You may have worked that out , I admit.
More specifically, I am troubled by a daft kind of lust.
A silly, yet deep, insane and adolescent crush.
I know, I know. I'm 42; I should be over such things.
But as itches go, well, it's been around since I felt too old to be in a band at 22 and it has nagged at me ever since.
I know I talk about the odd guitar I'd like on here. The Les Paul BMG, the Vox Teardrop - actually I haven't mentioned that before I think, but I've always wanted one of them as well.
There's also the ones I let get away, sold when I should have kept, like my Rickie 360/12 - a gorgeous Mapleglo beauty and the best made guitar I've ever had the privilege to hold never mind own.
The Danelectro I really shouldn't have given away.
The Antoria Thinline Tele clone that weighed a ton but sustained like a Les Paul.
The Psychedelic Surf One, thinking more recent-like.
But the one I'm thinking of at the moment is something I had only seen in a book for years - a black and white foto at that - and I guess because of that it took on a mythical air as far as I was concerned. I wasn't even sure that they existed, probably only seen in smoke-filled shops run by fellas called Clyde in America in small towns I'd never visit.
And then one day I went into a shop in Brum and saw it, staring at me. £100. Crazy mental cheap.
And worse I had more than that in my pocket. I'd popped in to buy a guitar as well, and it was the most amazing colour, the grain of the wood simply awesome. Just sat there, already plugged into a wee amp. It even had headphones if you were embarrassed about your playing.
I looked at it for an age, and finally took a step.
Focused intently on it,
A very real, pain-filled love at first sight.
I took that step,
but in the other direction.
I bought an Epiphone Les Paul, if I remember rightly.
Didn't even play it, just picked it up and handed the money over.
I sold it weeks later unplayed. Untouched and unloved.
I still can't tell you why.
It would be easy to say it was because I didn't feel worthy of such a guitar, and perhaps it would be true. But I think it was deeper than that, I think it was more that I was scared that this guitar I'd lusted after for eons just wouldn't be everything I dreamed it to be, and instead of finding out,
I bottled it.
The ultimate jigsaw centre forward,
I went to pieces in the box.
I never went back to the shop.
Scared it would still be there,
terrified it wouldn't be.
And I've never seen a Rosewood Tele since. I've never held one, smelt the wood or felt the weight in my hands. I still don't know the truth about them, and I guess I never will.
A chap on the Music Radar forum I frequent put a foto of his up the other day and it brought it back. He nicely said I could pop around and play it, but I don't think I will.
He was selling it a while back too, and again I couldn't bring myself to buy it.
I'm glad he didn't though, guitars like that shouldn't be sold.
They should be cherished.
I should know,
I can't even bring myself to touch one.
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