By Scout Walker, Staff Writer
My love for the guitar didn’t start with some dramatic movie moment. I didn’t hear a heavenly chord and suddenly know my destiny. No, for me, it began with Angus and Malcolm Young’s furious, anthemic roar in “Back in Black.” It began with the revolutionary “Little Wing” artistry and “Voodoo Child” mastery of Jimi Hendrix, who took the guitar to new heights never before imagined. It began with Eric Clapton’s scandalous love song, “Layla.” It began with Jimmy Page inviting me to ascend the “Stairway to Heaven,” Tony Iommi serenading the haunting apocalyptic story of the “Iron Man,” Stevie Ray Vaughan swinging and grooving the blues to tell us about his “Pride and Joy.”
When I first picked up my $100 Squire ‘67 Stratocaster with a 5 watt amp, I strummed out a squawking, strained G chord and immediately thought to myself, Yeah, I want to do this forever. What can I say? The bar was low, but my enthusiasm was high.
One underrated aspect of the guitar is how quickly it teaches you humility. One day, you’re feeling confident after finally nailing the timing of a chord progression or riff. The next day, you can’t bar the strings for a basic F chord without your knuckles cramping like a geriatric patient. That’s part of the charm, as if the instrument has its own personality, sometimes supportive enough to keep you hooked, oftentimes petty enough to keep you humble.
Some nights, I pick up my guitar for stress relief. I’ll strum some peaceful chords, get a basic progression down, and play a solo while making those weird faces guitarists make during solos. Other nights, I plug my overdrive pedals in, turn it up a little too high, and start wailing like it personally insulted my family. It’s therapeutic. Cheaper than therapy? Debatable. But definitely louder.
Despite the ups and downs, I believe the journey is what I love most. There’s always, always something new to learn. That one section of my favorite song I haven’t been able to nail down, a mysterious technique that Eddie Van Halen taught some random roadie backstage, or that perfect tone that keeps escaping me. It’s like never ending side quests, but instead of fighting dragons, I’m fighting my fingers. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with the guitar. It’s like a friend, punching bag, diary, a source of victory, all in one. It’s not always glamorous, just like my playing. But I wouldn’t trade the late-night practice sessions, accidental harmonics, or occasional string-changing injuries for anything.
