A Kiefer-esque Vision of Apocalyptic Horror
It's turned into an art vacation. No, not seeing art, as in museums--I could care less about looking at anyone else's much anymore--making it. It didn't turn out to be a cycling vacation--the weather was bad, and I just couldn't be arsed. It didn't turn out to be a Canadian vacation, as that would have cost money I needed to spend on supplies and unhealthy food. So, we stayed home and watched me watch paint dry. Well, we did go to the zoo, the science museum, that horrible anime thing, and almost never cook at home. Plus, I still did about 100 miles.
Don't worry, they all look like this at the beginning. Soon it'll be a characteristically cheery postmodern romp through my subconscious.
It was a bit of a guitar-ing vacation, though. I got a new one. Now, before you find yourself asking, “Why? The boy can barely play!” keep in mind that it’s a Rogue. As in the Musician’s Friend house brand. As in super duper el cheapo, and yet, I hear, made in the Samick factory in China right next to the Fenders. It sounds a bit brassier than my mellow old Washburn, but that may be due to the heavier gauge strings on the thing (a tattered little tag claimed they’re Martin strings). I have to say they sure can build a decent guitar with slave labor. It’ll be fine to carry around, play hard, knock around and not lose any sleep over cuz it’s too precious until I can actually play (more than just to amuse myself) and get that custom Breedlove or maybe a mahogany Martin D15S 12 fret model like Colin plays. It has a Fishman preamp and sounds real nice in my amp. When you come over you might hear me strumming something—haltingly—late into the end of summer night.
I of course stenciled something on the back, as it is my belief that everything in life should be covered in military/industrial stencils (see also my artwork, tools, guitars, etc.). It’s an inside joke with me (is that good mental health? to have inside jokes with yourself?). I also voided any hopes of a warranty by adding a strap pin on the heel, as guitars in this day and age STILL don't come with them standard. What do I look like, some hopeless folkie with a black shoestring around the neck of my guitar? I can't imagine I have pursued a rash and foolish action with these modifications--it came with no paperwork or instructions!
Not guilty: 1. of being a rogue; 2. of being an el cheapo, it’s really quite nice; 3. for what comes out of it—that’s not it’s fault, only mine; 4. of costing too much—if Lauran can run up an $18K hospital bill in 5 days (last month; about 10% of that is our responsibility, do the math) then I can certainly get myself a $129 acoustic-electric guitar.
It’s a tradition. Woody Guthrie had, “This machine kills fascists” on the front of his. Pete Seeger’s eternally happy banjo said, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.” Joe Strummer’s black Tele said, “Noise” and “Ignore alien orders.” Billy Bragg’s apologized, “This guitar says sorry.” That’s also the title of the song he opened with when I saw him in 1989 at the Agora in Cleveland. He had his friends from the Democratic Socialists there. They had scraggly beards and badly-xeroxed brochures, like Jews For Jesus, only different.
The way I figure it, I’d never be in this mess if my parents hadn’t provided such subversive fare as the Pete Seeger & Brother Kirk Visit Sesame Street album and the Johnny Cash children’s album. Me and my sister listened to them endlessly. Both are long out of print, though I’ve seen the Sesame Street one go for more than $40. All I have left are my memories and an old cassette copy of both of them that I had the foresight to make some years ago on a visit home. I could digitize them and send a copy to Sarah, I suppose. Compete with snap, crackle, and, of course, pop. Yes, I think I will. So it'll be a geek vacation, after all.
It's turned into an art vacation. No, not seeing art, as in museums--I could care less about looking at anyone else's much anymore--making it. It didn't turn out to be a cycling vacation--the weather was bad, and I just couldn't be arsed. It didn't turn out to be a Canadian vacation, as that would have cost money I needed to spend on supplies and unhealthy food. So, we stayed home and watched me watch paint dry. Well, we did go to the zoo, the science museum, that horrible anime thing, and almost never cook at home. Plus, I still did about 100 miles.
Don't worry, they all look like this at the beginning. Soon it'll be a characteristically cheery postmodern romp through my subconscious.
It was a bit of a guitar-ing vacation, though. I got a new one. Now, before you find yourself asking, “Why? The boy can barely play!” keep in mind that it’s a Rogue. As in the Musician’s Friend house brand. As in super duper el cheapo, and yet, I hear, made in the Samick factory in China right next to the Fenders. It sounds a bit brassier than my mellow old Washburn, but that may be due to the heavier gauge strings on the thing (a tattered little tag claimed they’re Martin strings). I have to say they sure can build a decent guitar with slave labor. It’ll be fine to carry around, play hard, knock around and not lose any sleep over cuz it’s too precious until I can actually play (more than just to amuse myself) and get that custom Breedlove or maybe a mahogany Martin D15S 12 fret model like Colin plays. It has a Fishman preamp and sounds real nice in my amp. When you come over you might hear me strumming something—haltingly—late into the end of summer night.
I of course stenciled something on the back, as it is my belief that everything in life should be covered in military/industrial stencils (see also my artwork, tools, guitars, etc.). It’s an inside joke with me (is that good mental health? to have inside jokes with yourself?). I also voided any hopes of a warranty by adding a strap pin on the heel, as guitars in this day and age STILL don't come with them standard. What do I look like, some hopeless folkie with a black shoestring around the neck of my guitar? I can't imagine I have pursued a rash and foolish action with these modifications--it came with no paperwork or instructions!
Not guilty: 1. of being a rogue; 2. of being an el cheapo, it’s really quite nice; 3. for what comes out of it—that’s not it’s fault, only mine; 4. of costing too much—if Lauran can run up an $18K hospital bill in 5 days (last month; about 10% of that is our responsibility, do the math) then I can certainly get myself a $129 acoustic-electric guitar.
It’s a tradition. Woody Guthrie had, “This machine kills fascists” on the front of his. Pete Seeger’s eternally happy banjo said, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.” Joe Strummer’s black Tele said, “Noise” and “Ignore alien orders.” Billy Bragg’s apologized, “This guitar says sorry.” That’s also the title of the song he opened with when I saw him in 1989 at the Agora in Cleveland. He had his friends from the Democratic Socialists there. They had scraggly beards and badly-xeroxed brochures, like Jews For Jesus, only different.
The way I figure it, I’d never be in this mess if my parents hadn’t provided such subversive fare as the Pete Seeger & Brother Kirk Visit Sesame Street album and the Johnny Cash children’s album. Me and my sister listened to them endlessly. Both are long out of print, though I’ve seen the Sesame Street one go for more than $40. All I have left are my memories and an old cassette copy of both of them that I had the foresight to make some years ago on a visit home. I could digitize them and send a copy to Sarah, I suppose. Compete with snap, crackle, and, of course, pop. Yes, I think I will. So it'll be a geek vacation, after all.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home