neck shape, but within a known set of parameters determined by the builder. A new Taylor is always going to have a certain feel and look that’s distinctly different from any Martin or Gibson, for instance. But Taylor offers a lot of variety within the boundaries of “Taylorness,” especially when you add torrefied tops and different bracing patterns into the mix. Taylor probably offers more distinctly different steel-string models today than all American guitar manufacturers combined were putting into music stores in the 1960s. Martin and Gibson now offer multiple options of the same model, depending on how far back you want to turn the clock. The reissue of a D-28 from 1937 is different from a reissue of the 1954 version, which is different from the Standard Series D-28, and so on. Martin and other instrument manufacturers more than hold up their end of the bargain when it comes to offering variety, yet all new or nearly new guitars have one thing in common, and that is while they do vary, they are not unique. This is partly because current manufacturing methods are so dialed-in thanks to technology like CNC, but it’s primarily because those guitars haven’t lived a guitar life yet.
In contrast, a production guitar that’s many decades old is often very different even when compared to other examples of the same model from the same year. Yes, guitars back then were made more by hand, so even siblings from the same batch will often vary both in how they sound and how they feel. But the biggest difference is usually because of what happened to those guitars after they left the factory. A few lived ideal under-the-bed-in-a-case lives, some were played often but carefully, some got played a lot—often carelessly—and show it, some were heavily modified, and some were simply played and cracked and cooked and traveled until they were worn out. Even if only a few hundred Gibson J-185 models from the early 1950s, for instance, have survived in playable condition, there will still be significant variation in those examples today.
Those who seek out vintage guitars usually have their own standards for what kind of wear and repair they will tolerate. Some are more focused on originality of all parts and finish and will tolerate small cracks and repairs; others can’t live with a cracked soundboard no matter how superb the condition of the rest of the guitar. So, when a vintage-guitar seeker finds the right combination of features in an old instrument … well, you can see where this is going. Fiscal uncertainties may prevail, and the purchase of a new guitar will get postponed. But when the just-right old guitar comes along, many of us will go for it, even if the price is steep. As one true vintage hound told me years ago, “I’d rather buy the right guitar at the wrong time than be dreaming about the one that got away years later.”