jamming with the King

Went to a very special guitar shop today, with my friend Neil.  The shop is special because visiting is ‘by appointment only’.  This may be to prevent would-be guitar Gods from wandering in and belting out ‘smoke on the water’ or ‘smells like teen spirit’, which is normally what you can expect in the average High Street music shop.

The instruments are mainly vintage acoustic Martins and Gibsons and the ambience is very much ‘Americana’.  The spirit of 1950s America is everywhere.  And what was cheap then, is expensive now.

I’m a bit shallow when it comes to guitars - I go by the look as much as anything.  So while Neil went through the entire range of Martins, looking for that special sound, I just fooled  around with a curvy blonde Gibson.  (By blonde I mean that it was made of light coloured wood, rather than the usual shades of brown.  Just so you understand.)  

After about half an hour Neil decided that his own guitar sounded and played better than the ones in the shop, so we called it a day.  I reluctantly put the curvy blonde Gibson back in its rack.  “I’ll be back” I whispered as we left.

The extra shows Neil.  Curvy blonde Gibson is nearest the camera.